Star Promise

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  The king size bed swallowed Bridget whole, but that’s where she ended up, settled between the two of us as if that’s where she belonged.

  Conversation was nonsensical, and got worse as she grew tireder. Charli was spared most of it. Bridget jabbered in French until her words ran out and she finally fell asleep.

  I wasn’t in any hurry to move her. She did belong there, no matter how much I pretended to be inconvenienced by it. “Tonight was good,” I said quietly. “We should do it more often.”

  Laying her arm across Bridget, Charli reached for me. “Imagine what it’ll be like with two kids.” She smiled. “We’ll need a bigger bed.”

  “I’ll build us a bigger bed,” I pledged.

  “Excellent.” She giggled. “That’s what you do.”

  Time alone with Charli and Bridget never failed to remind me that no matter what was going on around us, we were okay. Our plans still stood. We were going to get over the bumps in the road caused by family, location and work, and make more babies.

  “I’m sorry I beat you up today,” Charli said randomly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I reached across Bridget, catching them both in my hold as I rested my hand on Charli’s hip. “Beat me up?” I asked, smiling. “A slight embellishment.”

  “Mmm. Perhaps.”

  “You’ll need lessons from Bente if you want to learn how to cause real damage,” I teased. “Bagels are where the action is.”

  Her quiet laugh wrapped around me. “Ryan has his work cut out then, huh?”

  “And I haven’t?” I moved my hand, trailing my fingers across her body. “You’re a complete and utter nightmare to deal with.”

  “Like Olivia,” she said.

  The mention of her name was like fingernails down a blackboard. It irked me that she’d crept into an otherwise perfect conversation.

  “Nothing like her.”

  She laced her fingers through mine. “You said I was looking for the good in her,” she mumbled. “I can’t find any, and yet I keep trying. Why do you suppose that is?”

  I didn’t have an answer. As far as I was concerned, the better option would’ve been to cut her loose and forget they’d ever met.

  “My dad’s no picnic either, Charlotte.”

  The hardest line my father ever took paled in comparison to Olivia’s poison, but it was the best I could come up with.

  “You keep going back for more too.”

  “Because he’s my father.”

  Charli stared across at me for an eternity. Even when Bridget stirred, she didn’t break eye contact. She just gently patted her back and continued her thoughtful stare. “You’re still trying to please him,” she said finally. “That’s why you’re sticking your job out.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

  It was a hard truth to admit to. I was a grown man with a family of my own, but the pull of conforming and making my father proud was still there.

  “It’s probably part of it, Charli,” I conceded.

  She placed her hand on my cheek. “You’re good, Adam,” she whispered. “And he is proud.”

  I turned my head and kissed her palm. “This thing with Olivia – it’s not the same. You owe her nothing.”

  “I feel like I owe her the opportunity to know me.”

  I couldn’t grasp why. She’d brought nothing but trouble, and hadn’t shown Charli an ounce of anything other than drama and fakery.

  “Everything happens for a reason,” she added. “There are eight million people in this city, and we found each other. It might be magic.”

  “It’s not magic. You were never lost, Charlotte,” I told her, rolling to stare at the ceiling. “She could’ve made contact at any time.”

  “She keeps telling me how it broke her heart to give me up and that she’s never gotten over it,” she replied. “Maybe she thought I’d reject her.”

  “Then why does she treat you the way she does?” I turned back to her. “Conning you into buying her designer bags and being a bitch aren’t the acts of someone who’s trying to win you over.”

  I never intended to upset her. I couldn’t even move to comfort her when she began to cry. Our kid was between us, sleeping like the dead.

  “Don’t move, okay?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I got out of bed, picked Bridget up and carried her to the room next door. The only movement came from Treasure who thudded against the floor when I dumped her out of bed. Bridget didn’t stir. I swept her hair off her face, covered her and slipped out of the room.

  Charli’s position hadn’t changed. I climbed back into bed and wrapped my arms around her. It was the best way I knew to comfort her. Words weren’t working out so well.

  “When I was fifteen, I had a hundred and four things on my never-done list,” she said randomly.

  “How many do you have now?”

  “Ninety-one.”

  I’d first learned of Charli’s never-done list just days after meeting her. It was probably my first hint that I’d stumbled across a girl who saw the world differently from most – the first of a million things that made her special.

  “You’re on target then?”

  Her body moved against mine as she laughed. It wasn’t a complete triumph; I could feel her tears against my chest. My hand moved to her back, drawing invisible circles on her skin while I waited for her to speak again.

  “She’s not on my list, Adam.” Her whisper was barely audible, but the meaning behind them was loud and clear. “I have a list of ninety-one things that I’ve never done. Meeting my mother didn’t rate highly enough for me to want to strike it off. I feel guilty about that.”

  Of all the emotions that could’ve come with being reunited with her mother, guilt should not have been one of them.

  “It’s not a reason to keep her around,” I told her. “Having her in your life is not supposed to make you unhappy. Being your mother is not a licence for her to hurt you.”

  “Why do you think she keeps hurting me?” she asked quietly.

  I sighed. “Don’t ask me, Charli. Ask yourself why you keep letting her.”

