“They already live a very happy life without four million dollars,” Prentice retorted.
Carver grinned. “All right, son, then it’ll be happier.”
No, Prentice could not f**king believe this f**king bloke.
“As happy as the life Elle has lived with her millions?” Prentice asked.
He scored his point; he saw it and it f**king thrilled him.
Carver recovered quickly and stated, “Isabella’s not well. She never has been, just like her mother.”
It was safe to say Prentice was no longer angry.
He was enraged.
However, letting anger loose was one thing.
Fury quite another.
Therefore, against his wishes but for Elle, he controlled it.
Only barely.
“Elle’s not well?” Prentice asked in a deceptively calm voice.
“Mentally,” Carver confirmed with a nod of his head. “You should know that, considering she’s spending time with your children.”
“You’re telling me Elle is mentally ill,” Prentice stated.
“Yes, son, just like her mother. If you haven’t noticed it, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Prentice replied and Carver’s eyes widened slightly before he hid his response.
“Then you should protect your children. She’s –”
Prentice cut him off. “I’ve noticed, regardless of her beauty and intelligence, she lacks confidence. I’ve noticed that despite her friendly manner and innate kindness which instills loyalty in those around her, she doesn’t trust others’ reactions to her. I’ve noticed she has dreadful nightmares that frighten her senseless even though she long since should have moved on from them. I’ve noticed she was unhappy, nearly pathologically so, because she’d lived under the thumb of an unfeeling bastard who cowed and humiliated her regularly and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was abusing her physically. Like her mother.” When Carver’s face got red, Prentice finished, “So, I don’t know for certain but I reckon what you say is correct, she’s just like her mother.”
“Are you implying –?”
Prentice leaned in again and interrupted harshly, “No, Carver, I’m no’ implying f**k all. I’m saying it straight out, you sadistic, condescending bastard.”
Carver leaned in as well. “How dare you?”
“I dare pretty f**king easily now that I know what you did to her, what you did to the mother she loved. Your reign of terror is over, old man. You’re done. Now get, the f**k, out.”
Carver’s eyes went to the door. “I’ll be speaking to Isabella.”
“No, you bloody well won’t,” Prentice shot back.
“Yes, he will,” Elle said from behind Prentice and he turned.
Elle was standing in the doorframe wearing a dove gray satin dressing gown over a matching satin nightie edged in intricate black lace that was visible at her chest through the drape of the dressing gown. Her hair was loose and tousled and her face was makeup free.
She looked glorious although her face was pale and her eyes were stunned and resting on him.
“How do you know about my mother?” she asked quietly.
Bloody, f**king hell.
“Elle, baby, let me handle this,” he coaxed. “Go back to bed.”
“How did you know?”
Christ.
“Elle –”
“Was it Annie?” she enquired and Prentice felt his jaw grow tight, Elle saw it, her eyes widened as she somehow immediately jumped to the right conclusion and she whispered, “You read my journals.”
“Elle –”
She threw her hand out. “That’s what all of this is.” She looked away and he saw her lips tremble before she said softly, “I knew it.”
“Elle,” Prentice walked toward her, stopping close and putting a hand to her neck, “we’ll talk in a minute. Go back to bed.”
Her eyes came to his and they were shining with unshed tears. “You read my journals and feel sorry for me.”
Prentice glared at her.
Better to do that then turn to Carver Austin and strangle him in front of his daughter. She might not like her father but Prentice figured she’d frown on that.
“No,” she went on before Prentice could form a reply, “you feel guilty and you feel sorry for me.”
“Don’t be daft,” Prentice said softly.
“I’m not being daft!” she all of a sudden snapped.
Prentice was surprised at her quick, sharp defense.
Then he was pleased.
Because this wasn’t Isabella who meekly gave in. The woman standing in front of him with tousled hair, wearing silk was his Elle who never gave in.
She’d handed him his opening so he went with it.
“You are Elle, what you’re saying is absurd.”
“It is not.”
“Right, so, instead of wanting you in my life, in my home, in my children’s lives because you’re f**king gorgeous, you bake exquisite chocolate cake for my daughter, you make my son laugh and you get wet the minute I f**king kiss you is not why we’re together, it’s because I read your journals and I feel sorry for you. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes!” she flashed.
“And that’s not absurd?” he returned.
“You don’t know your own mind,” she retorted. “You’re blinded by guilt.”
Prentice burst out laughing.
Through his laughter, he saw her scowling at him and she snapped, “This isn’t funny!”
His hand at her neck pulled her to his body as he talked through his dying laughter, “It’s hilarious, baby.”
“It. Is. Not.”
He dipped his head and nuzzled her ear with his nose before he said there, “It is.”
“You’re impossible,” she clipped.
“I’m in love with you,” he replied and lifted his head when he felt her body grow still and he saw her eyes had gone soft and the tears had disappeared. “No’ because I’m blinded by guilt which is ludicrous. I knew I loved you before I read your journals. I’m in love with you because I just am.”
“Excuse me,” Carver bit out from behind them and Prentice turned.
He did so while sliding his arm around Elle’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side, saying, “Fuck, I forgot you were here.”
“I’ll ask you to mind your mouth when you’re around me and my daughter.”