After what occurred the night before, Jason, it appeared, had formed some kind of motherless-child bond with Isabella and decided to cast himself as her protector. He was watching her carefully as if she was made of fragile crystal and he was going to be there to catch her before she fell and shattered on the floor.
Isabella quickly realized this and just as quickly (and skillfully) teamed up with Sally, using his daughter’s constant good cheer and Isabella’s own charm to tease and joke with Jason until he was smiling and even laughing.
It was quite a feat but she mastered it effortlessly.
When the children disappeared to get their books, without a word, Isabella headed to the hall.
“Isabella,” he called, she stopped and turned polite eyes to him in enquiry.
He looked at her and realized they were, indeed, playing a game.
It was the game of life. His life and his children’s life.
And also Isabella’s.
Too much had passed, he’d moved on and so had she, neither, it seemed, to things that ended well.
But this game didn’t have to end ugly and his children needed every friend in their life they could get.
And Prentice thought Isabella would make a good one.
With a new strategy in mind, Prentice walked directly to her and got close.
She stiffened but didn’t retreat, simply tipped her head back and looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“We need to talk,” he told her.
“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, her tone cultured, controlled, remote.
“You’re wrong,” he returned.
Her face remained polite but expressionless. “Well then, there’s no time. You have to take the kids to school and I’m going to Annie’s and I won’t be home tonight. It’s her hen night tonight, it’ll go late and I’ll probably crash on the couch at Fergus’s.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow is the day before the wedding. I’ll be tied up all day helping Annie and tomorrow night is Dougal’s stag night.”
He got closer and her body went solid as a rock.
This he took as a good sign.
He dipped his face close to hers, willing for some flash of something to light in her eyes but he got nothing.
“You don’t have to explain the schedule to me, Isabella, I know it,” he said quietly.
“Then you know there’s no time to talk.”
“We’ll make time.”
She remained silent and remote.
He decided to change subjects and asked, “How’s your hand?”
Then it came.
Her eyes flashed and her gaze moved over his shoulder.
“It’s fine.”