  She lifted her head, resting her chin on my chest. Her gorgeous face was stained with tears but she was calm. “She might come good,” she said hopefully.

  “Why are you so willing to give her the chance?”

  After a long pause, she finally replied. “Because you used to hurt my heart all the time. Imagine if I hadn’t given you the chance to change your ways.”

  It didn’t bear thinking about. Her willingness to forgive me time and time again was the sole reason I led the charmed life I was living. I’d done my fair share of lying and manipulating to get what I wanted, but the difference between Olivia and I was clear. All I ever wanted was Charlotte. Olivia didn’t want her when she was born, and nothing convinced me that anything had changed.

  43. TEN MORE BRIDGETS

  Charli

  One night of dealing with nothing but the chaos we created ourselves was all it took to bring our little universe back into alignment.

  Predictably, Adam never made good on his threat of taking the next day off work, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get there on time. We ordered room service for breakfast, packed up our still-wet swimming gear and checked out a little after nine.

  It was business as usual. Adam left for the office, Mrs Brown arrived to watch Bridget, and I headed to the gallery.

  We’d had such a good night that I was determined not to let anything darken my mood. Even Bronson’s disappearing act the second I walked in the door didn’t faze me.

  “Things to do, my darling,” he called, brushing past me at the door.

  “Have a nice day, Bronson.”

  “Bound to,” he replied. “The sun is shining and I look fabulous.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. Any man brave enough to wear a pastel print smock and cheesecloth pants deserved the title of fabulous.

  ***

&n
bsp; In an unusual move, I closed the gallery for an hour while I took a lunch break. I wasn’t feeling particularly good about the way Fiona’s dinner party had been cut short the night before, so in an attempt to make amends, I decided to take the short walk across to Fifth Avenue and pay her a visit.

  Fiona made us lunch, which was an inadvertently hostile act. There was no way I could bluff my way through eating one round of cucumber sandwiches, let alone the four she placed in front of me.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” I began. “Things got a little heated.”

  Her smile was tiny. “We’re not a perfect family, are we?” she asked quietly. “Poor Bente must think she’s marrying into a pack of wild animals.”

  I pursed my lips and dropped my head as thoughts turned to Malibu and Fabergé. Anything the Décaries dished out was amateur compared to the Denison family dynamics.

  Fiona leaned across the table, resting her hand on top of mine. “Is something troubling Adam, darling?” she asked gently. “He’s not usually so confrontational.”

  Her obliviousness had always been a major gripe of mine. Fiona saw only what she wanted to, and then had the audacity to claim she was kept in the dark.

  “Adam doesn’t like the way Jean-Luc speaks to me,” I said bluntly. “He can be very rude.”

  She smiled, but had trouble looking at me. “Jean-Luc is very fond of you, Charli.”

  For reasons I’d never been able to explain, even to myself, I was fond of him too. But I wasn’t about to admit it to her. “You asked me why Adam was upset,” I said. “That’s why he was upset.”

  The queen slid the plate of sandwiches closer to me. “Is everything else alright?”

  For a quick moment I contemplated telling her the extraordinary news that I’d reconnected with my mother. Then I remembered that there wasn’t anything positive to say about it. “Everything is fine,” I said. “We’re very busy, but that’s nothing new.”

  “I wish you’d share more of your lives with me. The most information I get these days is from my granddaughter.”

  I picked up a quarter of a sandwich and took a tiny bite, buying some time while I thought of something to tell her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a favour actually,” I said finally.

  Her reply came at warp speed. “Anything, darling.”

  “Do you know Olivia Kara?” The question was redundant but necessary.

  Clearly disappointed by my question, Fiona’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve attended a few of the same charity events in the past.”

  “She’s hosting one of her own in a few weeks,” I explained. “I was hoping you’d rally your troops and support her cause.”

  She laughed humourlessly. “I have no troops, darling. That implies khaki slacks and war paint. I only know one woman who dresses like that.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Regina Barclay.” She returned my sly smile with one of her own. “Wretch of a woman. Last time she was here she stole the soaps from the downstairs bathroom.”

  We both burst into giggles, and it was a long time before we returned to the subject of Olivia’s charity event.

  “It’s a luncheon, I think,” I said vaguely.

  “Are you helping her?” Fiona frowned as she asked the question. I prayed that was because she was appalled, not suspicious.

  “No,” I replied. “She’s Bridget’s ballet teacher, that’s all. I’d just like to support her.”

  After the way Olivia had treated Bridget the day before, I shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of helping her. Perhaps I was trying to prove a point. I was true to my word. I was good and honourable and giving – all the qualities that my mother seemed to lack.

  After a long moment of deliberation, Fiona smiled. “I shall rally my troops,” she announced. “If it’s important to you, I’ll support it.”

  I leaned across and hugged her. “Thank you.”

  Fiona leaned back, picking at my hair like a mother hen. “Of course, darling. You look precious today,” she said. “Relaxed and happy.”

  I picked up a sandwich I didn’t want. “I am happy. We had a wonderful night once we left here. Adam took us swimming.”

