Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (46 page)

I blew out a long breath and fell back limply into Ryan’s arms. “No more wedding talk,” I mumbled. “We’re done.”

***

Creeping into an empty Nellie’s wearing my red dress and clinging to Ryan’s arm gave me a massive sense of
déjà vu
– especially once he started moving tables around.

“Dance with me?” he asked, holding out his hand as he crossed the space he’d cleared.

I took his hand and he twirled me into position. “Music?”

“We don’t need music.” He smiled. “Everything we need is right here, but feel free to sing if you’d like.”

“I’ll sing for you,” I bravely offered.

“You will?”

“Sure.” I nodded, just once. “You don’t freak me out.”

He dipped his head, murmuring against the curve of my shoulder. “You freak me out every day.”

I took half a step back, forcing him to straighten up and look at me. “How?”

“Because you know me, and you still love me,” he replied. “That’s freaky.”

Something deep in my chest shifted, and I realised it was probably the last piece of doubt that I’d been holding on to for the past three months. The conceited, egotistical man who’d made an art form out of breaking my heart was gone. In his place stood a much improved version who wasn’t afraid to be loving and vulnerable. And after my antics of the day, he’d also proven that he was protective and willing to step up when I couldn’t.

“I think I should keep you forever.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You should,” he agreed. “I’m pretty close to being the complete package.”

Clearly, the war against his massive ego was one he’d never completely win.

My head fell back as I laughed and Ryan moved in, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his lips against my throat. I seemed to be the only one who heard his phone ringing.

“Ryan, answer your phone,” I muttered.

“No.”

“It might be important.”

Depending on who the caller was, there was a fair chance it might be also be painful and horrific. Ryan knew it too, which explained why he ignored me. I slipped my hand into his pocket and grabbed his phone, reading the screen. “It’s Trieste.”

Ryan’s expression changed in an instant. He put the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

If it was supposed to be a private conversation, he had no chance. Thanks to the deathly quiet surroundings of the restaurant, I heard every word.

“I just wanted to let you know something,” she began. “Apart from mine, your wedding is the best I’ve ever been to. I wish you were here to see it.”

“It’s going well then?” he asked, winking at me.

“It’s spectacular, Ryan.”

“Can you see my mom anywhere?” he asked curiously.

After a long silence Trieste answered. I was relieved; Ryan seemed to be turning green while he waited.

“Oh, I see her,” she told him. “She’s dancing with Adam.”

“Does she look okay?” he asked. “Happy?”

Trieste’s guffaw was so loud that he held the phone away from his ear. “She looks ecstatic. I can’t say the same for Adam, though. That man can’t dance.”

I could see relief wash through Ryan at the news that his mom wasn’t an hysterical wreck. He smiled. “That’s good news, Trieste. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she shot back. “I should be thanking you. William and I are spending your wedding night at the Four Seasons.”

We were so far out of the loop that neither of us even knew we’d been booked into the Four Seasons. Standing in for us didn’t extend as far as a night in a hotel for Adam and Charli. With Bridget in tow, romance was out of the question. Generous to a fault, Adam had offered Trieste the room instead.

“Enjoy,” urged Ryan.

“Oh, we will.” Her suggestive tone made me giggle. “Can we order room service?”

Ryan huffed out a quick laugh. “Sure.”

“And the movie channels?”

He pulled a face. At least I wasn’t the only one disturbed by the prospect. “Whatever you want, Trieste.” He worked quickly to end the call, perhaps fearful of what she might come out with next. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he promised.

If she spoke again, we didn’t hear. Ryan put his phone away.

“Let’s never speak of that conversation again,” he suggested with a shudder.

81. SECRET INGREDIENTS

Ryan

After an emotionally trying day, my body and mind felt depleted. Desperate for an energy kick, I thought food might help. I took Bente by the hand, spouting a round of menu suggestions as I led her through to the kitchen.

“You know what I’d really like?” she asked, tugging my hand to slow me down.

“Room service and the movie channels?”

“No.” Her raspy laugh made me wish she’d answered differently. “Pecan pie. I’ve had lots of pecan pie in my time but none compare to Nellie’s.”

“Do you mean that?”

She nodded. “Heaven on earth. You should try it.”

I didn’t need to try it. I knew it was spectacular. The recipe was mine and I proudly told her so. “I tried a hundred different variations until it was perfect.” I tapped the side of my nose. “It has a secret ingredient.”

“Your parents got it so wrong,” she said, sadly. “They didn’t raise lawyers. They raised a carpenter and a chef.”

There were no words to explain the emotions I was feeling at that point so talking was senseless. There were other ways to tell her how I felt, and I quickly got lost in the moment. Bente did not. Her mind was fixed on pie.

“What’s the secret ingredient?” she murmured against my mouth.

“I can’t tell you,” I murmured back.

“You have to tell me,” she insisted. “We’re as good as married. We’re supposed to share everything.”

“Not secret pie business.”

Working her into a frustrated frenzy was easy. All I had to do was keep quiet. Withholding information drove her inquisitive mind insane – and I loved that about her. There wasn’t a single thing I didn’t love about Bente, including her great pitching arm and sharp elbow. I wasn’t sure which she was about to unleash on me so I stepped out of range and put her out of her misery. “Apple cider vinegar,” I said.

“That’s it?”

Her disappointed tone made me laugh. “What were you expecting? Truffles infused with the laughter of a thousand babies?”

A smile crept across her face as she stepped toward me, stretched up and linked her arms around my neck.

“Just get me pie, Ryan,” she whispered.

