Second Hearts (The Wishes Series)

  “And that makes it alright? You said some terrible things to me.”

  “I was angry.” He said it slowly, as if I’d misunderstood him the first time.

  I looked straight at him, speaking as slowly as he had. “There is just no good in you.”

  “Look, if I’m the reason for your black little mood – “

  I’d heard enough. I cut his condescending sentence short by pushing past him and making a dash for the front door.

  “Stop, Charlotte,” he ordered as I made a grab for the door handle. Heeding his obnoxious demand was weak but I did it anyway, turning to face him. “Your feelings are hurt.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m sorry.” His words sounded strange. I imagine it was because he’d never said them out loud before. “Charli, I was upset with you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  I begged to differ. “You meant everything you said.”

  “I didn’t mean any of it.”

  I had to accept that Ryan truly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. I didn’t really believe there was no good in him. Some days it just seemed that way.

  “Bente was right,” I said, making another grab for the door handle. “You’re a dick.”

  “Wait – Bente thinks I’m a dick?”

  I turned back to face him, smiling because I couldn’t help myself. “She absolutely does, Ryan.”

  His handsome face looked so crestfallen that I almost felt sorry for him. “That’s terrible news. How do I fix that?”

  “Hello,” I cooed, clicking my fingers at him. “One drama at a time, please.”

  He ignored me, still stuck on his train of thought. “I like Bente.”

  It was laughable. The man with the biggest vocabulary in history had been reduced to three word sentences. “Whatever shall you do?”

  My jibe was wasted on him. He was barely listening. After a few seconds, he walked toward the kitchen, whacking the doors with both hands as he pushed them open.

  I was too curious to leave – even at the risk of appearing pathetic for staying put. He crashed back through the swinging doors just a minute later, looking as smug as I’d ever seen him. “Your fairy powers of perception are wrong, Tinker Bell.” I scowled at the nickname. “Bente just agreed to go out to dinner with me.”

  I bit down on my lip, determined to hide the fact that I was secretly pleased. “Where are you planning to take her?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out when she calls and tells you all about it.”

  “Better make it good then,” I told him, pulling the front door open.

  “Charli,” he called. I turned around. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  I believed him, but he had a long way to go before I’d let him think he was forgiven. “It changes nothing, Ryan. You’re still a dick.”

  I walked out of Nellie’s feeling slightly vindicated. Ryan Décarie would probably never change his ways. But girls who live in glass houses probably shouldn’t throw stones.

  27. Showpiece

  With only a few days before the restaurant’s grand opening, Ryan’s diva-like demands on Adam’s time ramped up to stellar levels. The meetings, paperwork and phone calls were incessant. It felt like I’d hardly seen him in days, and my irritation was obviously beginning to show.

  “Keep tomorrow free,” said Adam, chastely kissing my forehead as he made his usual morning bolt for the door. “We’ll spend the whole day together.”

  “I’ll cancel my other engagements.”

  I couldn’t even be sure he’d heard my sarcastic comment. The front door closed and he was gone.

  Unlike Adam, I was time rich, but for once I had plans too. It was the day of Ivy’s pageant seminar. Having no idea what to expect, I convinced Bente to accompany me as moral support.

  I needn’t have worried. It was hardly a big-ticket event. Ivy’s little home was more cluttered than usual. Little girls ran amok through every room, squealing just as painfully as Faberge.

  “How long do you expect this to take?” Bente whispered as we walked down the hall in search of Ivy.

  “I have no idea,” I replied, nudging a little girl in a princess dress out of the way.

  Ivy appeared out of nowhere. “Charli, it’s about time. I’ve set up for you in the sewing room,” she babbled. “What do you need?”

  “A stiff drink,” muttered Bente invoking a searing glare from her sister.

  “Nothing. Just room to work,” I told her, smiling.

  I’d always been a little afraid of Ivy – which probably explained why I made Bente walk ahead of me as we followed her down the hall to the sewing room.

  Setting up my equipment had the same effect as the Pied Piper playing his flute. Little girls and over-enthusiastic women started lining up at the door.

  “How much is this session?” asked the woman first in line.

  “Err, nothing. I’m doing it as a favour to Ivy.”

  “I hope you take a decent picture,” she said sceptically, stroking her hand through her little girl’s auburn mane as if she were a pony. “We were offered complimentary hair and makeup at a seminar in Boston. It took weeks of conditioning treatments to right that little problem.”

  A few mothers further down the line murmured in agreement, and I wondered exactly what that little problem had been.

  “The whole photo shoot is free,” growled Bente. “What more could you want?”

  Ivy pushed past the growing queue and stood between Bente and the woman. “They’ll be amazing, Pia,” she crowed, in the friendliest tone I’d ever heard her use. “Charli has taken photos all over the world.”

  Yeah, of rolling waves and beaches, I thought. Snapshots of spoiled pageant princesses were a first. It didn’t seem like a good idea to mention that, though.

  “Then we’ll expect good pictures,” said pushy Pia, staring at me.

