Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (9 page)

Bente replied with a love heart. Perhaps she was losing it too.

I picked up my pace and rushed the rest of the way. By the time she knocked on my door a few hours later, dinner was prepared.

I put on a confident smile, took a breath and opened the door.

“Hi.” Her voice was barely there, and the half-hearted wave she gave me was just plain odd.

“You’re greeting me with a wave?” I asked, puzzled. “Do you want me to follow up with a high-five?”

She answered with a quick shake of her head, an even quicker lurch forward and a heart-stopping slow kiss. After spending all afternoon preparing for the worst, it was the most welcome kiss I’d ever received.

Talking wasn’t high on my agenda at that point, so it was left to Bente to break the embrace. When she pulled away and walked to the centre of the room, I didn’t move.

“I’ve been putting a lot of thought into your offer and –”

“And what?”

She spun to face me. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Cut me off. I was in the middle of explaining and you cut me off. It’s annoying.”

“I am annoying,” I agreed, taking small steps toward her.

Her cross look began to slip. “I am too,” she confessed. “I’m also really messy. Shambolic actually. You wouldn’t want to live with me.”

I dropped my head and smiled at the floor. “Shambolic? That sounds serious,” I teased. “I’m sure I’ll adapt.”

“But you’re clearly a neat freak, Ryan.” She waved her hands around the room. “You’d have a breakdown in the first week.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I’m prepared to chance it.” I had no idea why.

She shook her head. “It’s a really bad idea.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what to say. She was being sensible at a time when I seemed to have lost my mind. I should’ve been thanking her.

“So you’re saying no?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, sounding confused. “Common sense says we should be ending this before it gets out of hand.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” I couldn’t help smiling as I asked the childish question.

“Technically, I think we have to be together before we can break up,” she replied, over-thinking things as usual.

“I could do that,” I bravely offered.

“Do what?”

“The couple thing,” I said awkwardly. “I could do that with you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and I knew she was on to me. “Do you even know what that means, Ryan?”

“No, not really,” I admitted, shrugging. “But I’m a fast learner.”

“Not that fast.”

“Give me a little credit.” I sounded far more wounded than I was. Every misgiving she had about me was more than warranted, but it didn’t stop me pleading my case. “Just because I’ve never had a girlfriend before doesn’t mean I –”

She cut me off with an angry moan. “You’ve dated half the women in the free world, Ryan.”

“But that’s not the same as having a girlfriend, is it?”

Bente’s backward steps looked more like a stumble. She fell back onto the couch in a heap. “Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands. “My potential boyfriend is a relationship virgin.”

She made it sound terrible. Now I
was
wounded. “I’m not completely clueless,” I asserted. “I kind of had a girlfriend once.”

She looked at me. “And what happened?”

I tried to keep a straight face. “Her husband found out.”

Bente moaned again. “It goes from bad to worse, doesn’t it?”

I pulled her to her feet. “I’m kidding, Bente.”

“Really?” Her voice was tiny but hopeful.

“Yeah,” I assured her. “Her husband never found out.”

***

Dinner wasn’t exactly a romantic event. It was more like a session in contingency planning. We sat side by side at the kitchen counter, discussing worst-case scenarios.

“If you’re not happy, dump me
before
you find someone else,” she demanded.

“You’ll be the first to know,” I assured her. “Should I email or will a text suffice?”

She glanced at me, and perhaps realised I was a little hurt. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I just want you to be sure.”

I reached for her hand. “I’m as sure as I can be,” I promised. “I just have one question.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Are we going to go all-in and live together or do I have to knock on your crazy sister’s door every time I want to see you?”

“Would that be a problem?”

“I don’t know,” I replied seriously. “Has Ivy got a gun?”

“No, but I think Malibu might.”

I couldn’t be sure she was joking so I tried harder to talk her round. “Just move in here,” I urged. “Take the spare room if you want. I’ll visit you there.”

Bente took a long sip of wine before replying. “I can’t pay rent. I’m unemployed.”

I rolled my eyes at her ridiculous excuse. “I’ll try my best to cope with the financial burden of having you here.”

Her garnet lips didn’t smile, but her brown eyes did. “Smartass.”

“Just do it, Bente. Don’t make me beg.”

She looked down at her plate. “Will you cook for me?”

“Every night if you want me to,” I pledged. “Will you walk around the house naked?”

Her laugh filtered through my whole body. “Sure. I see no problem with that.”

I leaned across and kissed her. “A woman after my own heart.”

She bumped me with her shoulder. “I’m going to get your heart, Ryan,” she whispered.

“Bring it on, sweetheart. I’m ready for you.”

16. SMALL TALK

Bente

It took me two days to come up with a game plan for breaking the news to Ivy. It took me another two to convince Ryan that he should be with me when I did it.

“Can’t I tell your parents instead?” he asked. “Surely that would be less traumatic.”

“They’re on vacation.”

My parents had been on permanent vacation for years. Ed and Evie Denison were the king and queen of the cheesy cruise ship scene. My mom spent her days singing karaoke and sunning herself poolside. My dad enjoyed shooting the breeze at all-you-can-eat buffets with other bald old men who shared his fascination for Hawaiian print shirts. They usually make it home for Christmas, spend a few weeks whining about the terrible weather, and then take off again.

Chances are they wouldn’t give a damn about my new living arrangements; but Ivy more than made up for their lack of concern. Her heart was in the right place, and I spent most of the drive to Astoria trying to convince Ryan of that.

The second we got out of the cab, every promise I’d made him that things would go smoothly went out the window. I could hear the girls going at it hammer and tongs in the house. Ryan obviously heard it too. “Getting you out of here is practically my civic duty, Bente,” he grumbled.

