Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(70)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She ran back, yanked off the towel and dragged a comb through her hair.

Then she started to run from the room again.

Then she ran back and pumped smoothing elixir into her hand, rubbed it through her hair and ran the comb back through.

Then she started to run from the room yet again.

Then she ran back, put on deodorant and spritzed on perfume and she began to run from the room.

Then, knowing she should ignore it (but she couldn’t ignore it), she ran back, folded the towel on the rack, made the bed and grabbed her clothes that were strewn around the room during the sexual festivities last night.

She noted that Prentice’s clothes were amongst hers and she grabbed those too thinking of him walking through the house in nothing but a towel, which caused her skin to start tingling.

Gathering their mingled clothes in itself was an act that caused her tingling skin to start to get warm as the memories of last night invaded.

With resolve, she ignored the tingling, the warmth and the memories.

Then she ran to the kitchen, stopping at the mudroom to toss their dirty clothes into the pile of unwashed laundry.

She’d flipped the switch on the coffeemaker when she heard Prentice calling her name.

She turned and looked to the top of the stairs.

He stood there barefoot, in jeans, his wet hair slicked back, his shirt unbuttoned all the way down, exposing his chest and stomach.

Her resolve to ignore the tingling and warmth slipped a hefty notch.

When she finally tore her gaze from his flat stomach and caught his eye, he bizarrely asked in an exasperated tone, “A little help up here?”

Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

She stared at the place where she last saw him, slightly concerned about the frustration in his tone. Mostly her mind was busy deliberating on the fact that Prentice had asked for her to help him with something upstairs.

Upstairs, she had made beds, gathered clothes, vacuumed, tidied and put Sally to bed.

But in the mornings she made coffee and breakfast in the kitchen, never part of the family pandemonium upstairs that usually centered (from what she heard), one way or another, around Sally.

Upstairs was their space. Cameron family space. And, even making beds or reading to Sally, somehow, Isabella always felt like she was intruding.

But now, Prentice seemed to be inviting her upstairs, asking for “a little help”.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she ran up the stairs.

She found Prentice in Sally’s room, his shirt buttoned but not tucked in, his hands on his hips, his exasperated gaze on Sally.

Sally was dressed in the fancy, frilly flower girl dress she wore to Annie’s wedding. The dress was on backward, its skirt askew mainly because part of it was tucked into her little girl pants.

She was glowering at her father, clearly digging her heels in about something and it didn’t take an experienced parent to know it was the dress.

“Sally, I’m no’ going to say it again, take off the dress,” Prentice demanded, his voice firm, his patience obviously spent.

“I want to be a princess today!” Sally returned, unwisely defiant in the face of her father’s escalating frustration, she went on to cry in equal frustration, “And this is my only princess dress!”

“Princess.” Isabella heard mumbled from beside her and she saw that Jason had joined them, dressed in his school uniform. His eyes were on his sister and he was shaking his head with disbelief. “Mental,” he finished.

“Jace, your contribution isn’t needed,” Prentice said to his son, Jason gave Isabella a hilariously disgusted look (at which Isabella did not laugh, even though she wanted to) and wandered out of the room.

Prentice’s eyes cut back to his daughter and he said warningly, “Sally –”

“I wanna be a princess!” she shrieked, Prentice tensed and then he turned his gaze to Isabella, brows going up.

She stared at him.

He expected her to do something.

Her.

Isabella.

She had no idea what to do!

She looked at Sally.

Sally was still scowling stubbornly at her father.

Then it came to her.

“Hmm,” Isabella murmured, putting her forefinger to her lips as her eyes travelled Sally and Sally’s gaze went to her. Isabella continued, “Of course, Cinderella ended up a princess but she didn’t get that by demanding to wear her best dress during the day. In fact, that was something her evil stepsisters would do, seeing as they were spoilt rotten. The evil stepsisters likely wore their best princess party dresses everyday while Cinderella wore her normal clothes. That’s probably why the fairy godmother came to visit Cinderella, because she needed to have a special occasion to wear her best princess party dress.”

Sally’s scowl had disappeared and she was watching Isabella in childlike horror at the very thought that she might be more of an evil stepsister than Cinderella.

Isabella felt Prentice’s eyes on her but she didn’t spare him a glance.

“So, I suppose, if you don’t wait for a special occasion to wear your best princess party dress then, when you need her, your fairy godmother will never come to visit.” Isabella shrugged with indifference then finished, “Oh well.”

She turned to Prentice and saw he was watching her, biting back a smile. She didn’t react to this; she just started to leave the room.

“I want a visit from my fairy godmother!” Sally cried, her voice desperate.

Isabella immediately switched directions, walked up to Sally and guided her to her wardrobe while muttering, “Then let’s get you some normal clothes, sweetheart.”

She was tugging Sally’s flower girl dress over her head when she felt her wet hair swept over one shoulder and then she felt Prentice’s hand at her waist at the same time she felt his lips at the nape of her neck.

She shivered, felt his presence depart and, by the time she whirled, Sally free of the dress, all she saw was his back as he strode from the room.

When she and Sally descended the stairs, Prentice was sipping coffee in the kitchen, his shirt now tucked in and boots on his feet and Jason was making toast.

“Do we have to have porridge again today?” Sally asked, skipping to a stool.

Isabella entered the kitchen and started to get busy as she said, “No, honey, I’ll make you some eggs.”

“I don’t want eggs. I want you to make some of your cookies,” Sally replied, clearly determined never to give up on the idea that, one day, someone would relent and she’d get sweets for breakfast rather than just breakfast.