  When she asked for details, I told her everything except Treasure’s unfortunate accident. “Bridget thought we’d snuck in,” I explained. “She was running on pure adrenaline.”

  Even her soft laugh sounded English. “Bless her little heart. I wish we had ten more just like her.”

  “Ten more Bridgets?” That was a concept and a half.

  “I always found it terribly sad being an only child,” she said seriously. “I don’t want that for her.”

  Given the queen’s tendency to overreact, I rarely gave her information willingly. News that we were trying for a baby would probably result in cringeworthy advice and premature shopping sprees, but I was in a giving mood. “It’s just an idea at this stage,” I stressed. “So please keep it to yourself.”

  The woman was in danger of combusting. She flapped her hands in front of her face to stop the threat of tears. “Oh, Charli,” she cooed. “A New York baby would be wonderful.”

  I felt tremendous guilt that the Décaries had missed so much time with Bridget while she was little, but I just couldn’t commit to raising the new baby in New York. “We’ll see what happens,” I said vaguely. “I’m not even pregnant yet.”

  She patted my hand. “It means the world that you told me.”

  The queen thought I’d told her a secret, but if word got out I wouldn’t blame her. Ryan had cornered me to tease me about it the night before, which meant Adam’s mouth was bigger than mine.

  After consuming more cucumber sandwiches than I ever hoped to see again, I headed back to work feeling infinitely better.

  Fiona wasn’t a complicated woman. She lived for her family, wanting nothing more than to see her boys settled and happy. She’d been worried about Adam when I arrived. My good news story put her completely at ease. For once, I was the bearer of joy instead of drama.

  44. STRANGE AND ANTISOCIAL

  Adam

  Charli’s decision not to attend Bridget’s next dance lesson wasn’t entirely her own. From what I could gather from Junior, her Mom wasn’t invited.

  “Just us, Daddy,” she pleaded. “Okay?”

  The kid was crafty. Her favourite MO when pinning me down with tricky conversations was to wait until I was in the shower. I ran my hand over the glass, clearing a patch on the screen. Bridget was sitting on her little pink footstool patiently awaiting my answer.

  “When is it on?”

  I was merely buying time. I knew the twelve o’clock lesson time was a standing arrangement.

  “Sixty o’clock,” she replied immediately.

  “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The lull in conversation lasted all of ten seconds.

  “Did you think about it, Daddy?”

  One day my daughter was going to come to me with something so outrageous that I’d have to shut her down purely to save her from herself. But today wasn’t that day. She wasn’t asking to go clubbing. She wanted me to take her to a ballet lesson during my lunch hour. It was a no-brainer.

  “Yes, Bridge,” I replied. “I’ll take you.”

  ***

  Thanks to my decision not to ask for the details of the last run-in with the ballerina, I had no idea what I’d signed on for. Charli’s parting instruction was to keep a close eye on Bridget.

  “Don’t let Olivia single her out,” she warned. “And don’t make her take her boots off.”

  Madame Kara wasn’t in a position to be making any sort of demands. If she dared to create drama, I was prepared to bring a little of my own to the party. I had no qualms about sharing what I knew with her if the opportunity arose.

  Despite her mother’s reservations, Bridget had no problem ditching her boots in favour of the ballet slippers Charli had packed into her backpack. It was the strangest turnaround I’d ever seen t
he kid make.

  “These are the shoes for dancing,” Bridget explained knowingly. I offered to help her put them on but she wouldn’t let me near them. “No, I can do it,” she replied, shuffling along the floor in case I made a grab for her.

  Olivia’s class was much smaller than Ella’s, and much better behaved. The atmosphere was calm and controlled, which did remarkable things to Bridget. I stood near the doorway and observed my usually scattered girl paying absolute attention to her teacher. When she wasn’t doing that, she was watching and copying the other girls.

  Olivia noticed too and praised her. “Wonderful, Bridget.”

  She’d singled her out, but not in the way Charli was worried about. I couldn’t deny that it felt good, but I didn’t entirely trust it.

  As the other girls filed out at the end of class, Olivia approached. Bridget was sitting on the floor taking her shoes off.

  “I have a present for you,” said Olivia, crouching down beside her. Whatever it was was hidden behind her back.

  “I just love presents,” beamed Bridget.

  Olivia brought her hand to her front, presenting her with a pair of little satin ballet slippers. “They’re much better than the ones you have,” she explained. “Kinder to your feet.” She looked up at me. “They’re softer. She’s not used to wearing them so they’ll help her adjust.”

  Bridget didn’t give a damn about comfort. The thing she was most impressed by was the colour. “They’re purple!” she announced, excitedly waving them at me. “Not pink ones.”

  In a fluid move only a dancer could make, Olivia stood. “I thought it might be nice to retain a little individuality. I know it’s important to her mother.”

  “Thank you.” The smile I gave her felt completely false. “It’s appreciated.”

  That was the moment she struck – with the unerring accuracy of a cobra. I didn’t even see it coming, and I certainly wasn’t expecting it to be aimed at Charli.

  “Bridget performs much better when her mother isn’t here, Adam,” she declared. “Charli holds her back.”