Fairytale Come Alive (45 page)

Then Fiona stared as he picked up and opened the journal that sat on the top of the stack and he read.

He’d heard her.

Hallelujah! He’d heard her!

Fiona saw that he was reading the latest journal, the one Bella just started.

She got close to him and advised,
That’s not a good one to read, try one of the other ones.

He obviously wasn’t hearing her now because she saw his lips curve into a smile as he read what she wrote about the children.

Seriously, Prentice, try one of the other –

Fiona stopped when she saw the smile fade from his face when he read what Bella wrote that day.

Then he flipped the book shut and grabbed the next one.

He started at the back.

Fiona looked over his shoulder.

Then her ghostly body braced.

He’d flipped right to the page where Bella wrote about disposing of the pictures and his ring after carrying them with her for twenty years. Disposing of them because she thought he hated her. Disposing of them because he’d been cruel.

Disposing of them because she needed, for her own sake, to let him go, no matter how much it hurt her.

Fiona watched his face grow pale and his body get tight.

Then she watched him flip the book shut in his hand and he stared unseeing at the bed for long moments. Then he turned and sat on its side, putting his elbows to his knees, he bent forward and placed his hands to the back of his head, even the one with the book.

He looked between his knees and clipped, “
Fuck!
”

Fiona got close and soothed,
You didn’t know, even I didn’t know. How could you know?

He sat back and opened the journal again.

Randomly selecting pages, he read. Sometimes, just the page. Sometimes, he’d read for pages and pages.

He did this through all four journals.

Finally, he stood, his face set, jaw tight, a muscle jerking in his cheek.

Fiona knew how he felt.

She wished she could hug him but, unfortunately, she couldn’t.

He set the journal aside, turned out the light and started to walk away.

Fiona held back, worrying her ghostly lip, waiting for him to leave so she could rearrange Bella’s journals like she liked them (Prentice had totally messed them up).

But he turned back, switched on the light and carefully arranged the journals, chronologically and stacked precisely.

Then he turned out the light again and retraced his steps to Bella.

As she crossed the threshold to her old bedroom, Fiona went back to the stream.

* * * * *

Prentice

Prentice wasn’t thinking.

Couldn’t think.

Wouldn’t allow himself to.

He put a knee to the bed and pulled the covers down Elle’s body.

Then he joined her in bed and turned her to him.

Then he put his mouth to her neck and his hands went to her panties.

“Pren?” she whispered drowsily, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest.

He pulled down her panties.

His mouth left her neck so he could yank them down her legs, over her feet and toss them away.

“Pren.” Her voice was less sleepy, her hands more firm on him when he rolled into her.

He kissed her as he forced his hips between her legs.

At his kiss, she opened her legs and her arms wrapped around his back.

His mouth trailed down her cheek to her ear and he tasted the sweetness of her.

She sifted her fingers in his hair, lifted her head, now whispering in his ear, she repeated, “Pren.”

His hands went up her shirt and he found her breasts.

His mouth found hers.

“I’ll no’ let you go,” he vowed, his voice so rough, it was hoarse.

His thumbs slid over her nipples.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Never. I’ll never let you go.”

Her hand cupped the back of his head, the other trailing down his side, between their bodies, down his stomach.

“Okay,” she repeated.

She pushed into his sweats and found him.

He groaned into her mouth.

Then he fucked her in a way that she could make no mistake he was claiming her as his. It was like their first time, hard, quick, out-of-control and pure magic.

Elle, being Elle, after it was over, and their breath had slowed, mistook him.

She tried to exit the bed.

He caught her and pulled her back into his body.

“Where are you going?” he growled into the back of her head.

“I need to go to my bed. The children –”

His arm got tight and she stopped breathing. He even heard her breath going out of her lungs in a whoosh.

He didn’t care.

He was not letting her go.

“You sleep here, with me.”

She made a noise he couldn’t decipher.

He didn’t try.

Wishing to be certain she was clear and made no
further
mistake, he repeated, “From now on, you sleep here, with me. You sleep nowhere else, no’ in this house. If you sleep somewhere else but this house, I’ll be there too and you’ll
still
fucking sleep with me.”

She was silent, her body tense then she asked, “Has… um, has something happened?”

“Aye.”

She was silent again then she asked with a tinge of incredulity, “Erm… how can something happen? It’s the middle of the night.”

He didn’t answer; he just gave her a squeeze.

Elle, being Elle, didn’t let it go.

“What happened?”

“I’m not fucking around anymore, that’s what’s happened.”

“You… um,” she paused then carried on, “you just woke up and decided you’re not fucking around anymore?” This time there was more than a tinge of incredulity.

“Aye,” he lied.

“Fucking around about what?” she asked.

He decided not to answer.

When she spoke again, she was whispering, “Pren, are you okay?”

There it was again.

She asked like she cared, like she was worried, like she wanted to take care of him.

Like she took care of fucking everyone.

