Second Hearts

  Ryan pushed the door wide open and stared at the tubby little girl rushing toward me, dragging her coat behind her. “What on earth is that?” he asked, pointing at the toddler behind me.

  “That is a Fabergé.” I scooped her into my arms. “And she’ll be accompanying us.”

  He shook his head, frowning. “No.”

  “Take it or leave it.” Standing my ground was remarkably easy. I’d been run ragged by a three-year-old all morning and yet I somehow still had the upper hand.

  “Fine, pack up your munchkin and let’s go. I have a driver waiting.”

  It didn’t take long for me to realise that Ryan had a fear of small children. Fabergé was his Kryptonite. He spent the short drive to the new restaurant trying to restrain her as she bounced around the back seat of the car – without actually touching her.

  “Can’t Bente watch her?” he asked, dangling his bunch of keys in front of Fabergé as if that would calm her down. “She is her aunt.”

  “Obviously not. That’s why her mother called me.”

  “Phone?” Fabergé asked Ryan.

  “Kid, I am not giving you my phone.”

  Fabergé responded with an ear-splitting squeal. Giving in instantly, he reached for his phone and handed it to her.

  “Girls always get the better of you,” I muttered, looking out the window to hide my smile.

  A lot had changed at the restaurant in the few weeks since I’d last been there. The blue construction door and scaffolding were gone, and the inside had been transformed in to a bright, albeit empty, space.

  We had the run of the place, and Fabergé made the most of it. Her squeal echoed around the empty space; she obviously liked the sound of it.

  “Please, shut her up,” begged Ryan.

  “How?” I hissed, as annoyed as him.

  He called her over and held out his phone, pulling it back as she made a grab for it. “If I give you this, you have to be quiet, okay?”

  Fabergé nodded and the deal was complete. She sat on the travertine floor, randomly pressing buttons.

  “Well done, Ryan,” I praised, genuinely impressed. “So where is this artwork you want me to see?”

  He pointed to the far side of the room and I wondered how I’d missed it. Six large canvases wrapped in brown paper leaned against the wall. “I only want three,” he said, walking toward them. “Choose the best ones and I’ll send the rest back to Adam.”

  “What does Adam have to do with this?”

  “He knows the artist.” He smirked as he spoke. “He promised he’d get us a good deal.”

  Ryan tore the paper off the first picture. I recognised it immediately. The large black and white cityscape photo was one I had taken during my first few weeks in New York. Pride overtook me and I could feel myself beaming like an idiot. “That looks incredible!”

  Ryan folded his arms and took a step back, studying it for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “I love your humility.”

  “You really want to display these here?”

  He nonchalantly shrugged. “It was Adam’s idea but they’re actually not too bad.”

  The mere fact that they were in the restaurant was a huge compliment. If he didn’t like them, he’d say so. Ryan wasn’t renowned for protecting people’s feelings.

  “I had no idea he planned this.”

  “I know. I think he had grandiose ideas for the big reveal. It probably involved mood lighting and roses, but I don’t think he really needs the brownie points, Charlotte. Do you?”

  “No. He’s amazing.”

  “Oh, please! Amazing and preoccupied. He should have moved faster. I need this done now, which is why we’re here. The furniture arrives tomorrow.”

  Ryan moved quickly, tearing the paper off the remaining pictures. He walked over to me, folded his arms and instructed me to pick the best three.

  “I love them all.”

  “You can’t have them all. Pick three.”

  “No. I love them all.”

  Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. I wondered if I was causing him pain. “Fabergé is more reasonable than you.”

  The mention of her name reminded me that she was there. I spun around to check on the little girl, relieved to see her still sitting on the floor, happily playing with the phone.

  “Ryan, it’s a big place. There are four walls,” I waved my arms around the vast empty space. “Hang them all.” I pouted a little but I’m sure it did nothing to help my cause.

