Isabella decided to ignore it all and wait for Jason to finish his second helping.
“Do you want me to warm that up?” she asked Jason with a polite nod of her head to his plate.
Jason took the hint and started eating.
Mikey chuckled.
Prentice took a sip from his wine without taking his eyes off Isabella.
Sally asked, “Do we have to wait for Jace to finish to make the custard?”
“Yes,” Isabella replied at the exact same time Prentice answered, “Aye.”
At that, Mikey, for some barking mad reason, burst out laughing.
* * * * *
It took two and a half books to get Sally to sleep that night likely because she was wound up over dinner and guests and tales of knights in shining armor who had not yet arrived.
After tucking her in tightly and turning out the light, Isabella hustled out of her room.
Mikey had been downstairs alone with Prentice for two and a half books. No telling what antics he’d get up to.
She quickly walked down the dark hall and was closing on the stairs when she heard the end of something Prentice was saying.
“…Jason and Sally.”
To which Mikey immediately replied, “Of course she would. She lost her mother when she was eight. It isn’t the same, considering her mother slit her wrists, but she still lost her.”
Isabella’s body rocked to a halt and she stood, statue-still, out of sight at the top of the stairs.
She’d never told Prentice about how her mother had died. She wanted to, she’d even rehearsed what to say but she never found the right time.
And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want him to think bad things about her mother or her and what her mother’s act might make him think about Isabella.
There were bad vibes rolling up the stairs and pounding against Isabella but her mind was blank with panic and her body was numb with fear.
“I’m sorry?” Prentice asked softly.
“You didn’t know?” Mikey replied, then after a long, pregnant moment, he muttered, “Oh my God, you didn’t know.”
There was more silence, more bad vibes rolling and Isabella didn’t move a muscle.
Then Mikey decided he hadn’t yet finished sharing. “She found her, Prentice. Eight years old and Bella found her mother in a bathtub filled with blood.”
Isabella’s mind shut out the rest of the words and she took a step back then another one, automatically seeking retreat.
She ran into something.
She whirled and stared at Jason who was standing behind her in the dark but she could see his face was white as a sheet.
He’d heard.
“Jason,” she whispered, horror saturating her.
“Your Mum died when you were eight?” Jason whispered back.
“Jason,” Isabella repeated, her mind unfocused, unable to think of anything else to say.