Secret North

  “So why are you here?” she asked, brash as ever. “Is he bored already?”

  The snide remarks about Ryan were going to be ongoing for a while, but I didn’t care. That was Ivy’s gentle approach.

  “No, he’s watching his niece. Three’s a crowd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Confiding in her about my troubles with Bridget was nonsensical. She was hardly in a position to be giving me advice on how to handle her, but I told her the whole story anyway.

  Ivy was outraged. “Little minx.”

  “She’s not, really,” I defended. “She’s usually very sweet.”

  Ivy put on her glasses and fossicked through a container of plastic gems. “She just needs a good whack,” she suggested. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

  I glanced around. “Where’s your rod, Ivy?”

  She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “My girls are good girls.”

  That was debatable, but I let it go. “Bridget is too. She’s just not used to sharing.”

  “She’s spoiled?”

  I hadn’t decided yet. Adam’s little girl was unimaginably privileged. Being a Décarie meant that she could have whatever her little heart desired. But Charli’s little girl lived on another planet, which meant the things her heart desired probably couldn’t be bought with money.

  “Ryan spoils her.” That much I did know. “That’s why she’s floating around the playground wearing my scarf.”

  Ivy pointed her glue gun at me. “This is exactly why you’re not supposed to move in with a man you barely know. Just a few days in and he’s already pandering to other women.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Can we stick to the true version of the story, please?”

  “Whatever,” she grumbled. “But you need to toughen up. You’re the outsider, Bente. You’re not like those people.” I assume she meant the Décarie family as a whole. “They’re going to stick together. That little girl’s poor treatment of you is probably just the beginning.”

  I knew exactly what I was in for. I wasn’t the first to suffer through an adjustment period. Charli had had a horrendous time trying to crack the Décarie circle in the beginning; Fiona Décarie did all she could to keep her out. I wondered how Charli would feel knowing that her daughter was now doing the same to me.

  “It’s going to be fine.” I sounded like I was trying to convince myself more than her. “Just you wait and see.”

  23. MAGIC vs POTENTIAL

  Ryan

  Allowing Bridget to keep the scarf was a mistake. I’d made a few Bente-related mistakes over the past few days, but to her credit she was hanging in there like a trooper.

  As talented as I was at screwing up, I was also pretty deft at making amends. After Adam picked Bridget up, I set about making good – starting with a trip to the Hermès store on Madison.

  My rush to get home was for nothing. Bente didn’t show up until after seven, by which time I’d all but convinced myself that she wasn’t coming back. She wandered into the kitchen and stood beside me at the stove. I put an arm around her and continued stirring.

  “Hey. What are you cooking?”

  “Hey. It’s called Chicken Primavera, but I didn’t have any chicken, so it’s just Primavera.”

  Her warm laughter made me relax. Just being with her made me relax. I set the spoon on the counter and hauled her in close.

  We stared at each other for a long time. It wasn’t uncomfortable. I liked looking at her. I could’ve kept it up all night, but Bente got bored and came up with something else to do. Her hands moved to my face, holding me in place while she moved in for the kill. Her dark eyes were dangerous but her scarlet lips were deadly.

  There was no way a kiss like that was going to end in a glass of wine and Chickenless Primavera. I took a step forward, taking her with me as I fumbled behind her, trying to turn off the stove. Once there was no danger of burning the apartment down, I lifted her off her feet, managing to carry her as far as the couch. Despite my urgency to get her naked I thought I’d managed to lay her gently onto the cushions – until she let out a pained yelp and reached behind her back.

  My mind was too scrambled to come up with an acceptable defense for the Dirty Dancing DVD in her hand.

  “You watched my movie?” she breathed.

  I tried to figure out the right answer. Lying won.

  “No, of course not.”

  Bente grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled me down on top of her. “Pity,” she mumbled. “That would’ve been as sexy as hell.”

  ***

  It was after ten when we finally got around to having dinner. I wasn’t particularly hungry. My focus was on my dinner companion, who sat beside me at the counter dressed in nothing more than my T-shirt. I held off telling her how lovely she looked. If I’d told Bente she was beautiful every time I wanted to, she’d probably start looking for a motive.

  “It’s probably a good thing that there’s no chicken in this, Ry,” she said, pushing the pasta around her plate with the tip of her fork. “It’s been sitting on the stove for a while.” She had a point. All the good work I’d done to convince her sister that my intentions were good would probably go out the window if I poisoned her. I stood up and grabbed her plate. “Hey,” she protested. “I’m eating that.”

  “No, you’re not.” I scraped the plates into the trash and loaded them into the dishwasher. “I like you too much to kill you. I’ll cook you something else. What would you like?”

  “Nothing. I’m good.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m perfect, Ryan.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, sounding scared by the prospect. “You really are.”

  Her head dropped. “You’re just too smooth, Ryan Décarie,” she mumbled.

  It was hard to tell whether she was kidding or not. I always felt like I was on the back foot where Bente was concerned, constantly disadvantaged due to my past bad behaviour. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could make it all up to her in a week. Acts like giving her prized possessions to my niece meant it would probably take months, but I was determined to keep trying.

