“What’d she do?”
“She hurt some people’s feelings.”
“So?” Jason asked. “People get their feelings hurt all the time. Worse stuff happens.”
Prentice’s face changed, anguish tore through it because both her husband and son had learned that lesson.
And Jason was right. Worse stuff happens, that was the God’s honest truth. Fiona was beyond the veil existence proof of it.
And now Fiona knew that something did not quite fit together with Isabella Austin Evangahlala.
There were, indeed, two sides to every story and no one knew Isabella’s.
Except perhaps Annie, Mikey and Fergus and they were all intensely loyal to her, something Fiona never understood about Annie or Fergus and didn’t think much about, until now.
Fiona felt another bolt of worry tear through her.
“Aye, Jason, worse stuff happens,” Prentice agreed.
“You should have said something,” Jason accused and Fiona was surprised at the heat behind his words.
He was defending Isabella. Fiona didn’t know what to feel about that but she had to admit the first thing it felt like she felt was pride.
Then again, Jason had always been a good lad.
“Jason –” Prentice started.
“You know she’s no’ a bad lass. You ate her pancakes.”
“Jace –” Prentice tried again.
“And she liked Mum,” Jason kept at it.
“Jason, it’s complicated,” Prentice finally got out.
“I don’t know what’s complicated about it. She’s nice and she painted Sally’s fingernails. And people like you. You’ve been living here all your life. They’d listen to you.”
Fiona watched as Prentice approached his son, reaching him and putting his hand on Jason’s tense shoulder.
“You’re right, I should have said something.”
“Next time, you hafta say something.”
Prentice nodded. “Aye, I will.”
Jason stared at him and Prentice held his stare. Then Jason nodded back and mumbled he was going to bed. Prentice went to his study and Fiona hovered with him until they heard Isabella come down the stairs. The minute he heard it, Prentice got up and walked into the great room, Fiona floating after him.
Isabella didn’t hesitate or look at him; she went straight toward the hall.
“Goodnight, Prentice,” she whispered, intent on (nearly) ignoring him.
Prentice had other ideas.
He took two long strides and his hand wrapped around her upper arm, halting her.
Fiona watched Isabella’s hands ball into fists and she bit her ghostly lip. She was beginning to hate it when Isabella did that.
Which was a lot.
Isabella’s head tilted back and she looked at Prentice. “Is there something you want?”
“Aye,” Prentice answered. “I want to know if Sally’s asleep.”
Isabella nodded. “PJs on, I even got her to brush her teeth before getting into bed. I didn’t get halfway through the book before she was out.”
Prentice didn’t move nor did he take his hand from Isabella’s arm. She shrugged her shoulder, bringing his attention to his hand. He still didn’t remove it.
“Prentice, I’m tired,” she said and she sounded tired.
She sounded shattered.
“Today –” Prentice started.
“No!” Isabella’s tone was sharp and it so surprised Prentice (and Fiona) that they both jerked (even Fiona).
Isabella twisted her arm but Prentice didn’t let her go.
“Isabella –” Prentice began again.
She stopped twisting her arm and glared at him. “Let me go.”
“I’ll have a word with –”
Isabella turned to face him, her expression grew cold and her brows went up. “What word will you have, Prentice? And with who? And why? In four days I’m gone.”
“But you still have four days.”
She laughed, it was an ugly sound.
Fiona felt something pierce her non-existent heart and she saw Prentice’s body go completely still.
“Trust me, Prentice, in my life? Four days of this is nothing. Four days is a walk in the park.”
Fiona saw Prentice’s hand tighten just as his brows drew together.
“Maybe I’ll take that offer you made a few days ago and you can explain,” Prentice said quietly.
She twisted her arm and she did it viciously, winning freedom from Prentice’s hand.
But she didn’t move away.
“Too late,” Isabella replied, her voice back to soft. “In four days, I’ll be gone and you’ll forget about me.” She threw out her arm, a movement that signified the villagers. “They’ll forget about me.” She pointed up the stairs and her voice changed, it grew rough as if coated with unshed tears. “And they’ll forget about me.”
Prentice got closer, Isabella stepped back.
When Prentice spoke again, his voice had grown soft and rough with emotion too.
“You’re not easy to forget.”
Isabella’s head tilted to the side as if genuinely perplexed.
“Really?” she asked quietly. “You could have fooled me.”
With that successful parting shot, she turned on her booted foot and walked away.
Prentice watched her go. Then he watched the empty hall. Then, as Fiona knew he’d do, he went to the study, got himself a whisky and went to the upstairs balcony to study the sea.
After some time, he went back to his study, refilled the glass and resumed his position on the balcony.
He left that glass on the railing beside the other one.
Chapter Six
Knight in Shining Armor
Isabella
Isabella sat in the car beside Mikey as he drove them back to Prentice’s house after they’d had the formal tea with Annie’s bridal party, select close, female friends and Mikey, Robert and Richard.
Today had not been as bad as yesterday mainly because there were very few villagers there (especially Hattie Fennick, who Isabella always thought kind of disliked her but then again, Hattie seemed to kind of dislike everyone) and Clarissa, Annie’s Mom, had finally arrived and she was another one of the few people on the planet who liked Isabella.
Also making the day not so bad was the fact that Isabella only saw Prentice for a very brief period of time.
She’d woken early, done the ironing, had the coffee brewed and was pouring herself a second cup by the time Prentice came downstairs wearing, by the by, a shirt that was very handsome on him but really needed to be ironed.
His beautiful eyes never left her as he moved directly to the coffeepot, saying, “Morning, Isabella.”
“I’m making the children breakfast,” she blurted in reply, rather impolitely and her voice didn’t sound soft and foggy like it did when she was on the anti-depressants but almost, to her own ears, defiant.
His attention turned away from the cupboard from which he was pulling a mug to her and his brows were up.
Then his face changed, she didn’t know how but it did.
“You are?” he asked quietly.
She instantly had second thoughts about defying Prentice Cameron. If yesterday was anything to go by, he could be moody and if the days before were anything to go by, he could be mean.
She didn’t reply, just held his stare.
Then he queried, “What are you making us?”
He said “us”. That word out of his mouth gave her a shiver up her spine.
Earlier, while she was ironing and psyching herself up to approach him about breakfast, she hadn’t thought forward to what she was actually going to make, just that she was going to demand the right to make it.