  “If I agree to that, this whole afternoon is a waste of time. I didn’t need to bring you and the munchkin down here at all.”

  “An expensive waste of time,” I taunted.

  “Why?”

  “You owe me a TV.”

  ***

  The afternoon was much better than the morning. Ivy was getting out of a cab just as we pulled up to my building, so I didn’t even need to take Fabergé back to the apartment.

  “Has she been good?” asked Ivy, pulling her out of my arms and into hers, protectively cradling her as she glared at Ryan.

  I’d forgotten how much she disliked Bente’s cloakroom buddy. I stood a little closer to him, hoping that if she tried smacking him, I’d at least made the access more difficult.

  “Fabergé was perfect,” I replied, embellishing her behaviour report.

  “No squealing?”

  “None.”

  I doubt she believed me but she didn’t press the issue. Ivy had something else on her mind. “I need your help with something else,” she told me. “And there’s no point saying no because I’ve already volunteered you for the job.”

  I actually liked Ivy’s harshness. It left absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

  “What job?”

  “I’m hosting a pageant seminar of my own next week. We need a photographer so the girls can build their portfolios. You’d be perfect.”

  Taking pictures of hyped-up toddlers in jewel-encrusted dresses was madness. I accepted the challenge immediately.

  Clearly in a hurry, she thanked me, gave Ryan another blistering glare and got back into the cab. I waved to Fabergé as they drove away. Fabergé waved back with one hand – and tapped Ryan’s phone on the car window with the other. Mercifully, he didn’t see it. He was too busy making his way back to his waiting car, in just as much of a rush to escape as Ivy.

  “So rude,” I muttered, pretending to be annoyed that he was doing a runner.

  “What?” he asked, turning to face me but not slowing his walk. “Do you want me to walk you to your door?”

  I grinned at him and he smiled back at me. “Bye, Ryan.”

  “Au revoir, Tinker Bell.”

  My usual chat with Marvin before heading inside was purposely short. As soon as he mentioned that Adam had arrived home, I was edging toward the door.

  As soon as I opened the apartment door, I barrelled toward him, practically leaping in to his arms. Adam moaned, staggering back like I’d knocked the wind out of him. We both fell in a heap on the couch, landing in a position I couldn’t have planned better if I’d tried.

  “I love you so much,” I declared fervently. His body shook beneath me as he chuckled. “Adam, you’re not supposed to laugh.”

  “You said it as if you’ve only just realised it,” he said, expertly unbuttoning my coat with one hand.

  “No. I’ve known it all along.” I shrugged free of my coat and threw it on the floor. “I went to the new restaurant today, with Ryan.”

  “He showed you the prints, didn’t he?” he asked, leaning in close to me. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “I was surprised. They looked beautiful.”

  His lips found mine, a deep sweet kiss that put the conversation on hold for a moment. “They’re beautiful pictures, Charlotte,” he murmured. “The whole world should see them.”

  Having them hanging on the walls of a trendy Manhattan restaurant was as good as any gallery showing. “Today, downtown Manha
ttan. Tomorrow, The Louvre,” I breathed.

  “I don’t doubt it for a second.” He moved to kiss me again. “Sooner or later you’ll conquer the world.”

  “I’m going to start by conquering the pageant world,” I said theatrically.

  He moved his head back, buying enough space to look at me. “You’re going to enter a pageant?” He sounded worried. His frown disappeared as I explained Ivy’s offer.

  “I think it might be fun. At least I’ll be busy.”

  “I think it’s a great idea.”

  I craned my neck and tangled my fingers through his hair as he kissed me, getting caught up in a moment I hoped would last the rest of the afternoon, but unfortunately it was short-lived. The interruption came via an unexpected visit from Colin, our long-suffering courier. “I have a delivery for Mrs Décarie,” he said cheerily.

  Overlooking the fact he’d called me by my witchy mother-in-law’s name, I signed for it, no questions asked. I wasn’t the least bit curious about the big box that sat blocking the doorway. I knew exactly what it was. Adam, however, had no clue.