But herself.

He gave her a gentle squeeze this time.

“No,” he answered truthfully.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No,” he answered, again truthfully.

“Can I… is there something I can do?”

He was right.

She wanted to take care of him.

“Aye.”

“What?”

“You and Sally made chocolate chip cookies. They’re delicious but I prefer the oatmeal ones. You want to do something, make those for me tomorrow.”

Her body stilled then she breathed, “Are you serious?”

“Aye.”

She was silent.

Then she said, “You wake me up in the middle of the night. We… erm, you know. Then you get all intense and say something’s wrong but you won’t tell me what. And now you’re saying you want oatmeal cookies?”

He could see this would seem highly bizarre.

He didn’t care about that either.

“Aye.”

“Do you have a fever?”

Something relaxed inside him; he felt the fierce clutch of it let him go.

The warmth hit his gut and he smiled into her hair.

“I don’t have a fever, Elle.”

She pulled at his hold. “Maybe I should check.”

His hold again grew tight. “Just go to sleep.”

“Pren –”

“Sleep.”

“But –”

His hand curled on her breast, her body stilled then relaxed.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, his voice went low, soft and coaxing when he urged, “Sleep, baby.”

She didn’t answer.

She also didn’t sleep, not for some time.

Finally, he felt her body get heavy and he let out a relieved sigh.

Before she drifted away, she murmured sleepily, “If you’ve caught something, you’re quarantined to these rooms. I don’t want the children getting it.”

And there it was, yet again.

Elle taking care of somebody.

Since these somebodies were his children, Prentice smiled into her hair.

She fell asleep.

He listened to her breathing.

Against his will, the words she wrote in her journals slid into his mind.

His body pressed into hers.

Twenty years ago, Prentice walked out of a room.

A simple enough thing to do.

But in doing so, he’d left the woman he loved in hell.

He didn’t know it then.

But he knew it now, from what he’d learned through her and through Mikey.

He just didn’t
understand
it.

Until he read her journals.

Now he understood it.

And it killed him.

The Day Elle Austin Awoke

Fiona

The next day, Elle Austin awoke.

Fiona watched it.

And, when it happened, Fiona smiled.

* * * * *

Elle

Elle woke to the bed bouncing.

She had no time to think of the night before.

She had no time to think of one word of the life changing conversation she’d shared with Prentice.

She had no time to think even of the strange sense of disquiet she felt when Prentice led her from the balcony into his room, tenderly disrobed her, tugged one of his t-shirts over her head and put her to bed. It was a disquiet she couldn’t put her finger on but it felt like someone she cared about was in pain.

She had no time to think of any of this because Sally, who was on her knees at the foot of the bed, shouted, “Good morning!”

Prentice’s fingers unlaced from hers and they both got up on an elbow to look to the foot of the bed.

Then Prentice rolled to his back, his arm pushing under Elle as he did so, turning her so her front was to his side, his arm tight, fastening her there.

“Come here, baby,” Prentice murmured to his daughter, his voice deeper with residual sleep and Elle decided she liked his just woken up voice.

She liked it a lot.

Sally didn’t hesitate; she crawled up Prentice’s body.

Elle decided she liked that too, watching Sally crawl up her father’s long body.

She liked it a lot.

As Sally collapsed on Prentice’s chest, her eyes never left Elle and she announced, “Me and Jace have made you muffins!”

Fear shot through Elle at the very
thought
of Sally and Jason operating the oven.

“You what?” she whispered.

Prentice’s voice was a great deal more effective when he asked, low and vibrating, “I’m sorry?”

“We didn’t cook them.” They heard from across the room and all the inhabitants of the bed looked to the door.

Jason was standing there, his stance awkward, his expression showing, quite clearly, he didn’t know what to make of the goings-on in the bed.

Elle’s body went tight.

And when it did, so did Prentice’s arm.

“We just made them and put the batter in the tin. We thought Elle could cook them,” Jason gamely continued, still obviously uncomfortable.

It was then it hit her that Jason called her Elle. Not only then but he and Sally had been doing it for days. Even in front of Prentice, who never corrected them.

She felt something relax deep inside her, something that had been coiled tight for so long she didn’t know it
could
relax.

But it did.

“I’ll cook them,” Prentice offered, completely unaware of the momentous event that happened someplace deep inside Elle. “How’d you make them, Jace?”

Jason looked to the floor, shuffled his feet and mumbled, “One of Mum’s cookbooks.” He took in a deep breath and looked at the wall. “Mum never made them though.” His eyes skittered to the bed then to the opposite wall before he finished, “They’re blueberry. We used the leftovers.”

Elle’s heart went out to him and she wanted to say something, she just had no clue what to say.

Sally, on the other hand, never had any problem knowing what to say.

“Jace decided that we should make Elle breakfast to pay her back, since she’s always making us breakfast.” Sally grinned at her father. “We had
fun
.”