Kristen Ashley: Fairytale Come Alive

Being a coward, Isabella didn’t bring it up again.

However, two years ago, Annie had had to go back to Scotland. Fergus was ill and he needed his daughter.

Unsurprisingly, Annie had run into Dougal.

She’d had plastic surgeries (three of them) and the scarring had been significantly diminished (but there was still some minor disfigurement). She’d gained back the full use of her arm but, when she grew tired, her gait would weaken and she’d walk with a slight limp.

Miraculously, with a good deal of patience exhibited by Isabella, Mikey, Clarissa and Fergus, Annie had also regained her zest for life and her sense of humor (but, unfortunately, she’d kept her stubbornness).

Dougal, Annie reported to Isabella, was ravaged by the very sight of her and did anything he could to avoid her and did it spectacularly well, much to Annie’s dismay. Although she never said this, Isabella knew it to be true by the sheer amount of time Annie spent talking about it.

In the intervening years, Dougal had been married and divorced.

The divorce, Annie found out (much later), was because the woman he married hadn’t been Annie.

Within months, with Isabella’s subtle guidance during Annie’s many telephone calls which centered mostly on Dougal and the lack of times she’d run into him, which she found increasingly frustrating since she was spending any time away from her father in the attempt to run into Dougal but telling herself she was doing errands or the like, Annie had decided to win him back.

This was an effort doomed to fail.

Dougal, evidently, could be stubborn too.

Heartbreak, it was Isabella’s vast experience, did that to you.

Fortunately for Annie (distressingly for Isabella, though she never said a word, and Annie did her best to be gentle whenever she mentioned it), Annie recruited Prentice and his wife, Fiona.

Four years after Isabella left, Prentice had married Fiona Sawyer.

Isabella knew Fiona and she liked her a great deal. Fiona was pretty and lively and very, very funny. They’d been friends and Fiona often spent time with Annie and Isabella or, with Fiona’s boyfriend Scott, they’d be a threesome going to movies or the pub or to the beach to build a fire and sit in the sand and snog.

Scott and Fiona, obviously, had broken up.

Prentice and Fiona had two children, Jason and Sally and, according to Annie, Fiona had not lost any of her spirited liveliness.

Isabella was glad to hear that, as much as it killed her. Prentice deserved that.

Prentice deserved everything.

With Prentice and Fiona in the mix, Dougal didn’t stand a chance.

And the Scottish romantic fairytale came alive, which would, this week, end in happily ever after.

Unfortunately, Prentice and Fiona’s romantic fairytale was not to be that long-lasting. After Fiona complained of headaches she’d been diagnosed with a brain tumor and, shockingly to everyone (most especially Prentice, for obvious reasons) she’d been dead within months.

That was a year, one month, three weeks and four days ago.

Fiona didn’t live to see her two friends blissfully wed in a week’s worth of festivities to celebrate the happy ending it took twenty years to come about.

And Prentice was a widower with two motherless children facing a week’s worth of festivities as best man to his best friend whilst the girlfriend who’d heartlessly jilted him was maid of honor.

No, Isabella thought, this was not fun and exciting.

This was agony.

She came out of her upsetting thoughts and realized they were approaching Fergus’s stately manor house.

The last time she’d come from America and approached this house, she’d not been in a limousine. She’d been in the backseat of Fergus’s Jaguar and she’d been jumping around more than Mikey.

Dougal’s beat up old truck was in the drive.

So was Prentice’s beat up old Harley.

Dougal was sitting on a step.

Prentice was standing at the top, arms crossed on his wide chest, his beautiful eyes on the Jag.

Sometimes, when Isabella was feeling maudlin, she’d take out the photo frame she carried everywhere with her, she’d study Prentice’s picture and she’d try to determine the color of his eyes.

When she’d been with him, she’d done it up close.

She could, she thought then (and now) do it for hours.

They were neither green, nor gray, nor brown, nor blue.

They were all of them in an equal mixture.

They were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen in her life, before, or since.

Fergus had barely stopped the car when Annie was out the door, flying toward Dougal, who’d stood and was walking with long-legged strides toward her, a huge smile on his handsome face.

Isabella would have done the same but, such was her excitement, her fingers were all thumbs and she was having trouble getting her seatbelt unfastened.

At home in Chicago with her father, she was unfailingly sedate, quiet and unassuming, as her father liked her to be.

With Annie in Scotland and at university (where they’d met), she was anything but sedate, quiet and unassuming.

And, with Prentice, she could be anything she wanted to be.

Which meant, with Prentice, she could be free.

Something she’d never been in her whole life.

Prentice had not walked with long-legged strides to her when she’d finally exited the car. His eyes didn’t leave her but he didn’t smile.

Isabella felt a moment of uncertainty, even though he’d never given her any indication in the months they’d been separated that their summer romance of the year before had cooled.

She felt her step stutter as she walked toward him. He noticed it, his gaze dropping to her feet.

Then he shook his head and grinned.

That was all she needed.

She flew at him so fast he got only one step toward her before she collided with him. His foot went back to brace their bodies, his arms came around her, fierce and tight, and his mouth crushed down on hers.

“Oh for goodness sake, don’t they have boys in America?” Fergus interrupted the Snog Fest, his voice filled with amusement.

“Not like they do here, Dad,” Annie retorted, her voice happy and teasing.

Isabella didn’t reply, she was too busy looking in Prentice’s eyes and counting the colors.

“Missed you, baby,” he’d whispered and her eyes closed.

She loved it when he called her “baby”.

Isabella pressed deeper into him and opened her eyes.

“Not as much as I missed you.”

An extraordinary warmth came to his face as he gazed down on her, he grinned again and shook his head.

He had no idea every word she said was utterly true. She was the living dead when he was not with her. His presence, his touch, his kiss, brought her to life.

Like Sleeping Beauty.

Another fairytale come alive.

Or so she thought.

Now, Isabella watched the house get closer and she reckoned she was most likely not going to get the same greeting.

Annie had been home to Chicago three times in the last two years, two of those times she’d been back together with Dougal and, one of them, Dougal came with her.

Isabella did not see Dougal.

Although Annie made excuses, Isabella knew Dougal had no interest in seeing Isabella.

In fact, Fergus had cooled toward her after what she did to Prentice and when she didn’t come back after Annie’s accident. He’d cooled substantially.

It wasn’t until years later, after Fergus had come to Chicago and he and Annie had dinner with Isabella and her father and Isabella had run into some colleagues from work that Fergus’s warmth toward Isabella had come back.

Regardless of the outcome of the evening, Isabella found it supremely humiliating the way her father had behaved.