Read Online Fairytale Come Alive by Kristen Ashley - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristen Ashley
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jetlag after they’d dropped off the food and went back into town to do some shopping.
However, shopping in the village became not so fun when Isabella ran into a dozen people she knew and most of them acted like they didn’t see her, the others like they didn’t know her and one stared at her like she was singlehandedly responsible for famine in Africa.
Even though Annie had set aside that day to spend with her and Mikey before the onslaught of celebrations, both her friends saw the villagers’ behavior and they didn’t demur when Isabella lied and said she needed to rest.
Being in Prentice’s house without Prentice and the children and with time on her hands meant Isabella did something she knew she shouldn’t.
But she couldn’t help it.
She’d given herself a tour of his house.
Annie had told her that Prentice had left the firm he’d worked for five years ago and started his own. He had five employees and enough work that it was steady, busy and his family was comfortable.
He’d also designed this house.
And it was extraordinary.
The great room with its huge wall of windows, the large, rectangular gleaming dining table at the foot of the stairs, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an enormous American refrigerator was, in itself, phenomenal. The blond wood, open-backed (and sided) wide stairwell, the steps that seemed (because they were) suspended in midair was unusual and amazing. The upper floor fed off the side into the cliff that rose beside of the house, four bedrooms (one which was a playroom-slash-music room) and a full bath with the kids’ rooms having their own jack and jill bathroom. The master suite (which Isabella very quickly dashed through even though she really, really shouldn’t have) had a sitting room, bedroom, walk-in closet and bathroom with sunken tub.
Isabella noted that Fiona’s clothes and belongings were no longer in the room and, even though that made her heart contract, she was glad that Prentice had moved beyond what she suspected was a very difficult stage of the grieving process.
On her side of the house there was a study (obviously Prentice’s), a television room with a big, comfy sectional couch (there was no TV in the great room, or any other room in the house for that matter), a half bath, a large storage area and a mudroom-slash-laundry room.
There were balconies that faced the sea leading from the great room, Prentice’s bedroom and even a small private one in her rooms.
The rooms were huge, airy and full of windows. The blond wood floors, timber sashes and skirting boards were gorgeous. The unusual lines of the ceilings and quirky touches were extraordinary.
The entire house was magnificent.
It wasn’t decorated to Isabella’s taste (obviously). Isabella liked no mess, no clutter, clean lines.
But this was a family home stuffed full with books, picture frames and proudly displayed but poorly crafted children’s art. The fridge was covered in bits and pieces. The mudroom was filled with coats and boots and dirty laundry.
Even so, there was a flair to it that reminded Isabella of Fiona. It was comfortably appointed but decorated with a hint of fun and playfulness with bold and bright colors that would only be used by a woman who was confident in herself and her taste.
Exactly the opposite of Isabella who had hired a decorator to decorate her apartment and had very little hand in the choosing of anything, fabrics, colors, draperies, she didn’t care. She didn’t really even see it.
Her home was the place where she existed just as her life was simply an existence.
Once she’d finished her tour and dinner chores, she’d retreated to her rooms.
Now, to her surprise, she heard scrambling feet coming close and Prentice’s voice calling sharply, “Sally!”
The scrambling feet sounded on the stairs and Isabella whirled to the door she hadn’t closed.
She’d just finished doing yoga.
She’d asked her doctor to titrate her
However, shopping in the village became not so fun when Isabella ran into a dozen people she knew and most of them acted like they didn’t see her, the others like they didn’t know her and one stared at her like she was singlehandedly responsible for famine in Africa.
Even though Annie had set aside that day to spend with her and Mikey before the onslaught of celebrations, both her friends saw the villagers’ behavior and they didn’t demur when Isabella lied and said she needed to rest.
Being in Prentice’s house without Prentice and the children and with time on her hands meant Isabella did something she knew she shouldn’t.
But she couldn’t help it.
She’d given herself a tour of his house.
Annie had told her that Prentice had left the firm he’d worked for five years ago and started his own. He had five employees and enough work that it was steady, busy and his family was comfortable.
He’d also designed this house.
And it was extraordinary.
The great room with its huge wall of windows, the large, rectangular gleaming dining table at the foot of the stairs, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an enormous American refrigerator was, in itself, phenomenal. The blond wood, open-backed (and sided) wide stairwell, the steps that seemed (because they were) suspended in midair was unusual and amazing. The upper floor fed off the side into the cliff that rose beside of the house, four bedrooms (one which was a playroom-slash-music room) and a full bath with the kids’ rooms having their own jack and jill bathroom. The master suite (which Isabella very quickly dashed through even though she really, really shouldn’t have) had a sitting room, bedroom, walk-in closet and bathroom with sunken tub.
Isabella noted that Fiona’s clothes and belongings were no longer in the room and, even though that made her heart contract, she was glad that Prentice had moved beyond what she suspected was a very difficult stage of the grieving process.
On her side of the house there was a study (obviously Prentice’s), a television room with a big, comfy sectional couch (there was no TV in the great room, or any other room in the house for that matter), a half bath, a large storage area and a mudroom-slash-laundry room.
There were balconies that faced the sea leading from the great room, Prentice’s bedroom and even a small private one in her rooms.
The rooms were huge, airy and full of windows. The blond wood floors, timber sashes and skirting boards were gorgeous. The unusual lines of the ceilings and quirky touches were extraordinary.
The entire house was magnificent.
It wasn’t decorated to Isabella’s taste (obviously). Isabella liked no mess, no clutter, clean lines.
But this was a family home stuffed full with books, picture frames and proudly displayed but poorly crafted children’s art. The fridge was covered in bits and pieces. The mudroom was filled with coats and boots and dirty laundry.
Even so, there was a flair to it that reminded Isabella of Fiona. It was comfortably appointed but decorated with a hint of fun and playfulness with bold and bright colors that would only be used by a woman who was confident in herself and her taste.
Exactly the opposite of Isabella who had hired a decorator to decorate her apartment and had very little hand in the choosing of anything, fabrics, colors, draperies, she didn’t care. She didn’t really even see it.
Her home was the place where she existed just as her life was simply an existence.
Once she’d finished her tour and dinner chores, she’d retreated to her rooms.
Now, to her surprise, she heard scrambling feet coming close and Prentice’s voice calling sharply, “Sally!”
The scrambling feet sounded on the stairs and Isabella whirled to the door she hadn’t closed.
She’d just finished doing yoga.
She’d asked her doctor to titrate her
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