  It seemed like as good a moment as any to present her with the gift I’d been hiding all afternoon. I opened the pantry, grabbed the small orange box from the top shelf and handed it to her.

  Her eyes lit up, making me smile.

  “I hope you like it.”

  Bente pulled the brown ribbon off and lifted the lid. “Oh, Ryan.” She picked up the corner of the scarf and fanned it out.

  I was still worried. It looked nothing like the one Bridget had commandeered. It wasn’t even the same colour. “Is it okay?”

  She glimpsed at me only briefly. “It’s lovely.”

  “I want you to know that I’m really sorry,” I said, genuinely remorseful. “I shouldn’t have let Bridget keep the other one.”

  Bente stepped off the stool and made her way around to my side of the counter. Both of her arms wrapped tightly around me and she rested her cheek on my back. “Thank you for making it right.”

  Her hold on me remained as I twisted to face her. “There’s more,” I said ominously.

  “More what?”

  “Well, I was pretty sure you’d appreciate the gesture, but I had no clue what sort of scarf you’d like.”

  Bente dropped her arms to her side, freeing me to move.

  I walked back over to the pantry, reached up and grabbed another four orange boxes. I didn’t bother handing them to her; I just set them down on the counter.

  “This is overkill, Ryan,” she choked.

  “No, it’s hedging my bets,” I corrected. “One of those boxes contains your new favourite scarf.”

  She stripped the ribbon off the first box. “I’ll return the others,” she offered.

  She was taking too long so I unwrapped the next three myself, draping each scarf over her shoulder as I went. “I want you to keep them all,” I insisted.

  “Do you have any idea how m
uch these cost?”

  “Of course I do. I picked each one of them.”

  Bente looked at the silky mass of couture that I’d draped over her “What will I do with five Hermès scarves?” She bunched them in her hand and waved them at me.

  “Do you like them?”

  “I love them.”

  I took her face in my hands. “Then keep them. Wear them all.”

  “At the same time?” She was probably joking, but I was inspired. I plucked a scarf from her grip, wrapped it around her head and tied a loose knot at her forehead. It was hardly stylish. It looked like I’d just bandaged a head wound. She brushed the fabric aside so she could see. “Nice.” She laughed darkly. “That takes care of one. How will I wear the other four?”

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “Take off your shirt and I’ll show you.”

  Bente didn’t question why. She just grabbed the hem of her shirt and dragged it over her head, somehow managing to do it without displacing her Hermès bandage.

  Naked and in my kitchen was a very good look for her. Covering her up was the last thing I wanted to do, but I kept my end of the bargain, grabbed another scarf and wrapped it around her waist, knotting it at her hip.

  Modesty took over then and she folded her arms across her chest. “Well?” she asked, taking a downward glance at her new skirt. “What do you think?”

  I tried prising her arms apart. “Don’t hide from me,” I murmured. “I like looking at you.”

  A pretty blush that I didn’t often see burned across her cheeks. “Finish dressing me,” she ordered.

  “Yes ma’am.” I reached for the next scarf, and managed to fashion a top that almost covered her.

  “Not bad,” she praised. “Not bad at all, but you have two left.”

  I was done. My mind was already undressing her, so my efforts to utilise the last two scarves were half-assed at best. One minute and two knots later, she was sporting Hermès armbands.

  “You should’ve been a fashion designer, Ryan.” She flashed me a killer smile.

  “Perhaps,” I replied casually. “But my workmanship leaves a lot to be desired.” I pulled a corner of her headscarf, undoing the knot. Both of us ignored it as it drifted to the floor.

  “Shoddy at best,” she agreed.

  I grabbed her hips and jerked her forward, pulling her against me. “Perhaps you should hire a professional next time.”

  “No,” she breathed. “I like your style.”

  ***

  It was the middle of the night when I woke. I reached across for Bente and grabbed nothing but sheet. The light coming from the hallway was dull. The light illuminating the clock next to the bed was slightly brighter. It was a little after one in the morning.

  Bente was sitting at the kitchen counter tapping on her laptop when I walked in. I wrapped my arm around her from behind. “Can’t sleep?”

  She kissed my forearm, but typed until she’d finished her sentence. “I write a lot at night,” she explained. “I have a busy mind. I think it comes from working to deadlines.”

  I sat down beside her. “Do you like working to a deadline?”

  “I do,” she replied. “I work pretty well under pressure.”

  “So what are you writing tonight?”

  “Just thoughts and ideas,” she said vaguely. “Things to keep me going until a job comes up.”

  I looked around the living room. “You’d probably work better if you had a space to work in. We’ll get you a desk.”

  “And put it where?” She closed the lid on her laptop. “You’ve made enough allowances for my stuff already. One more piece might tip you over the edge.”

  I frowned. “Bente, it’s not about making allowances for you. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

  She stepped off the stool and sidled up to me. “We are together.”

  My hands moved of their own volition, settling on her hips. “I want you to be happy here.”

  “I am,” she insisted, pressing against me. “Me and my ugly dresser are very happy here.”

  “So you’re aware that it’s… aesthetically challenged?”