  The pageant mothers were a tougher crowed than Kinsey, Parker and Whitney all smooshed together. Pia could have come close to giving Fiona Décarie a run for her money. After three long hours I’d photographed all but one little girl. I’d dealt with tantrums, diva behaviour and tears – mostly from the mothers. Bente was barely holding it together. Her biggest task had been taping the black velvet backdrop to the wall every time it fell down, which was often. She’d resorted to swearing at it every time it happened. It was hardly a professional setup, but I had to admit it was the most fun I’d had for weeks.

  The last muse and her mother stepped into our makeshift studio.

  “This is Amber,” announced the woman proudly.

  “Hi, Amber, you’re looking pretty today,” I told her.

  “I know,” said the girl, displaying conceit far beyond her three or four years.

  I spun to face Bente so Amber’s mother wouldn’t catch me smiling. Bente wasn’t so polite. She laughed out loud, appalled. I turned my attention back to the little girl on the stool in front of me. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  Her mother took an industrial sized can of hairspray out of her handbag and practically fumigated the room with a ten second burst of spray aimed at her daughter’s head. Bente coughed. I stuffed my camera up my shirt, trying to protect the lens. “We’re aiming for a natural look,” said the woman. “Can you do that?”

  I stared blankly at Amber. There was absolutely nothing natural about the child. Her skin was so bronzed it was practically metallic. I suspected her white-blonde hair had come out of a bottle too.

  “She’s not a miracle worker,” snarled Bente.

  I watched the woman’s expression crumple. “No problem at all,” I assured her hastily. “Natural it is.”

  It was a bold promise that ordinarily I wouldn’t have felt comfortable making. Bente waited until we were alone before calling me on it. “How much editing are you going to have to do to make that kid look natural?”

  “She had absolutely no makeup on. That was her mother’s idea of natural. I??
?ll make her look a little less shiny than the tinfoil complexion she has now, and her mum will be rapt.”

  Bente tore down the sheet of black velvet and folded it up. I continued packing up my camera and laptop.

  “You seem happy today.”

  “I am happy. Today was great fun. I might do it again.”

  “Any time you want, Charli,” announced Ivy, walking in. “You were a big hit.”

  “They haven’t even seen the pictures yet.”

  “It makes no difference. They liked you.” She pointed at her sister. “You, not so much.”

  “Like I care.”

  I knew Bente’s day had been rough. I finished packing up and got her out of there as quickly as I could. Most of the journey back to Manhattan was spent chatting. It was the first chance we’d had all day to really catch up. High on the agenda was her date with my evil brother-in-law. “You’ve told me nothing,” I chided, nudging her.

  “It went well.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Er… everything.”

  Her story was fairly short. Ryan had taken to her to a flash restaurant somewhere downtown. He looked good, he smelled incredibly good and he behaved like a gentleman. “It was nice,” she told me.

  “Did you spend the night with him?”

  My boldness didn’t shock her. “No. Like I said, he was the perfect gentleman.”

  “Did you want to spend the night with him?”

  “Charli!” Her attempt at rebuking me was mediocre at best – especially considering she went on to answer my question anyway. “I would have, if he’d asked.”

  There was a reason he didn’t. Ryan actually liked Bente. I hoped she’d connect the dots and realise that. It wasn’t my place to tell her.

  “Are you going to go out with him again?”

  “If he asks me, I will.”

  As brash and brave as Bente was, I knew she’d never make the first move. It was all up to Ryan.

  “I hope it works out, Bente,” I whispered.

  “Hope’s got nothing to do with it,” she replied, grinning like she’d already won the prize.

  Bente was half an hour late for her shift at Nellie’s by the time we got there. Someone else had set the tables, and the restaurant was minutes away from opening. Paolo flew out the door the minute Bente arrived, and she set about doing whatever it was she did when she actually worked.

  Adam and I had made plans to meet there for dinner. He arrived soon after we did, greeting me with a long, desperate kiss that implied we’d been apart for too long. He led me to the table furthest from the front door.

  “Are you on the run?”

  Adam pulled out my chair. “No, I just want you all to myself,” he replied, sitting opposite me. “Tell me how your day went.”

  For once, I was excited to tell him about my day – so excited that I managed to do it in one ridiculously long rant. “It was great! The kids were cute – all painted up but still cute. The mothers were drama queens, but I handled them. And through all the craziness, I still managed to take some decent pictures. Even Ivy was happy, and Ivy is never happy.”

  “Take a breath, my little rebel without a pause,” he ribbed.

  “It was such a good day, Adam,” I said, calming my tone.

  He smiled. “I like seeing you like this.”

  “I imagine you probably enjoy seeing her naked too but there are some things I just don’t need to know,” interrupted Bente, pen in hand, ready to take our order.

  “Can we have a few more minutes, please?” asked Adam.

  “I think that can be arranged,” she replied, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived.

  “Wow. She’s in a pleasant mood.”

  “Bente didn’t enjoy her pageant seminar experience as much as I did,” I explained.

  We were half way through our meal when I caught something from the corner of my eye that might have added to Bente’s prickly mood. Ryan – who hadn’t said a word to us all night – was standing by the podium talking to a blonde woman pretty enough to be in his posse.

