Page 90 of Isabella and the Slipper

“She committed fraud and child abuse. I’m glad she’ll be locked up. She’s crazy.”

“I got a phone call yesterday.” Isabella was bursting to tell him and couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“From who?”

“An attorney. Apparently, when Elenore said my father didn’t have a will, she was lying.”

Chase’s mouth dropped. “What did the will say?”

Isabella grinned and blinked back happy tears. “The house is mine.”

He hugged her close, the warmth of his embrace sending happy tingles over her. “I’m so happy. I know what that house means to you.”

“And all the paintings Elenore fraudulently sold. Those are mine, too.”

“Seriously?”

“And the gallery. And all his investments. Basically everything.” She smiled at him, watching the surprise dawn on his face.

“Holy cow.”

“Yeah. I never understood why my father hadn’t at least left me the painting of my mother. Now I realize Elenore knew all along that once I turned eighteen I’d inherit everything. The only way she could keep the money was to lock me away and say I disappeared. She’d been planning it for years.”

“But I guess she got greedy and started selling your paintings as your father’s.”

Isabella scoffed. “You’d think fifty million dollars would be enough. Who knew one person could be so selfish?”

“Do you know what happened to Delilah and Ava?”

Isabella threaded her fingers through Chase’s. “Delilah’s still in Los Angeles, I think. I guess art isn’t her thing anymore, after being laughed out of the community with her body paintings. Last I heard, she was spending her days hanging around the studios and begging to be an extra. And Ava got a job working at McDonald’s.”

Chase choked, coughing as he tried to breathe. “McDonald’s?”

“Yep.” Isabella smiled at the irony.

Chase squeezed her hand. “I have something for you.”

Isabella shielded the sun from her eyes as she looked at him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and handed her a thick envelope. She gave him a questioning look, then pulled the flap back, and peeked inside.

She gasped and pulled out a pile of photographs. Her mother. The familiar senior photo was on top, but then there were a dozen more, of her mother in different poses. Her throat constricted and she blinked back tears.

“How did you get these?”

“I did a little digging. I found the photographer who shot her senior pictures.”

She blinked up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I wasn’t thinking of talking much, anyway.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. Warmth filled her heart as she kissed him back, the sensations sending zings of electricity through her.

He pulled back, and she smiled at him. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmm?”

Isabella squinted, the sun in her eyes. “Tomorrow is our one-year anniversary.”

He shifted. “Can’t be. We didn’t go to the fall formal until September twenty-fourth. It’s only the eighth.”

---