Isabella didn’t hesitate or look at him; she went straight toward the hall.
“Goodnight, Prentice,” she whispered, intent on (nearly) ignoring him.
Prentice had other ideas.
He took two long strides and his hand wrapped around her upper arm, halting her.
Fiona watched Isabella’s hands ball into fists and she bit her ghostly lip. She was beginning to hate it when Isabella did that.
Which was a lot.
Isabella’s head tilted back and she looked at Prentice. “Is there something you want?”
“Aye,” Prentice answered. “I want to know if Sally’s asleep.”
Isabella nodded. “PJs on, I even got her to brush her teeth before getting into bed. I didn’t get halfway through the book before she was out.”
Prentice didn’t move nor did he take his hand from Isabella’s arm. She shrugged her shoulder, bringing his attention to his hand. He still didn’t remove it.
“Prentice, I’m tired,” she said and she sounded tired.
She sounded shattered.
“Today –” Prentice started.
“No!” Isabella’s tone was sharp and it so surprised Prentice (and Fiona) that they both jerked (even Fiona).
Isabella twisted her arm but Prentice didn’t let her go.
“Isabella –” Prentice began again.
She stopped twisting her arm and glared at him. “Let me go.”
“I’ll have a word with –”
Isabella turned to face him, her expression grew cold and her brows went up. “What word will you have, Prentice? And with who? And why? In four days I’m gone.”
“But you still have four days.”
She laughed, it was an ugly sound.
Fiona felt something pierce her non-existent heart and she saw Prentice’s body go completely still.
“Trust me, Prentice, in my life? Four days of this is nothing. Four days is a walk in the park.”
Fiona saw Prentice’s hand tighten just as his brows drew together.
“Maybe I’ll take that offer you made a few days ago and you can explain,” Prentice said quietly.
She twisted her arm and she did it viciously, winning freedom from Prentice’s hand.
But she didn’t move away.
“Too late,” Isabella replied, her voice back to soft. “In four days, I’ll be gone and you’ll forget about me.” She threw out her arm, a movement that signified the villagers. “They’ll forget about me.” She pointed up the stairs and her voice changed, it grew rough as if coated with unshed tears. “And they’ll forget about me.”
Prentice got closer, Isabella stepped back.
When Prentice spoke again, his voice had grown soft and rough with emotion too.