And he put her out of his mind while he called for takeaway.
To Sally’s dismay and Prentice’s relief, Isabella didn’t join them for dinner.
* * * * *
Fiona
Fiona knew she should not hang out in the guest suite but she did mainly because she’d been there when Prentice had told Isabella off and since she couldn’t verbally crow, she wanted to ethereally crow.
She shouldn’t have.
If she hadn’t, she would have missed what Isabella Austin Evangelista did.
See, Prentice brought up her bags and she thanked him graciously while he completely ignored her (this had made Fiona smile).
Then Isabella had taken off her suit jacket and Fiona had been supremely happy she hadn’t done it in front of Prentice for the shirt underneath might have had a high neck but it also had no sleeves and it was sexy as all hell.
Then she made the bed and carefully unpacked as if all her precious belongings should be placed in a high security vault, not the lowly (but beautiful) guest suite that Prentice had designed for their home.
She’d placed four leather bound volumes next to the bed, arranging them amongst her plethora of expensive night creams and eye creams and even (Fiona narrowed her eyes to get a look at the tiny, squirty bottle) aromatherapy (for God’s sake, aromatherapy?).
She’d showered which Fiona absented herself for and spent some time with her wee ones.
By the time she came back, Isabella had changed into a nightgown that Fiona was really, really, really glad Prentice didn’t see because he wasn’t just an ass man he was very visual and he liked sexy underwear and sexy nighties and that was the sexiest one Fiona had ever seen.
She was writing in her journal but closed it after carefully putting a velvet ribbon in the page and setting it just so on top of the others.
Then she went to the luggage she’d stored tidily in the wardrobe.
She dragged out and opened the biggest bag and got down beside it. Sitting with her legs folded under her, she pulled out the lining and dug in the side, a secret compartment she’d obviously made herself.
Then she unveiled a silver double frame that was folded in on itself.
Fiona floated over her while she opened it then floated back several feet when she saw what was in it.
On one side was a photo of Isabella and Prentice together, he was swinging her up in his arms, she had her arms around his neck, her head thrown back, his head was tilted to look down at her and they were both laughing. On the other side was just a photo of Prentice, close up, much younger and, as ever, deliciously handsome.
He was looking at the camera in a way that was familiar to Fiona. It was because his face was soft and warm and infinitely loving.
It was then Isabella Austin Evangelista did the thing Fiona wished she’d never, never, never seen her do.
After touching Prentice’s face lovingly with just the tip of one finger, she opened the frames, slowly sliding out the photos. Then she tossed the frame back in the bag and replaced the bag in the wardrobe.
Then she walked to the bathroom.
Standing over the toilet, while Fiona stared in horror, she ripped up the photos and tossed them in.
But she wasn’t done.
Pulling a very thin, delicate, gold chain from her neck, it was freed from the bodice of her nightgown and Fiona saw it held a diamond engagement ring.
Tears falling completely silently down her beautiful face, Isabella Austin Evangelista tossed the engagement ring Prentice gave her twenty years ago in the toilet. A ring Fiona knew because of the photos, and the tears, had been hanging around her neck for every one of those twenty years.
Isabella stared in the toilet for what seemed like forever.
And Fiona stared at Isabella as the tears rolled down Isabella’s face, her neck, down her chest, wetting her gown.
So many tears.