Second Hearts (The Wishes Series) (22 page)

As soon as I opened the door, I turned around, holding the front of my dress against my chest. He didn’t need instruction, just stepped forward and zipped it up.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turned to face him, nervously smoothing the front of my dress. “What do you think?”

“At the risk of sounding highly inappropriate, you look stunningly beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes at his convoluted compliment. “Can’t you just be normal?”

He smiled. “Fine. You look hot, Charli.”

“Better,” I praised. “See how easy that was?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he uttered, grinning again.

He closed the door, and for a few seconds an awkward silence filled the air. I wondered if that was the moment I was supposed to tell him he looked hot too. It would have been an unnecessary compliment. Ryan always looked handsome. Today was no exception but I could tell a little more effort than usual went in to his outfit. His navy blue suit and matching tie was so impeccably pieced together, he looked crisp enough to snap at any moment.

“Can we go now?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch. “Now? We’ll be early.”

“I’m all dressed up and it’s wasted on you,” I said, grabbing the skirt of my dress and fanning it out. “I should be out there showing off.”

Ordinarily he might have protested, but that day was mine. Perhaps he knew that. Ryan was good at picking his battles. He helped me put on my coat and followed me to the door, saying nothing until we were in the elevator. “You know, Gabi will freak out when she sees your artistic efforts on the wall in there,” he said irrelevantly.

“Do you care?” Ryan and Gabrielle weren’t close, and that was putting it mildly. He called her worse names than I did. “I thought you didn’t get along with your cousin.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t. Never did. Never will.”

“Yes. Why is that?”

Through the mirrored wall of the elevator he flashed me a lazy grin. “What do you want me to tell you? Are you waiting on some scandalous story?”

“I might be. I’d love to hear a scandalous story involving Gabrielle.”

“It probably won’t happen,” he said, sounding disappointed. “She’s too clean-cut for that. That’s basically why we don’t get along. She’s probably shacked up in Tasmania with a goat farmer.”

“No. She’s shacked up in Tasmania with my father.” I said it a little acidly.

Ryan picked up on it immediately. I knew there was no way to go back and convince him that I actually approved of their relationship. His loud laugh bounced around the confined space we were in. “The princess and an old man? I didn’t see that one coming.”

I cringed at the mental picture he was probably conjuring up in his mind.

“He’s hardly old. My dad just turned thirty-six.”

I watched the mental maths through the mirror. “So how old are you? Twelve?”

The doors slid open. I called him a name and walked across the foyer to the door. I was good at picking my battles too.

***

If Ryan was upset at being over an hour early, he didn’t let on. There’s no way he could have been bored. Hanging out at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau reminded me of sitting in the lounge of a busy airport, only a lot more stylish.

The waiting hall was a long narrow art deco room with stylish long green couches, shiny marble columns, and chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling. Couples and their posses loomed everywhere. And like airport travellers, I couldn’t help wondering what brought them there.

It was a first-come-first-served process, and I could progress no further without my groom – who wasn’t due to meet us there for another hour. Ryan and I sat down on a couch, waited and watched. Some brides were dressed to the nines. I considered myself to be dressed to the sevens (the fives if I’d taken my tiara off). A handful of extremely casual brides were in jeans and tired winter coats. There was a token knocked-up bride, a nervous groom who looked to be there against his will and a sweet-looking old couple who reminded me of the Swanstons from my breakfast shift days at Nellie’s.

“I wonder what their stories are,” I whispered to Ryan.

“I imagine there are many levels of stupidity in this room,” he replied flatly.

I scolded him with a harsh look. “Do you think
I’m
stupid?”

“I think you’re too young. I don’t think you know anything about life.”

“I don’t need to know everything. I just need to know what makes me happy. Your brother is it.”

Ryan huffed out a sarcastic grunt. “I hope you hold that thought, Charli. Being part of my family is a tough gig.”

“You’re in it. It can’t be all bad.”

Ryan leaned back in the couch, resting his head as he looked to the ceiling.

“You know, when I was a kid, I always dreamed of having a sister,” he mused. “But I wanted her to be older, with really gorgeous friends.”

The majority of Ryan’s snide attitude was false, a front he maintained for reasons unknown. One of my favourite pastimes was calling him out on it. “Eventually Ryan, you’re going to be a really nice guy – when you stop playing in the whore tree.”

He stood up. “I enjoy that you have so much faith in me.”

I grabbed his arm and demanded to know where he was going. My tone suggested I thought he was about to abandon me. “I’m going to buy a newspaper. If I’m not back in five minutes, check the wedding chapel. That woman over there keeps staring at me.”

Dropping the death grip I had on him, I peeked in the direction of his upward nod. A pretty redhead wearing a frightful apricot dress quickly looked away when I caught her eye. “Oh yeah. She wants you.”

Ryan walked away without another word, returning shortly after with a newspaper in hand. “Right,” he said, brandishing a pen. “How are you at crosswords?”

“Hopeless, actually.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you.” I knew his idea of helping me meant dumbing it down. “Nineteen across. Origin of the Manx people.”

“You tell me,” I gibed.

Ryan glanced across at me. “I don’t know the answer. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Do you think I know it?”

“No. Clearly I’m just humouring you.”

Ordinarily his condescension would have infuriated me but this time, I had the upper hand. I knew the answer. “The Isle of Man.”

I watched his eyes grow wider as he counted out the letters. “You might just be right. How could you know that?”

“The Adhene are Manx fairies.” He looked totally perplexed, giving me no option but to elaborate. “In Manx folklore, fairies are thought to be fallen angels, cast from heaven but slightly too good for hell – a bit like you really.”

