Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  I smoothed my hand through her hair and kissed the top of her head. “No she won’t,” I told her. “And if she does, tell Charli. She’ll set her straight.”

  She rested her chin on my chest. “Why would you get Charli to deal with it?”

  “Because Noelle already thinks she’s a bitch,” I explained, grinning. “No harm, no foul.”

  Her warm laugh melted through my entire chest. It was all the encouragement I needed to put an end to the conversation and remind her why my plan of staying in bed for the entire morning was a good one.

  ***

  For some cruel reason, a ringing phone sounds louder than usual when you don’t want to hear it.

  “Ry,” whispered Bente. “Answer it.”

  “No.” I murmured.

  The phone eventually stopped, then started again a minute later.

  “Please answer it.” She breathed the words into my ear, which was a stupid move on her part. There was no way I was going to answer it now. “Ryan, answer it and tell whoever it is to never call you again,” she commanded.

  I looked into her lovely brown eyes. “Or what?” I wondered, trailing a line down her body with my fingers.

  “Just answer the damn phone.”

  Groaning in protest, I reached across her and grabbed the phone. “Don’t ever call me again,” I said curtly.

  Bente gasped, making me laugh. I wasn’t worried about causing offense. I could tell by the ringtone that it was Adam.

  “I don’t even want to know what you’re doing right now,” he replied.

  “I’ll bet it’s a damn sight more fun that what you’re doing,” I responded.

  “You might be right,” he agreed. “I’m sorting out building permits.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, but we need to clarify a few things. Can you meet me at the club in an hour?”

  I was a little taken aback but didn’t question him. It was usually impossible to drag Adam out of his office during the day, and this would be his second play at hooky – the first being when he skipped out to take his kid to the park. I agreed to meet him and ended the call.

  “Everything okay?” asked Bente.

  I dropped the phone and pulled her close. “Yeah. Adam might finally be growing a spine,” I marvelled. “I have to go to the club. Do you want to come?”

  She turned her head and kissed me. “No, but thank you for asking.”

  ***

  Adam and I arrived at exactly the same time. I’d come empty-handed. He had a stack of paperwork, blueprints and a big tape measure.

  “You’re on time,” he noted. “I’m impressed.”

  “You escaped your office,” I retorted, making my way up the steps. “I’m even more impressed.”

  Before we opened the door, he gave me a quick explanation for the meeting. “I’ve been looking over the blueprints Tiger gave us, but they’re ancient,” he said. “I’m pretty sure some of the measurements are out. We need to make sure they’re right before we submit any applications.”

  I unrolled the prints and pretended to know what I was looking at. “You can tell just by looking?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Can’t you?”

  “No, Adam.” I rolled them back up. “I’m not an engineer.”

  Adam made a grab for the door handle. “It’s simple math, Ryan.”

  “You are such a freaking dork,” I complained, following him inside.

  I thought that was going to be the inaugural moment that we finally got to check the club out without Tiger breathing down our necks. I was wrong. We didn’t make it a foot inside before seeing him, and he wasn’t alone. Tiger stood puffing away on his cigar at the base of the stairs, barking orders to his friend Earl, who was at the top of a rickety ladder battling to keep his balance.

  “Move to the left a bit,” ordered Tiger.

  Moving a single inch to the left would’ve ended badly. I grabbed the ladder to steady him. “Jesus, Earl! What are you doing up there?”

  “Changing a light bulb,” he replied.

  The top of an eight-foot ladder is no place for an eighty-year-old man. I ordered him down and asked Tiger what the hell he was thinking.

  “He likes heights,” he explained, shrugging. “His last girlfriend was so tall, he used to have to climb a ladder to kiss her.”

  Adam and Earl laughed, but I struggled to find the funny side.

  “You crazy old bastard,” I chided, looking up at Earl. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

  “Lighten up, Ryan,” urged my brother.

  As soon as Earl was on the ground, Adam took the bulb from him and climbed the ladder.

  “Did Earl draw the short straw?” I asked Tiger. “Why didn’t you climb the ladder?”

  He puffed a choking plume of smoke at me. “No ladder experience. All my broads are short.”

