Sally, however, knew exactly what to do.
“I’m starving,” she cried, dancing into the great room, holding Isabella’s hand and dragging her along. “Daddy, make us toad in the hole,” she demanded.
“I want takeaway,” Jason muttered as he slouched through the room, threw the post on the kitchen counter then headed toward the open-backed stairway that led to the second floor.
“We had takeaway last night,” Sally whined, “and the night before.”
She wasn’t wrong.
It had been takeaway the night before that too.
Fiona had done the cooking and the shopping. Since she was no longer there and the only things Prentice could cook that didn’t taste crap were cheese on toast, beans on toast and toad in the hole, takeaway was a staple for the Cameron family.
“It’s takeaway, lass, I’ve got things to do,” Prentice murmured, hitting the kitchen that opened to the great room, separated by a long, wide, v-shaped counter with stools and on its other side, floor to cathedral ceiling windows that faced the sea.
He picked up the post.
“I’ll cook,” Isabella offered and Prentice’s head snapped up.
Earlier, he’d been incorrect. It was more hateful having Isabella in Fiona’s kitchen cooking than it was simply having Isabella in Fiona’s house. Or, more to the point, cooking better than Fiona in Fiona’s kitchen.
Fiona was a damn fine cook however, if memory served, Isabella was an excellent one. Her cooking was a delicious mixture of home-cooking and gourmet. When she’d been there twenty years ago, both summers, she did it often for him, his family, their friends and she’d cooked and served fabulous tasting meals like it was second nature.
Sally’s head tilted back excitedly to look at her new idol.
“You cook and wear high heels?” she asked as if this was an act akin to negotiating world peace with global socialized healthcare thrown in.
“We don’t have any food in the house,” Prentice cut in and Isabella’s eyes moved to him.
“I’ll go to the store.”
Sally jumped up and down. “Can I go to the store with Bel… I mean, Mrs. Evangahlala? Can I, can I, can I?”
“I said takeaway,” Prentice replied.
“Daddeeeeeee!” Sally whined.
“Takeaway,” Prentice repeated and Sally’s face fell.
Fucking, bloody, hell.
He gave in.
He couldn’t help it. He hated it when Sally’s face fell.
However, he needed time to adjust to the idea. He also needed time with Jason to see how his son was faring with movie star glamorous Isabella Evangelista in the house.
“Perhaps Mrs. Evangelista will cook for us tomorrow night,” he suggested.
Sally jumped up and down, clapping and whirling toward Isabella.
“Will you? Will you, will you, will you?”
Isabella smiled down at his daughter and said softly, “Of course, sweetheart.”
Sally stopped jumping and clapping and stared in bright-eyed, happy wonder at Isabella.
At the same time Prentice felt like someone had hit him in the gut with a sledgehammer.