15. Isabel
Isabel
By the time we walk back to the house, Grams has just finished her breakfast. Her face lights up the second she sees me, pure and familiar, before her smile falters just as quickly.
“What happened to your face?”
It’s not the first time I’ve explained this to her. More than once. Her memory keeps slipping, taking pieces of us with it, leaving me to relive the same moment again and again.
I could tell her the truth, but that would only scare and confuse her, force her to carry something she doesn’t need to hold onto.
So, I lie.
And somehow that feels worse.
“Just me being clumsy. It looks worse than it feels.” A bitter, acrid taste, like ash, lingers in my mouth from the lie. “How was breakfast?”
Aiden pulls a chair out for me, his movement natural, before taking a seat next to Grams. “Good morning, Alma.”
Her reaction is instant. My grandmother’s cheeks pink, like a blossoming flower, and I have to fight back a giggle.
I get it.
Aiden has that effect on you, even when he doesn’t mean to.
“Nice to see you again.” Grams gives Aiden a sharp side-eye, her lips pressing together in disapproval, a judgment loud, even in silence. “Did you spend the night with my granddaughter?”
I nearly choke on the sip of water I just swallowed. “Grams, be nice.”
“It’s a fair question.” She raises her mug, completely unfazed. “If I were younger, I’d be all over him.”
Heat now floods my face. “Grams! Enough.” I stifle a laugh behind a feigned cough. “Please don’t embarrass him.”
Aiden’s quiet snicker fills the space as his hand settles over mine. “I slept here, but not in her room. She needs rest and space, so I’ve given that to her.”
“How disappointing.” She sighs, sipping her tea, like she didn’t just say that. “She might have slept better if you hadn’t been so polite. All that tossing and turning kept me awake. A good orgasm would’ve solved that.”
Oh. My. God.
I drop my head against the table, wishing it would swallow me whole.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aiden says, way too entertained. “Maybe I’ll see what I can do about that tonight.”
I don’t even need to look at him. The intensity of his stare burns into me like a promise.
As if we weren’t just talking about my sex life, Grams pivots without warning. “When can we go home? I have a gallery event that I need to arrange. People are counting on me.”
A painful ache hits me in the chest. “There’s no event, Grams. You haven’t arranged one of those in years.”
“I haven’t?” Her face pinches with confusion. “Are you sure?”
I hate this part. The slipping. The losing. The way time gets stolen from her in pieces.
It always makes her sad, and it breaks my heart. “I’m sure.”
“Maybe when we go home, I’ll call my friend. See if he’d lend a hand with a brewing project. That’s if Rico will let me.” Her frown deepens, a hint of worry flickers in her eyes. “He never lets me have any fun anymore.”
Her gaze shifts, searching the room like she expects him to appear. “Where is he? He should be here by now. Can you call him? Ask him to bring my supplies. I believe I’d like to paint something. It’s been so long since I’ve been allowed to paint what I want.”
Tears threaten, stinging just beneath the surface, but I hold them back. I can’t let them fall, not when she doesn’t understand why they would.
“How about I get you some new supplies?” I offer, keeping my voice level. “There’s a small art store in the village. You tell us what you need and we’ll order it.”
Grams shakes her head, stubborn as ever. “You know how picky I am about my supplies. Only the best will do.”
I press my fingers to my temples, the dull ache already building. “I know. But the place also has a small gallery attached. I’m willing to bet they carry something to your standards.”
“Oh.” Her eyes brighten. “Do you think we could stop by? Just for a little visit?”
Aiden answers before I can, smoothly stepping in. “I don’t see why not. I’ll have Lane and Teddy scope it out. Check the hours it’s open. It’s the off-season, so it might make things tricky.”
A slow, mischievous smirk spreads across Grams’s face as she pushes to her feet. “I think I’ll go find Teddy and see if he’ll pose for me.”
Unaware of what she means, Aiden slaps a hand over his heart and teases. “I’m deeply hurt, Alma. Truly. Am I not good enough to be your model?”
A giggle bubbles up inside me as I pick up my fork and take a bite of my blueberry pancake.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable posing,” Grams says, rubbing her hands together like she’s already picturing it.
“Why? What am I missing?” Aiden’s eyes flicker between us, suspicion creeping in as he tries to piece it together.
I stare down at my plate, focusing very hard on my food like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. One glance at his face and I’ll lose it.
But I don’t need to look. The way Grams studies him, her eyes roaming, says enough.
The second he figures it out…
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he mutters, voice dropping into something low and dangerous. “Alma… you cannot be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”
“How else would I paint you?” she counters, without missing a beat, meeting his gaze. “The models they gave us in art school were nice, but they didn’t hold a candle to the likes of you or your friends.”
I press my lips together.
Seeing Aiden struggle for words, I jump in, trying to redirect before this spirals any further.
