“Well done, Isabella. Ready-made family. You claimed your fisherman and now you can finally play house like you’ve always wanted.”
The cruelty of his words sent Fiona reeling back several inches.
Was this man actually Bella’s father?
Prentice had a different reaction.
Again in a growl, this one as frightening as it was threatening, he demanded, “Fergus, I swear to Christ, get him the f**k out of here.”
It was Dougal that strode forward stating, “You’re done, mate.”
Carver glared at him. “Don’t lay a hand on me.”
“Allow me to lay a hand on you,” Mikey said from behind Carver then he bunched Carver’s suit jacket in his fist, turned and hustled the older man inelegantly out the door.
Fergus and Dougal’s father, Hamish, followed.
Bella and Fiona’s family stood still on the dance floor, the eyes of everyone in the room were on them.
Bella moved first. Pulling free of Prentice’s arm and gently disengaging from Sally and Jason only long enough to crouch down, she brought Sally in close with her arm and, with her other hand, she cupped Jason’s jaw and looked in his face.
“Are you okay, Jason?” she asked softly.
“Is that your Dad?” Jason asked in reply.
Tears threatening to roll down her cheeks, Bella didn’t answer. She just nodded.
“He’s a wanker,” Jason announced.
Fiona thought her son was not wrong.
Bella gave him a trembling smile.
Then she stood, letting go of the children, face pale, tears now rolling silently down her cheeks, she took in the assemblage gazing at her with varying degrees of sadness and compassion.
Her eyes caught on Annie.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh Bella,” Annie whispered back and started to walk toward her but Bella’s hand shot up.
“No,” she said, taking in a breath. “It’s me. That dark cloud follows me. I shouldn’t have come.”
Fiona’s heart squeezed.
Bella wrote a lot about her “dark cloud” in her journals.
A lot, a lot.
“Bella,” Annie breathed, obviously knowing about the dark cloud.
But Bella looked away.
She laid a hand on Jason’s head, sliding it down to rest on his cheek, she allowed herself that minute touch and then her hand dropped away.
She turned to Sally, cupping Fiona’s daughter’s cheek in her trembling hand, her fingers curled and she stroked that cheek with her knuckles before she turned to Prentice.
“Elle,” he murmured, his hand moving to her waist but she scurried away.