Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(9)

Yes, Fiona thought with irritation, the bitch could be more beautiful.

“Fergus,” she breathed softly, turned and rushed quickly to the stairs and up four of them to embrace Fergus.

There was nothing cool and disdainful in her embrace for Fergus.

Then again, Fergus was loaded and obviously Isabella didn’t have any problem with men who were loaded, it was just lowly fishermen who she had a problem with.

She’d married international playboy Laurent Evangelista and he was so loaded it was unfathomable how loaded he was. Of course, he’d cheated on her very publicly then ditched her even more publicly, paid her off with an enormous divorce settlement (just as publicly) and was still carrying on with his younger version of Isabella whilst on the Riviera and in Paris and wherever-the-hell-else famous, rich people hung out.

This had, for some bizarre reason Fiona could never figure out when she was alive (nor now, when she was very dead), made Isabella even more celebrated and famous.

She had simply been the fascinating, stylish and beautiful American heiress who had finally landed the equally fascinating, stylish and handsome French-Italian playboy Laurent Evangelista.

For some reason, people took her side in the whole messy affair, then again, no one really knew the true personality of Isabella Austin except those in a tiny fishing village in Scotland.

No one could believe Laurent would throw over his lovely, soft-spoken, charity-working, fashion-designer-muse wife for a common (but younger and it was lost on no one she looked almost exactly like Isabella) strumpet.

There’d even been t-shirts made that you could buy that said, “Up with Isabella” on the front and “Up Yours Laurent” on the back.

Since then (and it had been years), Isabella became more famous, more hunted by the paparazzi, an object of fascination. Likely, this was because no one could believe anyone who had all that money, all those good genes, all that fashion sense and a kind soul (blech, Fiona thought) could be so humiliated. It made even the common woman feel camaraderie with her because they knew if it could even happen to the likes of Isabella Austin Evangelista, it could definitely happen to them.

It also meant they were all waiting with bated breath for Isabella’s next catch, hoping he would be devastatingly handsome, romantic and he’d sweep her off her feet and heal all her considerable wounds.

Which meant that every man she even looked at was her latest lover. According to the media, she’d had scores. None of which lasted more than a few months (again, according to the media).

Which meant that somehow, fabulous, celebrated, renowned beauty Isabella Austin Evangelista had the every-woman curse of never finding the right bloke.

Which set her up as the Queen of Lonely Hearts and that made the camaraderie extend to every woman in the whole the f**king world.

If they only knew she’d simply gotten what she deserved, well…

“Good to see you,” Fergus muttered, his voice thick, his words cutting into Fiona’s ethereal thoughts. “Missed you, lass.”

Her cheek was pressed to his and her eyes were closed.

“Not as much as I missed you,” she whispered in her breathy voice.

With her paranormal senses, Fiona felt Prentice’s body turn solid.

She looked at her husband. His face was hard, his mouth tight, his eyes glittering.

Something was wrong.

As quick as it came, his body relaxed and his eyes went blank.

Fiona looked back at Isabella.

Her eyes opened and they focused on Prentice.

The coolness hit her face like an arctic snap and she pulled away from Fergus, her gaze moving to Dougal.

“Dougal,” she said softly.

“Isabella,” Dougal returned roughly and Fiona could tell he was making an effort to be polite.

She started walking down the steps in her high heels, her head turned to the side and, if Fiona had tried that, she would have fallen flat on her face.

Isabella’s eyes were on Prentice.

“Prentice.” Again, that breathy voice.

What was it with that breathy shite? Fiona thought. She’d never spoken that way when she was there those summers long ago.

“Isabella,” Prentice replied.

Fiona stared at her.

Did she flinch?

Flinch?

No, no, Fiona’s paranormal senses were heightened but no way would butter-wouldn’t-melt Isabella Austin Evangelista flinch.

And if she did, why would she, simply upon hearing Prentice say her name?

“This calls for champagne!” Annie screeched, taking Fiona’s thoughts from the impossible flinch and rushing forward, tugging the man along with her and linking arms with Isabella.

“I’ll get it,” Dougal said immediately. “Prentice, a little help?”

“Of course,” Prentice murmured but Isabella spoke.

“One moment, please.”

Everyone stopped, as they would, her voice was still soft, slightly breathy but there was something about it that made you pay attention.

God, Fiona hated her.

“Prentice,” she held her hand out toward him and Fiona would have sucked in breath (again, if she had any), then Isabella turned to the unknown man, “this is Mikey. A friend of Annie and mine from –”

“I remember you mentioning Mikey,” Prentice interrupted and before Isabella could say more, Prentice walked forward hand extended to Mikey.