Prentice leaned in at the waist and clipped, “Out.”
Carver crossed his arms on his chest and said condescendingly, “Cameron, let me do the math for you. That’s four million for you, four for your son, four for your daughter. Invest it wisely and those children will live a very happy life.”
“They already live a very happy life without four million dollars,” Prentice retorted.
Carver grinned. “All right, son, then it’ll be happier.”
No, Prentice could not f**king believe this f**king bloke.
“As happy as the life Elle has lived with her millions?” Prentice asked.
He scored his point; he saw it and it f**king thrilled him.
Carver recovered quickly and stated, “Isabella’s not well. She never has been, just like her mother.”
It was safe to say Prentice was no longer angry.
He was enraged.
However, letting anger loose was one thing.
Fury quite another.
Therefore, against his wishes but for Elle, he controlled it.
Only barely.
“Elle’s not well?” Prentice asked in a deceptively calm voice.
“Mentally,” Carver confirmed with a nod of his head. “You should know that, considering she’s spending time with your children.”
“You’re telling me Elle is mentally ill,” Prentice stated.
“Yes, son, just like her mother. If you haven’t noticed it, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Prentice replied and Carver’s eyes widened slightly before he hid his response.
“Then you should protect your children. She’s –”
Prentice cut him off. “I’ve noticed, regardless of her beauty and intelligence, she lacks confidence. I’ve noticed that despite her friendly manner and innate kindness which instills loyalty in those around her, she doesn’t trust others’ reactions to her. I’ve noticed she has dreadful nightmares that frighten her senseless even though she long since should have moved on from them. I’ve noticed she was unhappy, nearly pathologically so, because she’d lived under the thumb of an unfeeling bastard who cowed and humiliated her regularly and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was abusing her physically. Like her mother.” When Carver’s face got red, Prentice finished, “So, I don’t know for certain but I reckon what you say is correct, she’s just like her mother.”
“Are you implying –?”
Prentice leaned in again and interrupted harshly, “No, Carver, I’m no’ implying f**k all. I’m saying it straight out, you sadistic, condescending bastard.”
Carver leaned in as well. “How dare you?”
“I dare pretty f**king easily now that I know what you did to her, what you did to the mother she loved. Your reign of terror is over, old man. You’re done. Now get, the f**k, out.”
Carver’s eyes went to the door. “I’ll be speaking to Isabella.”
“No, you bloody well won’t,” Prentice shot back.
“Yes, he will,” Elle said from behind Prentice and he turned.
Elle was standing in the doorframe wearing a dove gray satin dressing gown over a matching satin nightie edged in intricate black lace that was visible at her chest through the drape of the dressing gown. Her hair was loose and tousled and her face was makeup free.
She looked glorious although her face was pale and her eyes were stunned and resting on him.