***

Sharing a life with someone was far more complicated than taking on pink furniture and sharing closet space. It was about sharing myself and taking more on board than I ever thought I could. It was also about being adaptable when plans changed, which seemed to be happening to us a lot that day.

We were sitting in the deserted restaurant eating the world’s best pecan pie when our Monday wedding plans were shot to pieces.

Bente didn’t know the man who called her. I knew him well – at least, I used to. I’d gone to school with Reid Bachman. We lost touch after graduation. I went on to law school and he pursued a journalism degree. Law hadn’t worked out for me, but he ended up landing a gig as an editor at The Manhattan Tribune. If we’d stayed in touch he probably would’ve been at the wedding watching my brother remarry his Tinker Bell. But we hadn’t, so he was clueless that he’d picked an odd day to call.

It wasn’t hard to work out why he’d called Bente, but I listened to her excited explanation as if I had no clue.

“He loves my work, Ryan!” She waved her phone at me. “I sent him some of the stuff I’d been working on with Tiger. He wants to meet me on Monday.”

I pushed my pie plate to the centre of the table. “I told you things would work out.”

Bente mistook my pride for smugness, narrowing her eyes as she jumped to a conclusion. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“Like?”

“Like, pulling strings and calling in a favour.”

“Trust me sweetheart, there were no strings to be pulled and Reid owes me no favours. If anything, it’s the opposite.”

“I thought you were friends,” she reminded me.

“I might’ve embellished that part,” I admitted. “He doesn’t like me much.”

Bente dropped her napkin on the table. “Girlfriend or sister?” she asked casually.

“Excuse me?”

A wry smile swept her gorgeous face. “You heard. Did you sleep with his girlfriend or his sister?”

“Sister.” I grinned. “Prom night. Nothing else to report.”

Bente shook her fork at me. “You’re impossible.”

I reached for her hand. “I’m not, you know. I’ve been told I have huge potential.”

“Perhaps I should marry you, then.”

I feigned disinterest with a heavy sigh. “Well, Monday’s out.”

“Does Tuesday work for you?” she asked, smiling.

“No, actually. I’m meeting with contractors most of the day.”

I would’ve cancelled if she’d asked me to, but she didn’t. She continued to play along. “Hmm, I see,” she mused. “Do you think we should just play it by ear and see what happens? Wait for a free day?”

The urgency I’d been feeling to get her to the altar had slipped in the last few hours. It dawned on me that winning didn’t necessarily mean closing the deal. Winning just meant being together, hanging out in an empty restaurant and sharing pecan pie.

“What if we just get married in La La Land?” I suggested. “That would count, right?”

“Count as what?” Bente looked nervous, which was perfectly understandable. I took out the ring box that had been burning a hole in my chest all afternoon, flipped it open and took out the smaller of the two rings.

“What are you doing, Ry?” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

I motioned for her hand. As soon as she was in reach, I slipped the ring onto her finger. “I love you. You’re mine. I’m yours. Happy ending. We’re married.”

Bente let out a sharp laugh. “In whose eyes?”

“I’m sure God’s watching.” I grinned. “And if you believe Charli and Bridget, there’s probably half a dozen fairies and an elf looking on too.”

She reached for the box and took out the other ring. When I offered my hand, she slipped it on my finger. “Happy, happy day, Ryan Jean Décarie,” she murmured. “I love you. You’re mine. I’m yours. Happy ending. We’re married.”

I leaned across the table and kissed her, ignoring the glass I’d knocked over in the process. “All that drama for nothing. See how easy it was?”

“I’m not sure that was a lawful ceremony,” she replied, righting the fallen glass.

“No, probably not,” I agreed. “But it’s enough for now, right?”

She held up her left hand, studying the newest ring on her finger. “It’s perfect for now.”

“We’ll have to make it legitimate sooner or later,” I told her. “The four Ryans might not appreciate being born out of wedlock.”

Bente stood and walked around the table. As soon as she was in reach, I pulled her onto my lap. “It turned out to be a good story of the day, Ryan,” she said quietly. “We’re going to have an amazing life together.”

I held her tighter, prepared to hang on forever. “Bring it on, sweetheart,” I replied. “I’m ready for you.”

THE END

Please turn the page to read an excerpt of Star Promise, book 5 of The Wishes Series.

Available December 20, 2014.

32. Blood And Bandages

Adam

Somewhere along the line I learned to be adaptable, which probably explained why sitting in a limo on the way to my second wedding didn’t faze me. The company was stellar. Neither of my girls caught me staring, and if they had it wouldn’t have bothered them. They were used to it.

“Why are you breaking it, Mummy?” asked Bridget, trying to make a grab for Charli’s bouquet.

“I’m not breaking it.” Charli shifted it out of her reach while she looked it over. “I’m fixing it.” She plucked a red rose out of the mix and handed it to Bridget. “Do you like the red or white roses best?”

Our little girl pulled her best pouty face while she deliberated. “The white ones.”

Charli handed her another red rose. “Me too.”

“What’s the matter with it?” I asked curiously.

My gorgeous bride lifted her head. “Red and white flowers should never be put in the same bouquet. It’s extremely bad luck,” she explained. “I did warn Fiona.”

“The nerve of the woman,” I tutted.

Her smile was stunning. “Are you doubting the legend Boy Wonder?”

“Never.” I held my hand to my heart. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Some believe that red and white roses represented blood and bandages during wartime. They don’t go together.” She twisted the bouquet, looking it over. “Maybe blood and bandages played a part in the wedding plans coming unstuck,” she suggested.

I almost smiled. “Maybe you should’ve told Ryan that story.”

She shook her head. “He’s not superstitious.”