Second Hearts (The Wishes Series) (32 page)

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, Bente 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.”

“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 A
dam, 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.