Read Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series Online
Authors: G.J. Walker-Smith
Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (3 page)
Operation birthday cake was a battle of wills. I gave Bridget instructions, and she ignored them. “You’re cooking it wrong,” she insisted.
“Be quiet and stir.”
Despite the drama, the cake tin was finally loaded into the oven and clean-up began. Bridget lost interest at that point and went back to her box of severed doll parts. Charli remained sprawled on the couch as if she owned the joint, and the ensuing conversation led me to think she sometimes wished she did.
“Ryan, I think you and I should make a deal,” she suggested, staring at the high ceiling.
“What kind of deal?”
“A business deal.”
She might not have seen me roll my eyes, but I was sure she heard me laugh. “I’ve made enough business deals with you to last me a lifetime.”
Ignoring me, she continued her pitch. “I think you should move into our apartment so we can move in here.”
“I’m sure you do,” I replied, still chuckling. “Find your own house.”
“Adam owns half this place, right?”
“Technically.”
“Then technically I own half too. I’m evicting you.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that, Tinker Bell.”
She sat upright, trying her best to appear serious. “You’re becoming very unreasonable in your old age.”
Bridget chimed in from across the room. “Are you old now, Ry?”
No one on earth got away with shortening my name – except her. She wasn’t going to get away with calling me old, though. “No, Bridget. I am not.”
Charli giggled. “Did you know that my dad was only eleven when you were born?”
“Charli, Alex wasn’t much older than that when
you
were born.”
She had no smart comeback. I wasn’t lying.
***
My clean-up efforts were in vain. Once the cake was cooked and cooled, Bridget went to town decorating it. There was more frosting on the counter than the cake, but she was thrilled with the result, which made it easy to overlook the mess she’d made.
“Great job, little one,” I praised.
“We can eat it now?” she asked hopefully.
I looked to Charli for an answer.
“No,” she told her. “We’re taking it to Mamie’s tonight.”
My mother had been planning my birthday dinner for days. Supplying dessert was tactical. It meant we didn’t have to fear the marzipan topped pound cake she usually subjected us to. For some reason, she considered it to be one of her signature dishes, and to this day, not one of us had had the heart to tell her how truly revolting it was.
Bente
No one thought my sister could top the ridiculous name she’d cursed her eldest daughter, Fabergé, with, but four years later she outdid herself by naming her second daughter Malibu.
Malibu Vienna Denison to be precise. With a name like that, she was bound to have attitude. Malibu was a growly, bad-tempered bundle of terror, but in the eyes of her mother she could do no wrong. In fairness, turning a blind eye is probably necessary when it comes to raising two precocious girls by yourself.
No one really knew how Ivy ended up a solo parent. Both girls seemed to be immaculate conceptions. One minute my sister was single. The next she was pregnant and single.
I’d never asked about their fathers. I didn’t even know for sure that there were two daddies; it was just an educated guess based on the fact that Malibu and Fabergé looked nothing alike. Fabergé was olive skinned with dark hair like her mother. Malibu had red curly hair and very pale skin.
“It’s the Irish in her,” declared Ivy.
I offered no input. I had no idea what the little girl had in her.
***
Living with Ivy and her girls was akin to serving out a prison sentence, and now that I was unemployed my plan of moving into my own place was nothing more than a pipe dream.
I was doing my time in Fabergé’s room while she bunked with Malibu. Neither girl was happy with the arrangement. When Fabergé started moving her things across the hall, World War Three broke out. It started out with pinching and slapping and ended in tears on both fronts. Witnessing it made me glad that I had no children. It also made me want to step out into the hall and deliver a few slaps of my own. I only held off because the rent was cheap and I needed a roof over my head.
***
As soon as I arrived home, I headed to my room. I dumped my box of office supplies at the foot of the bed, crumpled in a heap and dissolved into tears.
Ivy knocked on the door a short while later. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I called, trying to sound composed. “I’ll be out soon.”
That might’ve been a lie. I was going to need days to recover from the morning I’d had.
My mind wasn’t even on the horror of losing my job. I’d hated it from day one. I was a journalist not a receptionist, but beggars can’t be choosers. I accepted the first job I was offered to get me back to New York.
But in truth I’d barely given McGivern Realty another thought since I’d walked out the door. My mind was on a previous employer. Dealing with Ryan Décarie is like being stung by a wasp: it hurts like a bitch but you learn a lesson and vow never to go near the wasp nest again.
Today the wasp came to me, and instead of running in the opposite direction, I gave the nest a big ol’ kick.
I sat up and grabbed my box, searching through it for the business card he’d given me. It was a pointless exercise. His number hadn’t changed, and even though I hadn’t called it in years I still knew it by heart.
That made tearing the card up a pointless exercise too, but it still felt good doing it.
Ryan
Considering the effort Mom had gone to, arriving on time was the least I could do. Charli and Bridget showed up late, and much to Charli’s annoyance Adam didn’t show at all.
“You must understand, Charli,” said my father in a gentle but condescending tone. “Work comes first. It’s the way of the world.”
“Not our world,” she replied strongly.
The king didn’t intimidate Charli in the slightest, no matter how hard he tried. It impressed me. Adam and I had dealt with him our whole lives and were nowhere near as good at shutting him down as she was.
“Your world must be a wondrous place,” he replied dryly.
Jean-Luc’s battle was no longer with Adam. He had him right where he wanted him. When Adam agreed to take a job at Décarie, Fontaine and Associates, our father considered it a victory. The prodigal son was returning home to make good. The fact that they’d only come back because of Charli’s position at the Merriman Gallery never rated a mention. Jean-Luc once told her that she was fortunate to have found a project to keep her occupied.
