Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (13 page)

She was clearly unhappy to see me. Cutting into her time at the park with her uncle was a massive no-no. Using my four hundred dollar Hermès scarf as a cape was a no-no too, but I seemed to be the only one who realised it.

“You gave her my scarf?” I muttered from the corner of my mouth.

“Not really,” replied Ryan. “She found it.”

Bridget came to a halt in front of us. “Come and play, Ry,” she demanded, ignoring me.

“In a minute,” he replied. “I’m talking to Bente at the moment.”

She grabbed his hand and tried pulling him to his feet. “No, we have to go now. Please, now.”

Ryan repositioned his hand so he was now holding hers. “In a minute.” He almost sounded cross but Bridget wasn’t fazed. She turned her attention to me. “No park for you, Bente.” A cutting glare was probably her intention, but she was too cute to pull it off.

I’d been dealing with horrid Malibu since my return from Boston. Bridget had nothing on her, but for some reason, I felt intimidated. Holding my ground wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to at least try.

I started by asking for my scarf back. “I know Ryan said you could play with it, but he made a mistake,” I explained.

Bridget took a step back. “No. I really love it.”

“I love it too,” I said. “That’s why I saved all my money to buy it.”

“I’m sorry, Bente,” mumbled Ryan. “I didn’t know.”

I ignored him, keeping my focus on Bridget, who’d abandoned her frown in favour of a pout. “Please, Bridget. I’d really like it back.”

She barely paused to think about it. “No. I don’t want to.” With that, she took off running toward the playground, my Hermès scarf flapping behind her like a victory flag.

“I can chase after her and take her down if you want,” offered Ryan. He was trying to make light of it, but I wasn’t finding it funny. Four hundred dollars was chump change to him, Bridget too, but I’d survived on Ramen noodles for months to save for the scarf.

He shifted his hand to the back of my head, tangling his fingers through my hair. “I’ll replace it, sweetheart.” He spoke casually, as if he’d just fixed everything. “I promise.”

“And Bridget gets to keep that one?”

He shrugged but didn’t speak, highlighting just how clueless he was.

“That solves nothing.”

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. There’s no problem,” he replied.

He was wrong.

Bridget’s little mind had formed the opinion that I was out to steal her favourite uncle. Turning up at the park after she’d warned me not to was interpreted as a hostile move. Asking for my scarf back hadn’t gone down well either, but she’d won.

I got the impression that Bridget was victorious most of the time where Ryan was concerned. And that
was
a problem.

***

Taking Ryan up on his offer of going home with them would’ve been a declaration of war, so I politely made up a lie about having to go to my sister’s.

Ivy’s house was bedlam, as usual. The girls were fighting upstairs, but at least they stayed there.

“Why aren’t the girls in school?” I asked.

“It’s the Merry Berry Pageant tomorrow,” replied Ivy. “I thought they should take the day off and relax. I want them at their best.”

They didn’t sound very relaxed, but they were at their best. I heard a loud thud and looked up at the ceiling. “Do you think you should check on them?”

Ivy threw her head back and shrieked, “What’s going on up there?”

“Just playing!”

My sister looked at me, completely at ease. “They’re fine.”

I followed her to the living room, carrying the coffee I’d made. Now that my chairs were gone and her couches had been pushed back into place, the room looked much more presentable – well, as presentable as the pageant palace could be.

Ivy went straight to work. She spread a sparkly dress across her lap and switched on her glue gun.

“Is that for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” She held up a bejewelled orange creation, “Malibu’s doing the apricot jelly dance in the talent section.”

I nodded. It was the best I could do. I’d grown out of the pageant phase at fourteen. Ivy was still working on it.

“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 much 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.