“Speak for yourself, Charli.” If he’d hoped to sound hurt, he failed.

“They’re malevolent, mischievous and delight in causing misery,” I added.

Ryan twisted his body to look at me, staring in a way that made me nervous. “You’re such a strange girl.”

We didn’t get through much more of the crossword before Bente and Adam arrived. I walked as fast as I could toward Adam without running.

“We’re early. I didn’t think you’d be here yet,” said Bente, glancing at the clock on the wall. “How long have you been here?”

I didn’t have the focus to answer her. I fell into Adam’s arms the second he was within reach. By that time, Ryan had joined us and answered her question. “Long enough,” he muttered, trying to sound inconvenienced.

Adam looked at me for a long time, saying everything without actually speaking. For some reason, he saw things in me that Ryan and everyone else seemed to miss. His bright eyes showed no hint of nervousness or regret, and I knew what I’d known all along. He was the one for me.

When Adam finally did speak, it was to tell me how lovely I looked. I wanted to tell him the same thing but feared it might sound weird. I also wanted to grab the hem of my long dress and twirl around like a child but decided against that too.

I’d never seen Adam dressed so formally. Unlike his brother, he favoured a casual look. But he wore the dark charcoal suit and matching tie well, looking nowhere near as snobbish and untouchable as is brother.

Now that he was there, we could move forward with the formalities. License in hand, we lined up in front of the reception desk. Reaching the front of the line brought no great prize. We were assigned a number and told to wait for it to be called.

When it finally was called, it was only to sign documentation and present identification. Once again we were told to listen out for our number. It was like a long game of bridal bingo.

We headed back to the couch, acting much less antsy than the two people who were there to bear witness for us. Despite their inability to sit still, Ryan and Bente chatted easily, as they always did. It made Ivy’s snide remarks about him even more intriguing. Ryan
was
a dick – just never to Bente.

“Charlotte,” Adam said, from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have any flowers.”

I turned my head to look at him but he didn’t meet my eyes. He was focused on the latest couple to call bingo. Bride number twenty-six jumped off her couch, pulling her groom to his feet with one hand and waving her neat bouquet of red roses with the other.

How could I have overlooked flowers? Until that moment I thought I’d remembered everything. Bridal flowers symbolise emotions, values and wishes. How could I have dared to show up without any?

Finding a bouquet suddenly became more important than hearing our number being called.

“I need flowers,” I announced. “We have to find some.”

“Chill, Bridezilla, they sell them at the gift shop,” said Bente. “I’ll go and get some.”

Ryan offered to go with her, leaving Adam and me alone on the couch, holding hands as we always did whenever we were within reach. We said nothing – not one word. The silence made me blissfully happy. There was only calm in my heart.

***

Bente and Ryan returned with a huge bouquet.

“It was the biggest one they had,” said Bente, thrusting them at me. “Is it okay?”

I studied the mixed posy closely but Adam answered for me. “It will be in a minute.”

He knew me too well. Bente gasped in horror as I began modifying my bouquet, plucking out the white carnations, pink larkspur and white sweet peas and handing them to Ryan.

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?” he asked, closing his fist around the snubbed flowers.

“They’re bad luck,” I explained. “Sweet peas mean departure. They’re a big fat thanks for everything, I’m out of here.”

“And the others?” asked Bente, curious.

“Pink larkspur.” I said it acidly, as if it was a noxious weed rather than a pretty flower. “It symbolises fickleness. I don’t want it in my bouquet.”

Bente’s sideward glance was aimed at Ryan. He dropped his head, smirking. Adam’s eyes remained firmly on me, unfazed by my craziness.

“What about the other flowers?” asked Bente, pointing at the bouquet. “Do they make the grade?”

I double-checked, twisting the posy to look it over. “Yes. It’s fine. Pink roses, perfect happiness; gardenias convey joy and freesias symbolise thoughtfulness.”

“Oh my God,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “She’s some kind of flower savant.”

Ryan looked at the scrunched-up petals in his hand. “What about carnations?” he asked, frowning at me. “What’s wrong with carnations?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. They’re just ugly.”

***

Finally our number was called. “About time,” muttered Ryan under his breath. From the corner of my eye I saw Bente elbow him sharply in the ribs.

Adam took my hand and we made our way to one of the ceremony rooms. Standing in front of the celebrant was when the first hint of nervousness kicked in. Adam’s palms were sweaty and my hands trembled enough to make my bouquet shake. We must have managed to look normal, though. Georgette, the celebrant, didn’t seem alarmed at all.

Georgette was a pretty woman in her mid forties, dressed in a smart but unfashionable powder blue satiny skirt suit with puffy short sleeves. The pink rose in her lapel looked jagged, and I wondered how many weddings she’d officiated wearing it.

I tried to listen to her. She was saying some of the most important words I’d ever hear in my lifetime and I just couldn’t concentrate. It was as if she was speaking under water. Fearing I was missing vital information, I put my hand up.

She stopped talking. That was the moment I probably became one of the few brides in history to interrupt her own ceremony.

“Charli, what’s wrong?” whispered Adam from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were still fixed firmly ahead, probably on the celebrant’s half dead boutonnière rose.

“Can we have just a minute, please?” I directed the question at Georgette, who nodded and stepped aside to give us some space. She lightly touched Adam’s elbow in a sorry-you’re-about-to-get-jilted gesture. Maybe she’d seen it before.

“Adam, I have to ask you something.”

“Now?” He sounded absolutely terrified.