He still maintained that he was fond of his feisty daughter-in-law, and I believed him. She just frustrated the hell out of him, which was perfectly understandable. She frustrated the hell out of most people.
Charli made a lame excuse to leave the room, perhaps to stop herself speaking again. Dad turned his attention to Bridget who was sprawled under the coffee table, playing with her toys.
“
Bridget, viens voir Papy
,” he beckoned.
“I’m working under here, Papy,” she replied, making me smile.
“I have something for you,” he coaxed.
Predictably, the little girl scrambled out from under the table to find out what it was. I groaned aloud as he reached into his wallet and presented her with a fifty-dollar bill.
Her little eyes lit up and she thanked him.
It was a stupid, pointless gesture and I proved it in an instant. “What have you got there, Bridge?”
She climbed on to the couch beside Dad, waving the bill at me. “Paper money,” she replied.
I smiled roguishly at my father. “Awesome.”
He frowned and I knew I’d made my point. He’d have gotten the same reaction by giving her a dollar bill.
My mother appeared a few seconds later with more spoils for Adam’s little princess. “Come, Bridget,” she instructed, holding out her hand. “Mamie has something for you upstairs.” It really wasn’t any wonder that Charli avoided letting Bridget hang out with my parents for any length of time. The level of excess they showered on the kid grated on me, and I wasn’t the one trying to raise her.
Bridget and Mom disappeared and Charli returned. My father wasted no time in trying to put her in her place. “I don’t enjoy tension, Charli. I hope you’ve calmed down.”
She sat beside me, giving her the best vantage point to glare at him from. She didn’t say a word, which was far more powerful than any reply she could’ve given. We endured an awkward few minutes of silence before Bridget and Mom returned. Mom held her hand and paraded her around, showing off the new coat she’d dressed her in.
“
Magnifique
!” praised my father.
“Doesn’t she look lovely?” crowed my mother, speaking mainly to Charli. “I saw it this afternoon and couldn’t resist. It’s a fraction too big –” she tugged at the cuff of Bridget’s sleeve, “– but it should fit her by winter.”
Charli was so rigid that her voice sounded strange as she thanked her. Bridget didn’t seem to be faring much better. She escaped her grandmother’s grasp and piled onto her mother’s lap. If I’d been any further away, I wouldn’t have heard Bridget’s whisper. “I don’t like it, Mummy.”
“Shush,” replied Charli, equally as quietly.
***
Dinner was done with fairly quickly. Mom served her stock standard stodgy roast beef and finished up with the cake Bridget had made. It was lopsided, overloaded with sprinkles and little fingermarks, and still more appealing than any dessert my mother could’ve cooked. It wasn’t an unbearable evening, but I was glad when it ended. I decided to make the most of the clear, warm night and walk home.
I would’ve walked the girls home too but Charli had other plans. She ordered Bridget to stay put, stepped off the sidewalk and hailed a cab with the expertise of a true New Yorker.
“You’re getting a cab?” I asked incredulously. “I’ll walk you home.”
“We’re not going home,” she replied, hoisting a slab of cake at me. “We’re going to surprise Adam at work.”
“My daddy likes cake,” added Bridget.
I didn’t feel the need to warn her that the building would be locked. If anyone could talk their way past security, it was those two. I opened the back door of the cab for them. “Have a nice night, ladies.”
Bridget clambered in and Charli handed her the plate of cake before turning back to me. “Happy birthday, Ryan,” she said, kissing my cheek. “Spend your wish wisely. Buy only what you need.”
I should’ve bowed out of the nonsense and walked away, but I couldn’t help asking my next question. “What do you think I need?”
She flashed a smile. “Someone to bring you chocolate cake when you work late.”
“Yeah, right.” I dropped my line of sight to the pavement.
“It’s true, Ryan. You’re ready for her.” She dipped her head, chasing my eyes. “Find her. Go forth and find chocolate cake girl.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll work on it.”
“You should,” she replied, suddenly serious. “I wish that for you.”
“Me too, Ry,” called a little voice from the back seat of the cab.
“Get out of here,” I teased, opening the door wider. “The meter’s running.”
Bente
Nothing could be more pathetic than an unemployed twenty-six-year-old woman hiding out in her niece’s Hello Kitty-themed bedroom. Especially when said woman was sitting on the floor, debating whether or not to call the only man who’d ever broken her heart.
And yet here I was. And that’s where I’d been for the last two hours. The whole situation was pathetic. Calling Ryan was a dumb idea, but I found myself doing it anyway.
“Here goes everything,” I muttered out loud.
I’d barely got the words out when he answered. “Bente. Hi.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and instantly relaxed because of it.
“I’m just wondering if your offer of dinner still stands.”
“Yes, of course.” He punched out the words. “Tomorrow?”
Pretending to check my schedule was pointless. After the events of that morning, he knew better than anyone that I didn’t have one. “Yes, something casual and low key, okay?”
“You don’t want to be seen with me, Miss Denison?” His dark tone and cheeky words were reminiscent of the Ryan I used to know, the same Ryan who has a knack for turning my insides to mush.
“Not in public.”
“Okay, fine. How about we make it really low key and take chaperones? I’ll bring my little niece and you can bring yours.”
Eight-year-old Fabergé wouldn’t even entertain the idea. My thoughts turned to dreadful Malibu. “Sure,” I replied, struggling to sound pleasant. “That sounds great.”