“How about we stick with something less risqué? A landscape, maybe. Or a still life. Do you remember when we visited the south of France? We sat on the mezzanine and you painted the most beautiful stretch of beach. Whatever happened to that?”
Grams tilts her head, searching for the answer. “I’m not sure. It might be in our storage unit, down in the basement with all my art supplies. Rico moved everything there after he found out what I’d been doing.”
Her voice softens, losing some of its spark. “Not that it mattered. I was too old to keep going. I’d lost my touch… and my eye for detail.”
What does that mean?
I file it away, already planning. The basement will be my second stop when we return to London. The first will be the private gallery.
I can’t believe all the paintings are gone. If my grandmother walks in and sees them missing, she’ll be devastated.
Who took them? And why?
The questions circle, unanswered, as Kimber walks in with Bear by her side. “Are you ready for our walk? How was breakfast?”
Kimber is Aiden’s sister, who’s married to Lane. She showed up the day after we arrived, Bear in tow. Because she regularly pops over to walk Bear when her brother is tied up with work, her presence there wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.
“Delicious as always.” Grams reaches down and pats Bear’s head. “Did you know I had a dog like this when I was a little girl?”
“I didn’t.” Kimber smiles, warm and easy, as she offers my grandmother her arm. “Why don’t you tell me about it while we walk and let Bear get some fresh air?”
Everyone has been amazing with her. Patient.
Kind. And that matters because it’s not easy.
Like most people living with this cruel disease, her moods shift with her confusion.
One moment she’s sharp and angry, saying things she’d never allow herself to say if she were fully aware.
The next, she’s breaking apart, crying uncontrollably because nothing makes sense.
No one seems to hear her, and the people around her feel like strangers…
including the reflection staring back at her.
The reason I can’t be angry with the woman she is now.
The woman she was? Maybe. But even that feels pointless. Nothing I learn will change what’s already happened. The past is fixed, and there’s no sense losing sleep over it.
And honestly, if what I’m starting to piece together is true, then the family I was adopted into gave me more than most people ever get. I couldn’t have picked a better one if I’d tried.
They love me. Took care of me when they didn’t have to. Provided me with a life of privilege others would envy. A family who won’t abandon me no matter what we learn.
I believe my brother’s words. I will always be Princess Isabel.
Nothing will change that.
“You okay?” Aiden’s hand settles against my back, grounding me, like he’s trying to keep me from slipping too far into my head.
“I hate seeing her like that.” My gaze shifts to my empty plate. “She was such a strong, independent woman for so many years. No one got in her way. And when they tried, she had no problem reminding them who was in charge and why.”
I drop my fork, the sound sharper than I expected.
“Now she can barely remember what day it is. Hell, she barely remembers what year it is, and seeing her like that is depressing as fuck.” I let out a slow breath. “It’s hard to watch.”
More than that.
“It makes what I’m going through harder, because I know she could help figure it out. She’d have answers, or at least be able to steer me in the right direction. I’m pretty sure she had a hand in helping my mother decide what to do.”
My voice lowers as sadness settles in. “If her mind were clear, she could tell me exactly what that was and why.”
Aiden’s hand falls off my back, only to return at my chin, guiding my gaze up to his.
“Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll share what I know. You can read over it, and if you have questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.” He never looks away, sounding so sure he can help. “Those I can’t answer, we’ll find someone who can.”
His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw. “We can do it here, but I think it’d be best if we went to my room. More private.”
My head cocks to the side as I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get me alone?”
His grip tightens, pulling me in as he leans forward. “Would you like it if I had alternative reasons for inviting you to my room?”
Would I?
“I want to say yes.” A shiver runs down my spine, and I swallow. “I really want to say yes, but I’m a little worried after what happened—”
“You don’t have to be. Nothing will ever happen unless you want it to.” His voice is so serious and calm. “It stops if you say stop. You set the pace. You control the boundaries. I’ll follow them.”
His expression shifts instantly. No teasing, no pressure.
“If you only want to talk, then we just talk. And if being alone with me feels like too much right now… we don’t—”
I don’t let him finish.
I move first, closing the distance between us, my lips crashing into his as the rough texture of his beard brushes against my skin as our mouths collide.
It’s been eleven days.
I’m still sore, still healing from what that arsehole did to me, but I’m here. Breathing. Standing. Trying to take back something that feels like mine.
That doesn’t mean I’m ready for everything.
The pain—physical and otherwise—lingers, making me hesitate even as I lean into him.
We saw a doctor before going off-grid. I was given x-rays to make sure my ribs weren’t broken. They weren’t. But my cheek has a hairline fracture that will heal in time. My concussion was worse than I realized, though Misty’s done an excellent job of making sure it didn’t turn worse.
I’m better… but sex probably isn’t something I’d be cleared for.
Aiden’s phone rings, interrupting us.
He pulls back with a low grunt, already reaching for it, irritation flashing across his face as he checks the screen.
“What now?”