I hooked my arm through his to keep him moving up to the house. “Just play nice.” As opposed to my nieces. Through the screen door I could see them strangling each other in the hall.

They separated the second we walked in. Fabergé didn’t react to Ryan – unless a blank stare can be considered a reaction – but Malibu unravelled quickly. The colour drained from her already pale little cheeks and she took off up the stairs. “Mama!” she screamed. “She got married with the bad man! Don’t let him live here!”

Ryan looked smug, but it didn’t last long. Ivy came bounding down the stairs and stopped half-way, giving her the advantage of height and distance. “I told you not to bring him here,” she said sourly. “He’s already upset Malibu.”

Ryan tilted his head to the side and whispered. “Marry me, Bente. I dare you.” He must’ve expected my elbow to his side because he didn’t flinch.

“We came to talk to you,” I said strongly, “but you’re going to have to calm down first.”

Ivy clung to the timber balustrade as if she was holding herself back. Her eyes darted between the two of us a hundred times before she finally spoke. “You have two minutes.”

“That’s generous,” mumbled Ryan. Ivy confounded him. He saw her as nothing more than a maniac who hated him for no good reason. I knew differently. My sister had fiercely protected me for as long as I could remember. And if he’d seen the emotional wreck of a woman that she’d had to scrape off the floor after he was done with me the last time, he would’ve understood.

Despite softening enough to hear me out, Ivy dragged out the drama as long as she could. Ryan and I sat in the small, over-furnished living room while Ivy disappeared to make coffee. Fabergé stood in the doorway, staring Ryan down. Malibu was nowhere to be seen.

“How are you Fabergé?” asked Ryan, making the smallest of small talk. “Long time no see. Do you remember me?”

“No.”

“Pity,” he replied. “I guess there’s no point asking for my phone back then, huh?”

I had no clue what he was talking about, and was fairly sure I didn’t want to. I changed the subject. “Ryan is my boyfriend,” I explained, sounding incredibly juvenile.

Ryan leaned across and patted my knee. “And Bente is my girlfriend,” he added, sounding worse.

Fabergé wasn’t impressed. “You guys are lame,” she muttered, disappearing from sight.

17. DEATH METAL GIRL

Ryan

We weren’t lame. The candy pink velvet wing chairs we were sitting on were lame.

Ivy’s living room was a horrendously girly display of pageant trophies, diamante crowns and ribbon sashes. The house looked like a unicorn had thrown up in it.

“Nice chairs, sweetheart.” I ran my hands along the velvet arms.

“They’re great, aren’t they?” My comment backfired the instant I realised she was serious. “They were the only things I shipped back from Boston, besides my dresser.”

“These are yours?”

“Yeah,” drawled Bente, sounding far too proud.

She wriggled back as if settling in for a nap. The hideous chair swamped her. There was no doubt about it. My very first girlfriend had appalling taste.

“Bente, what kind of music do you listen to?” I asked nervously.

She turned her head. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

She hit me with a smile so gorgeous it almost made up for her lack of taste in home furnishing – until she ruined it by poking her tongue out and following up with the devil horns salute. “Heavy metal mostly…. or really loud death metal when the mood hits.” I imagined my downstairs neighbours bashing on my door when her mood hit. “What’s the matter?” she asked leaning closer to me.

“Are you lying to me? I’d feel so much better if you were.”

Her smile returned in an instant. “If I was lying about one thing, would you rather it be the chairs or the music?”

It was a tough choice. Both were hideous but at least the chairs were quiet. “The music.”

“Good news then.” She settled back in the chair. “The chairs are mine and I hate death metal.”

***

Ivy finally returned, looking no less pissed off than when she’d left. She handed me a mug off coffee, which I would’ve thanked her for if she’d given me chance. “What’s this all about?” she barked.

I nominated myself spokesman and cut to the chase, mainly because Bente was too far away to elbow me. “Your sister is moving in with me.”

Ivy cut me her nastiest glare but it had little effect. I took a sip of coffee as if I was leisurely passing time until she spoke. She turned to her sister. “After all he put you through, you’re going back for more?”

Her disgusted tone was more painful than any elbow to the ribs. I wanted to defend myself, then realised I couldn’t. Her incredulity was warranted. I wasn’t owed a second glance, let alone a second chance at a relationship with Bente.

“I know what I’m doing,” insisted Bente, sounding completely dishonest. “I want you to be happy for me, Ivy.”

“And what about him?” she asked, pointing at me. “What does he want?”

Bente shrugged. “Ask him.”

“Well?” she snapped, whipping her head in my direction. “What’s in it for you?”

Even my father would’ve been impressed by her skilful cross-examination. Anything I said was going to come out wrong, so I tried my hand at being honest. “I don’t know what I’m going to get out of this. I’ve never done it before.”

“Exactly,” scoffed Ivy. “You’ve no clue what you’re doing. You barely know each other.”

I set my mug down on the coffee table. “I know a lot about your sister.”

“I just heard you ask her about her favourite music,” she snapped back. “You know nothing.”

I should’ve known she’d been hanging on every word from the kitchen. Thank God I hadn’t used the time to tell Bente what I really thought of her overbearing maniacal sister.

“I know that she got wildly drunk on her twenty-first birthday,” I revealed. “That was the night she got the little heart tattooed on her wrist.” Ivy straightened up but didn’t pass comment. “I know she’s allergic to red wine: she comes out in hives. White is okay, though.” I glanced at Bente, who acknowledged my wink with a tiny smile. “Shall I continue?”