  Adam noticed my preoccupation immediately. “What’s going on?” he asked, turning to see for himself.

  “Who’s that girl with Ryan?”

  “That’s Yolanda.”

  “The interior decorator? What’s she doing here?”

  “I have no idea, Charlotte,” he said, grinning. “Why don’t you go and ask her?”

  I rolled my eyes at his ridiculous suggestion. “Not a chance.”

  “We hired Yolanda to do the interior fit-out for the restaurant,” he explained, putting me out of my misery. “They’re probably talking business.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but left quizzing Ryan about it until we were on the way out. “Ryan, are you going to see Bente again?” I turned around and slipped my arms through the sleeves of my coat as he held it out for me.

  “I saw her five minutes ago.” Even without seeing him I could tell he was smiling.

  “Wise guy,” I muttered.

  “I have something for you,” he announced, reaching into his breast pocket. Like the juvenile he was, he waved the envelope in front of my face until I snatched it from him. It was full of money. I was perplexed, having no idea what it was for.

  “Have you sold your soul, Ryan?” I asked in my best witchy voice.

  He grinned. “If I had, it would’ve been for more than the eight hundred bucks in that envelope.”

  “So what’s it for then?”

  “I sold two of your pictures that we hung in the restaurant. You’re going to have to send some more over.”

  “Who bought them? More to the point, why?”

  “Yolanda bought them. She saw them at the restaurant and thought they’d be perfect for an apartment she’s decorating.”

  “So you sold them? Just like that?”

  Ryan frowned. “Everything has a price, Charli. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am. I’m thrilled.”

  “Thrilled about what?” asked Adam, catching the tail end of the conversation.

  Ryan told him. “She really wanted them. I should have charged her double.”

  “I’m not sure they were even for sale,” said Adam smiling uneasily.

  “Sure they were,” I replied. “I just didn’t realise it.”

  ***

  It had been a fabulous day that I had no plans of ending once we’d left Nellie’s. I instigated the amorous behaviour in the elevator on the way up to our apartment. The object of my affection – although blindsided – didn’t try dissuading me. We practically fell through the apartment door, lips locked and dangerously close to being indecent, and bumped into a large piece of furniture that hadn’t been there when we’d left that morning. Colin the delivery guy had struck again.

  “Do you know anything about this?” asked Adam, still breathless.

  I looked at the glass-topped dining table and four black leather chairs blocking our path.

  “Not a thing,” I replied, bewildered.

  Adam noticed a card on the table and picked it up, groaning as he read it. As soon as I saw the flowery picture on the front of the card, I knew it was from the queen. His sour expression confirmed it.

  “It’s from my mother.”

  “I know. Why?”

  He folded the card in half and slipped it in to his pocket. “No real reason. She noticed we didn’t have one.”

  I couldn’t quite believe him. His lame explanation made no sense.

  On the guise of picking up where we’d left off, I pressed my body hard up against his, kissing him intently enough to slip my hand into his pocket and retrieve the card without him noticing.

  As soon as it was in my grasp, I broke our embrace.

  “Don’t read it, Charlotte,” he warned gravely.

  I couldn’t help myself. “Darling,” I began, in my best English accent, “perhaps you might encoura
ge Charli to use this suite well. Good etiquette is an important part of life.”

  “I warned you not to read it,” he said weakly.

  “She wanted me to read it,” I replied, dropping the card on the table. “I knew I shouldn’t have combed my hair with my fork at lunch the other day.”

  Adam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Would you believe me if I told you she meant no harm?”

  “Like a poisonous snake that didn’t mean to strike?”

  Adam lurched forward, pulling me into his arms. “Forget about my mother,” he urged, breathing the words into my hair.

  “Will you send it back?”

  “Charlotte, I’ll send it to the moon if it makes you happy.”

  ***

  If Adam had sealed his promise of spending the next day alone together by crossing his heart and hoping to die, he would’ve been a dead man by breakfast. Ryan called early, demanding a meeting to sign yet more paperwork. With a tight hold on my hand, Adam practically pulled me through the front door of the empty restaurant.

  Dragging my feet gave me a chance to have a look around. Yolanda had come through for them in a big way. The attention to detail was superb. I loved everything about it, from the lavish floral arrangements to the big pillar candles. The square tables and high-backed chairs were complemented perfectly by pristine linens and white tableware. It represented the Décarie brand perfectly. Much to my amusement, it also made Nellie’s look like a low-rent diner.

  “Ten minutes and we’ll be out of here,” promised Adam.

  The thought of Ryan interrupting my day for even a minute was annoying. “He’s not even here yet,” I grumbled. I sat at the centre table, looking up at the mammoth chandelier above me. “Can we turn the light on?”

  Adam crossed the room and a flicked the switch on the wall, sending warm light flickering around the room. “Not bad, huh?”

  I played down its beauty with my stiff reply. “It’s okay.”

  “Just okay? It played a big part in naming this place. It had better be impressive.”

  “What did you call this place?”

  Adam grimaced. “I didn’t call it anything. Ryan named it.” His expression was positively sour, piquing my interest.