“How do you know about my mother?” she asked quietly.
Bloody, f**king hell.
“Elle, baby, let me handle this,” he coaxed. “Go back to bed.”
“How did you know?”
Christ.
“Elle –”
“Was it Annie?” she enquired and Prentice felt his jaw grow tight, Elle saw it, her eyes widened as she somehow immediately jumped to the right conclusion and she whispered, “You read my journals.”
“Elle –”
She threw her hand out. “That’s what all of this is.” She looked away and he saw her lips tremble before she said softly, “I knew it.”
“Elle,” Prentice walked toward her, stopping close and putting a hand to her neck, “we’ll talk in a minute. Go back to bed.”
Her eyes came to his and they were shining with unshed tears. “You read my journals and feel sorry for me.”
Prentice glared at her.
Better to do that then turn to Carver Austin and strangle him in front of his daughter. She might not like her father but Prentice figured she’d frown on that.
“No,” she went on before Prentice could form a reply, “you feel guilty and you feel sorry for me.”
“Don’t be daft,” Prentice said softly.
“I’m not being daft!” she all of a sudden snapped.
Prentice was surprised at her quick, sharp defense.
Then he was pleased.
Because this wasn’t Isabella who meekly gave in. The woman standing in front of him with tousled hair, wearing silk was his Elle who never gave in.
She’d handed him his opening so he went with it.
“You are Elle, what you’re saying is absurd.”
“It is not.”
“Right, so, instead of wanting you in my life, in my home, in my children’s lives because you’re f**king gorgeous, you bake exquisite chocolate cake for my daughter, you make my son laugh and you get wet the minute I f**king kiss you is not why we’re together, it’s because I read your journals and I feel sorry for you. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes!” she flashed.
“And that’s not absurd?” he returned.
“You don’t know your own mind,” she retorted. “You’re blinded by guilt.”
Prentice burst out laughing.
Through his laughter, he saw her scowling at him and she snapped, “This isn’t funny!”
His hand at her neck pulled her to his body as he talked through his dying laughter, “It’s hilarious, baby.”
“It. Is. Not.”