Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(20)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Fiona

You can say that again, Fiona’s silent words were lost on her husband.

She floated with him as he finished his drink, his beautiful eyes never leaving the sea.

He’d found that piece of land for them, paid a fortune for it and carved a house out of a cleft in the cliff.

Fiona hadn’t wanted to be out of the village even though it was only a ten minute drive away. But Prentice wanted privacy and space for his family.

And he needed the sea.

So she had no choice, really.

He put the glass on the railing which irritated her.

He always did that when he was out on the balcony brooding which wasn’t often but it happened.

Prentice could be moody, mostly about work stuff and lately about having a dead wife stuff.

She’d find his whisky glasses, sometimes days or even weeks later and they’d be filled with rainwater and mucky. It was ridiculous. Why couldn’t the man carry his glass inside?

He walked into the room, pulled off his sweatshirt and got into bed.

She knew the minute he fell asleep which was a long time after he lay down.

Then she hovered by his alarm clock poking the “off” button again and again, her finger going through each time.

It was late. He’d had the episode with Jason, he’d found his daughter had not gone to his bed for safe haven but she’d been cuddled with his ex and he’d brooded and brooding had to take a lot out of him since he did it so damned well.

The kids were out of school the next day so they could attend Annie and Dougal’s picnic, he didn’t have to get up early.

And he needed his sleep.

Fiona poked and poked and poked and then, when she lost her temper and gave it one final poke, the button depressed, the light indicating that the alarm was on went out and Fiona smiled a gleeful, triumphant smile.

Then she laughed a gleeful, triumphant (but silent) laugh.

Then she laid a ghostly kiss on her husband’s cheek which caused him to turn with agitation in bed which was what he always did which was so very not what he’d do when she’d kissed him while he was sleeping when she was alive, so she wondered why she did it while she was dead.

Then she went to her son’s room and hovered beside him while he slept.

Chapter Five

The Picnic

Prentice

Prentice opened his eyes to see the late September sun shining through the windows that made up one wall of his bedroom.

He stared through the windows.

Then his eyes cut to the alarm clock.

He leaned toward the clock; saw the alarm which was never turned off had, somehow, been turned off.

He’d slept in.

“Shit,” he muttered, throwing back the covers and knifing out of bed.

He needed to get the children up, fed, showered, dressed and he needed to get some work done before the picnic.

Not to mention he needed to do laundry or the children wouldn’t have any clothes to wear to the picnic.

He walked out the door to his rooms and stopped dead.

He heard Sally’s chatter then he heard Jason’s low mumble then he heard Isabella’s laughter, not wild and uninhibited but softer, more controlled and also clearly genuine.

He felt something settle in his gut at hearing those sounds in his home and that something, to his surprise, was not unpleasant.

Regardless, this annoyed him.

He strode to the stairs and surveyed the scene in the great room as he walked down.

Sally and Jason, both still in pajamas, were sitting at stools at the counter, their backs to him and they appeared to be eating.

Isabella was at the stove and, as Prentice made his way down the stairs, she turned, skillet in one hand, spatula in the other.

She caught his movement and did a little stutter step, stopped dead and stared up at him with her lips parted.

From the depths of his memory, he recalled that stutter step. She was grace personified but when she’d get surprised, become uncertain or was overwhelmed by her own enthusiasm, she could be clumsy.

Back then, Prentice found it adorable.

It was no less adorable now.

Fucking hell, he thought.

“Daddy!” Sally shouted, obviously following Isabella’s gaze. “Mrs. Evangahlala made us nanola pancakes!”

“Gra-nola,” Jason corrected, looking and sounding not surly and exhausted as he usually did the morning after an episode but instead rested and more like his normal self than he’d been in well over a year.

Sally looked at her brother and repeated, “Na-nola.”

“Gra-nola,” Jason reiterated.

“That’s what I said,” Sally retorted impatiently. “Na-nola.”

Jason’s gaze slid to Isabella and he muttered, “See? Mental.”

Isabella smiled a dazzling smile at Jason. A smile which, upon seeing it, Prentice also felt in his gut and that wasn’t unpleasant either which further annoyed him. Then she slid what appeared to be an enormous, perfect, golden pancake out of the skillet and onto Jason’s plate.

Prentice stopped at the side of the counter and studied the pancake. Jason was wasting no time buttering and pouring golden syrup on it. And Prentice was right, the pancake looked perfect.

Prentice turned his study to Isabella.

Her hair was up in another messy knot but one long, thick tendril had fallen out of the knot and was curling along her neck, down past her collarbone to rest against the skin of her chest.

She was wearing a satin dressing gown much the same color as the track pants she wore yesterday. It was cut in a man’s style but came down only to the tops of her thighs. It was tied at the waist but the front had come open, wide and gaping, to expose a black lace nightie.

The nightie fit her like a glove, with lace scallops tantalizingly edging the swells of her br**sts. Her cle**age itself, although there wasn’t much exposed, was even more tantalizing.

He couldn’t see the hem of the nightie under the dressing gown which meant it had to be shorter than the gown.

A mental picture formed of what Isabella’s nightie looked like without the dressing gown and his body had another physical reaction, not in his gut, it was elsewhere and it, too, was far from unpleasant.

And it was intense.

“I want another one!” Sally shouted, luckily erasing Prentice’s mental picture of Isabella in a short, tight, black lace nightie.

“You’ve already had two, sweetheart,” Isabella responded.

Sally grinned. “I know but they’re yummy and I want another one.”

“Why don’t you let Mrs. Evangelista have one,” Jason emphasized the proper pronunciation of Isabella’s name and then went on, “And, maybe Dad might want one too.”