  “What is it?” he asked, dragging the box inside so we could shut the door.

  “It’s a TV.”

  He looked at me, cocking one eyebrow. “Am I boring you, Charlotte?”

  I leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pulling him against me.

  “Not even close.”

  26. Glass Houses

  Adam was about to leave the next morning when Ryan turned up, beating on the door like he was trying to bash it down. I knew it was Ryan because he’d called ahead, warning Adam to stay put until he got there.

  “Dick,” muttered Adam, heading toward the door to let him in.

  As soon as the door opened, he stormed in, waving a stack of papers at his younger brother. “Do you have any idea how much money you’ve just cost us?”

  Adam didn’t seem at all bothered. He closed the door, strolled past Ryan and headed to the kitchen. I remained on the couch, trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe Adam had looted his apartment again and forgotten to tell me. “I didn’t cost us anything.”

  His lax tone infuriated Ryan, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His ensuing tirade gave me a chance to work out the source of his rage.

  The liquor license for the new restaurant hadn’t come through. Adam was supposed to organise it. Ryan contacted the liquor authority to chase it up – only to find out there was no record of an application ever being lodged.

  “You put the opening back another two weeks, Adam. All because you never got the paperwork in!”

  “Ryan, I posted it days ago.”

  The growing pit in my stomach was torturing me. Adam wasn’t lying. As far as he knew, it had been sent. He’d given me an envelope to post a few mornings earlier when I was on my way out the door. Once I’d slipped it into my coat pocket, I hadn’t given it another thought.

  I was forgetful, but not a coward. I walked to my coat and reached into the pocket, retrieving the envelope. “I’m so sorry. I forgot all about it.”

  Ryan snatched it out of my hand and began waving it at me. “Way to go, Tinker Bell. You’ve just cost us thousands in lost revenue.”

  Adam snatched the envelope from Ryan and thumped it against his chest. “Leave her alone,” he warned. “It’s not her fault.”

  “It’s absolutely her fault,” Ryan insisted, following up with an angry French diatribe.

  “English!” My demand fell on deaf ears. Adam joined the French squabble, raising his voice to match his brother’s.

  I couldn’t stand it. Knowing Adam was bordering being late for his first class of the day, I grabbed his coat and thrust it at him. “Go!”

  “No. He can go,” he replied, gesturing to his brother with an upward nod.

  I turned my attention to Ryan. “Get out.”

  “No,” he snapped.

  “What do you want from me, Ryan? Blood?” I yelled, exasperated. “I said I was sorry.”

  “You are a square peg, Charlotte,” said Ryan. “Sooner or later, you’re going to realise that New York – and everything in it – is a round hole.”

  “Enough,” chided Adam.

  “No, it’s fine.” I kept my eyes firmly on Ryan. “Let him get it off his chest.”

  “I know that none of this is important to you,” growled Ryan. He waved his arms at the room, but was clearly referencing a much bigger picture. “But we can’t all live our lives being guided by astrological charts and fairy stories. Some of us have direction. Some of us grow up. You can be as scattered and ethereal as you want to be, but don’t ever let it impact on me. Got it?”

  “Oh my God,” muttered Adam, appalled. “Ryan, get out.”

  “She’s detrimental to your brain function, Adam!” Ryan tapped the side of his head. “Collecting seashells on a beach is where you’re going to end up. That’s all she aspires to, and you’re so besotted you’ll be right beside her, holding the bucket.”

  Adam opened the door, and pointed to the foyer. Thankfully, the angry evil brother stamped out without another word. Adam slammed it behind him. He pulled me in to his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. I could hear his heart beating – much faster than normal. It betrayed his unruffled demeanour.

  I selfishly wondered if a run-in with Ryan was traumatising enough to make him stay home for the day – something I tried every morning. Trying my luck, I asked him to skive class and hang out with me.

