Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(8)

She was wearing classy, high-heeled black boots, a cranberry-colored wool skirt that hit her at her knees and fit her like a second skin and a matching jacket that had stylish detailing at the pockets and the lapels. She had on a satin blouse in a color one shade darker than the cranberry suit and it came all the way up to her neck, circling her throat in elegant gathers. Her hair was bunched back in soft but stylish twists that led to a complicated chignon at her nape, the hairstyle so sophisticated there was no way she did it herself. The back of the suit was even nicer than the front, the skirt falling in row of knife-sharp kick pleats at the back of her knees, the same from the waist of the jacket down to the top of her arse.

Fiona let her ghostly lip curl at the idea that Isabella Evangelista had a stylist do her hair, she wore a fancy, posh suit (of all things) and rode in a limousine to a tiny, Scottish fishing village.

What a daft cow.

“You okay?” Dougal asked, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Prentice asked.

Dougal’s eyes went to the window and Prentice burst out laughing.

“I’m hardly pining for Isabella Austin,” Prentice said, laughter still in his voice and if Fiona had breath, she would have let it out.

“This can’t be easy for you, mate,” Dougal said softly and Fiona remembered (as she often did) why she liked Dougal so damned much.

“For God’s sake, Dougal, it’s been twenty years,” Prentice’s deep voice still held amusement. “I don’t even think of her anymore.”

“Maybe no’ but you’ll have to now,” Dougal returned.

“Aye,” Prentice agreed readily. “For a week, then she’ll be gone back to her life filled with limousines, paparazzi and posh parties and it’ll be like she wasn’t even here.”

Dougal watched his friend.

“It’ll be like she wasn’t even here,” Prentice repeated, his words low and slow and filled with meaning.

Fiona knew he’d been through this before, of course, and he had, with effort, built a life where it was like Isabella Austin had never even been there.

Dougal shifted uncomfortably.

“You should know, Annie has these ideas about Isabella –” Dougal started but Prentice shook his head.

“It’ll be fine.”

“She says there’s reasons –”

“I know she does, she’s tried to explain them to me, without making much sense. She’s Isabella’s friend, she’d try to find some excuse for the way she behaved, no’ only to me but no’ showing up when Annie nearly died. They’re good friends, it’s natural and it doesn’t mean a thing to me,” Prentice stated and when Dougal looked dubious, Prentice approached him and said, “No’ a damned thing, mate.” Prentice’s voice became low again when he continued, “It’s been a long time, Dougal, we’ve all moved on.” Then Fiona watched as her husband grinned his devastating, wicked grin. “Except you, of course.”

Dougal relaxed and smiled back. “That’s me, stuck in a rut.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Annie you called her a rut.”

Fiona laughed a silent laugh. Annie would hate that.

Dougal’s laugh (seeing as he was alive) sounded jovially throughout the room.

The door flew open nearly hitting Dougal in the back and Annie was there.

Her hair was wild (it was always wild, a long mixture of thick, dark blonde frizz and curls, it was manic and gorgeous, just like Annie). On her petite but rounded, body she was wearing tight-fitting jeans, a green t-shirt that said, “All the other kids are doing it” on the front in yellow and blue lettering and a ratty-assed olive drab cardigan that nearly went down to her knees.

“Bella and Mikey are here!” she screeched excitedly, then turned on her Wellington-clad foot and ran from the room.

Dougal and Prentice watched her go.

Dougal sighed before he turned to Prentice. “You know I love her.”

“I do,” Prentice replied, his fantastic lips twitching.

“You know I love her a lot.”

Prentice chuckled. “I do.”

“I didn’t love her that much, mate, no way in hell I’d walk out of this room and spend a whole f**king week trying to be nice to that bitch.”

Prentice shook his head, clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder and they both walked out of the room.

Fiona floated behind them remembering again why she really, really liked Dougal.

They followed the screeching, Annie’s mixed with an unknown, and unusual, masculine-esque shriek.

When they approached the foyer Annie and the man from the drive were in each other’s arms, jumping up and down.

Isabella Austin Evangelista (the daft cow) was standing to the side, eyes on her friends, hugging her elbows in her hands with what looked (shockingly, to Fiona’s way of thinking) like an actual genuine (but very small) grin on her perfectly lip-glossed lips.

“Bella.” They heard and her eyes moved coolly to the stairs then Fiona watched in dismay as her face melted when she saw Fergus.

Good God, could the bitch be any more beautiful?

Fiona felt Dougal go tense and Prentice stopped moving forward altogether as Isabella’s face changed again, the small grin widened, brightened and the room lit with the radiance of her smile.