  “It’s as ugly as sin, Ryan,” she replied, chuckling. “I was planning to get it restored but I never got round to it.”

  I let out a long breath I couldn’t remember taking. “My brother convinced me that it had some special meaning and that’s why it looked so tragic.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, a dead grandma decorated it, leaving you with the magic memory of teal paint.”

  “How could she decorate it if she’s dead?”

  I grinned at her. “I don’t pretend to understand magic.”

  Her head lolled back as she laughed. I usually fought the urge to kiss her when she made that move, but not this time. I pressed my lips to her throat, tasting her warm skin.

  She inched my head back. “I’m not Charli,” she replied. “It’s just an old thrift store dresser with great potential.”

  “You don’t see magic in it?” I asked cautiously.

  She smiled blackly. “No.”

  And therein lies the difference between Bente and Charli. Charli looks for magic. Bente looks for potential.

  “Do you think I have potential, Bente?” I have no idea why I asked. Judging by the confusion on her lovely face, she didn’t either – but she answered anyway.

  “Huge potential.” She kissed me. “As soon as I get all the layers scraped off you, you’ll be spectacular.”

  ***

  Bente wakes early, even when there’s no need. I wasn’t even convinced it was morning when I awoke to the sound of the shower running. She skipped into the bedroom a few minutes later and climbed on top of me. I brushed her wet hair from my face. “Are you always this hyper in the mornings?” I mumbled.

  “No, just this morning.” She planted a kiss on my chest. “It’s my first day at a new job. I’d like to make a good impression on my boss.”

  I grabbed the sash on her robe and pulled. “Get back into bed then.” I never got tired of her laugh, or the effect it had on me as it travelled through my bones.

  “No, get up.” She patted my chest. “The day is wasting.” She slipped off the bed and headed for the closet. “I’m actually excited about it. I might’ve missed Nellie’s a little bit,” she admitted, raking through the clothes. “I even missed Paolo.”

  It occurred to me that we should’ve discussed my job offer in greater detail. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re not working at Nellie’s,” I said quietly.

  She turned back. “You’ve changed your mind?”

  I propped myself up on one elbow. “Of course not. It’s just that I don’t have a position for you at Nellie’s. The job is at Billet-doux.”

  “Oh.” She took a long moment to think things through. “Okay, then.”

  “You’ll like it there,” I assured her. “Probably more than Nellie’s.” She was much better suited to Billet-doux. The place was almost as sexy as she was.

  “It doesn’t matter either way, Ryan,” she finally replied. “A job is a job.”

  24. SPECIAL FAVOUR

  Bente

  Starting a new job is as scary as a first day at school. Ryan wasn’t going to be there to hold my hand. He wouldn’t have come if I’d begged him to. My first shift was a fairy high tea – the ultimate trial by fire.

  A woman named Noelle met me at the door. She was bubbly, blonde and really annoying. I couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it was her high-pitched voice. It might also have had something to do with the way her eyes darted around as she spoke.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said urgently. I checked the time on my watch to make sure I wasn’t late. “It’s Ben-ta, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  She shamelessly looked me up and down. “I was surprised when Ryan told me he’d hired you. He doesn’t usually do the hiring and firing. I can only assume you’re a special favour for someone.”

  “I like to think so,” I replied, trying to
keep up as she scuttled over to the bar.

  Noelle picked a menu off the counter and handed it to me. “It’s super important to know the menu back to front,” she instructed. “And listen carefully to the orders.”

  I thumbed through the fancy pages. “No coleslaw?”

  I enjoyed my private joke. Noelle did not. She narrowed her eyes. “This is a classy place,” she snapped, sounding personally offended.

  “I understand.”

  “Super,” she crowed, recovering quickly. “Let’s go, Ben-ta. I’ll show you around.”

  ***

  Fairy high teas are not for the faint of heart. It was like being locked in a room with thirty Malibus and an excess of sugary desserts. I steered clear of the small children, opting to serve their mothers instead.

  I was standing at the bar waiting for a round of drinks when Noelle approached. “Nice work, Bente.” I could tell she was happy with me because she almost pronounced my name properly. “You’re going to fit in really well.”

  “Thanks.”

  The bartender loaded my tray with a round of lethal looking mojitos. I’d been introduced to him earlier but couldn’t remember his name. In my mind, he was Bar Guy.

  “Noelle’s seal of approval after just a few hours?” he teased. “Lucky you.”

  Out of the blue, Noelle let out a squeak, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with the bar guy. I followed the direction of her of darting eyes and saw Charli walk through the glass front door.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “One of the owners just walked in,” she replied acidly.

  “I’ll be on my best behaviour then.”

  “She won’t care either way,” she snapped. “Charli doesn’t give a damn about this place. I have no idea why she even shows up.”

  “I like it when she shows up,” interjected Bar Guy.

  I looked at him. He seemed to be stripping her naked with his eyes as she closed in on us.

  “Yes, Charli?” asked Noelle as soon as she was within earshot. “What can I do for you?”

  Charli ignored her curt tone. It was too high-pitched to be taken seriously anyway. “Nothing,” she replied cheerily, “but thanks for asking.”