  “I can’t. You know I can’t,” he whispered.

  I leaned back, untangling myself from his arms. “You should go, then. You’re going to be late.”

  I didn’t crumple until Adam was gone. I took a long shower, letting the hot water stream over me until the skin on my fingers shrivelled. I used the time to work out my next move.

  Until now, Ryan Décarie had always been on my side – even when I was wrong. It was beginning to seem like my life was a game that I was never going to win. The rules kept changing.

  Living in New York was like owning a fabulous pair of sparkly shoes that were two sizes too big. Obviously, I was never going to grow into them. But I loved the damned shoes. I just needed to figure out how to walk in them.

  ***

  Time alone wasn’t always good for me, but I used that day well, painting our graffitied wall back to white. The look on Adam’s face when he saw it that night wasn’t one of approval. He seemed to take it personally, as if erasing the writing meant the dreams were gone too.

  “Why, Charli?” he asked, slumping on the couch. “If this is because of something Ryan said –”

  “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “Then why?”

  I wriggled into his arms and rested my head on his chest, staring at the stark white wall before answering. “Too many people have seen it. Your mother has seen it. She thinks I’m disturbed. Those words were meant only for us.”

  “She does not think you’re disturbed.”

  If only you knew, I thought, unwilling to venture further into a conversation about the queen.

  “Ryan saw it too. That’s why he called me Tinker Bell.”

  Adam absently wound a lock of my hair around his fingers while he mused. It was his version of the airhead twirl. “Considering how angry he was, he could have called you much worse. You got off lightly.”

  “I’m glad you found it amusing,” I replied.

  “I found it intolerable, Charlotte,” he said, grimacing. “And I can guarantee it won’t ever happen again.”

  “So can I. I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  Adam pulled me in close again. “Why does everything have to be a battle?”

  If only he knew.

  ***

  Avoiding Ryan might have been easier if I’d stayed away from Nellie’s, but hanging out with Bente occasionally, setting tables before dinner service, helped preserved my sanity. She was the only person privy to every little thing that went on with my life. Sadly, Be
nte knew more than Adam.

  “I told you he’s a jerk. Don’t take it so personally” said Bente on hearing the details of Ryan’s rant. “He didn’t have to be mean. He just likes to be mean.”

  I had no option but to agree with her, but felt incredibly sad about it. Team Charli could hardly afford to be losing members.

  “Yeah, well, I won’t put up with it.”

  “Are you planning to talk to him about it?”

  Abandoning the place settings, I stared across the table at her, shocked that she’d even asked the question. “I wouldn’t waste my breath on Ryan Décarie.”

  “You might want to leave now, then,” she suggested, pointing behind me with the forks in her hand.

  I turned to see Ryan on his way through the front door.

  “What’s he doing here?” I sounded more panicked than irate.

  “He owns the place,” Bente pointed out. “He comes here almost as often as you do.”

  I wanted to bolt, but refused to give him the pleasure. Instead I continued setting the table. Following my lead, Bente offloaded the stack of forks she was holding and began fussing with the already perfectly placed white napkins.

  Ryan appeared by my side a second later, greeting us both cheerily – like the argument we’d had a few days earlier had never happened. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  Knowing I had nothing pleasant to say, I ignored him. Bente was more forgiving. “How are you, Ryan?”

  He frowned across the table at her, probably trying to figure out the reason for her smile. “Great. Why?”

  Dishing out the silent treatment was impossible for me. I dropped my stack of cutlery, making the entire four-place setting rattle. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” I growled.

  “What am I missing here?” he asked, eyes darting between Bente and me.

  “A sense of decency, a conscience – shall I continue?”

  “Okay, I’m out of here,” announced Bente, throwing both hands in the air and backing away. She slipped through the kitchen doors, leaving me alone with the object of my wrath.

  “Is this about the other day?” he asked, infuriating me even more. “I was angry, Charli.”