“Let me see,” he murmured coaxingly.
Panic stricken, she jerked her wrist and he lost hold. When he did, his eyes snapped to hers.
“I said, it’s nothing,” she whispered.
Prentice stared at her.
Isabella took a step back, holding her wrist where his hand was, feeling his warm strength still there. Memorizing it, she pressed her hand against her chest.
His eyes dropped to her hand. Then they went back to hers.
And they were cold. So cold, she shivered.
“Secrets,” he said softly, his voice awful. “Which is the same as lies. Secrets and f**king lies.”
She held his gaze, it cost her but she held it and didn’t breathe a word.
After long moments, Prentice looked to the floor and shook his head.
Then he turned away and asked, “Turn the lights out, will you?”
Then he walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight.
Chapter Seven
Elle
Prentice
Prentice stood on the terrace of the pub, whisky in hand, eyes on the sea.
Two days it had been since he’d discovered Isabella had not abandoned her best friend in her hour of need but, against the odds (and Annie could be stubborn so Prentice knew the odds were most assuredly against Isabella), she nursed Annie back to her old self.
Two days it had been since he discovered she’d endured only the beginning but most definitely not the end of a fairytale.
And two days since he’d discovered that, at eight years old, she’d found her dead mother in a pool of her own blood.
His hand tightened on the glass as his jaw tensed.
He hadn’t handled that last very well. In fact, he’d been a complete, selfish jackass.
It had been two days and those two days had not been uneventful.
To say the least.
The first morning after dinner with Mikey, Prentice had woken up to find his closet full of ironed shirts.
When he went downstairs, he found the coffeepot full.
Isabella was not there, however, and didn’t make an appearance until the children came downstairs.
Then she arrived wearing jeans and a thin, mostly see-through, skintight, scoop-necked, cream t-shirt with a camisole under it. Her feet were bare but her wild, tangle of hair had been sleeked and pulled into sophisticated ponytail at the back of her head and she’d made up her face.
She also had a band of white gauze wrapped around her hand.
She’d arrived to make breakfast, chat with the children and ignore Prentice.
Sally was unaware of the drama the night before though she was highly curious as to the white gauze which Isabella airily informed his daughter was “nothing”.