  Adam changed the bulb and gave Earl the go-ahead to turn the light on. It didn’t make much difference: the place was still dingy; but the old men were impressed with their effort.

  “Job well done, Earl.” Tiger thumped his friend on the back.

  “Yes,” he agreed, staggering back a step. “Time for a drink, eh?”

  Adam stepped back to solid ground. “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “That’s right, kid,” replied Tiger. He donned a brown trilby and flicked the brim. “We’re late.”

  They shuffled out and the door slammed. We stood in silence until Adam found words. “I swear Ryan, they’re geriatric gangsters.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Total badasses.”

  ***

  Measuring up the main room would have taken less time if Adam hadn’t had to keep stopping to answer his phone. It highlighted just how manic his schedule was. The only calls he didn’t take were the ones from Dad, and there were plenty.

  “He’s hunting me down,” he explained. “He has no idea where I am.”

  I pulled my end of the measuring tape taut. “He keeps a tight leash on you, doesn’t he?”

  Adam read the tape and wrote the measurement into his notebook. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “How does Charli feel about you working for him?” My question was redundant. I knew exactly how Tinker Bell felt. She’d complained to me a hundred times about Adam being under the king’s rule.

  “She knows he’s a hard taskmaster,” he replied, still writing. “She understands.”

  “She knows you’re unhappy there, Adam.”

  He ordered me to drop the tape and began winding it in. “Has she said something?”

  “Once or twice.” We walked to the middle of the room. “You should look for something else,” I suggested.

  “It wouldn’t matter what firm I worked at, Ryan. I hate the job. I hate everything about it,” he admitted. “I might as well stay where I am.”

  “Better the devil you know, huh?”

  He grunted listlessly.

  “Well, this place is going to need a lot of work.” I looked around, struggling to find a surface that wasn’t peeling or decaying. “We need a project manager. You’d be perfect.” He was shaking his head before I’d even finished speaking. “You could quit your job, work the hours you want to, see more of Bridget and Charli –”

  He cut me off. “Don’t bring my girls into this.”

  I frowned. “Just think about it, okay?”

  “I don’t want to commit to anything new,” he replied. “Charli’s contract at the gallery is up soon. She might not want to renew. I’m not even sure if we’re staying in New York.”

  “You think she’ll want to go home?”

  He nodded, smiling. “I’m hoping so.”

  “Has she talked about leaving?”

  “All the time. She’s not sure what she wants to do, but I know she misses Alex,” he replied. “And she’d love to spend time with her little brother.”

  “You want to go back, don’t you?”

  “I never wanted to leave in the first place, Ryan.” He han
ded me one end of the tape measure and began walking to the far wall. “I want to live on the beach and have a bunch more kids and restore boats.”

  The reversal of headspace between the two of them was almost dizzying. Life in New York the first time around had worked in the opposite way; Charli had been the one desperate to leave. Now Adam’s feet were itching.

  The sound of Adam’s phone echoed in the empty room. He took it out for the umpteenth time. “Speak of the devil.”

  Charli’s fairy ears must’ve been burning. Adam hit the speaker button, freeing his hand to write down the measurements he’d just taken.

  “Hey,” he said gently.

  “Adam, I have something amazing to tell you.” Her words came out in an excited rush.

  I was glad when he took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear. It didn’t seem like a conversation I was meant to be privy to.

  “What’s going on?” The silence at his end lasted a while. “Coccinelle, I can’t wait until tonight,” he told her, eventually getting a word in. “Tell me now.”

  Fairy Pants was playing hardball. Whatever she had to tell him wasn’t going to happen over the phone. She ended the call, leaving him hanging.

  “Well?” I asked, too curious for my own good.

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  His bright smile betrayed him. “Don’t be a dick. Tell me.”

  I dropped the end of the tape measure and he began reeling it in again. It was a pointless exercise, considering we weren’t done measuring.

  “We’ve been talking about having another baby,” he told me. “I’m hoping it’s something to do with that.”

  Bente’s speculation was right. There was baby talk in the air, and Adam didn’t look terrified at all. I wondered what sort of consideration went into deciding whether or not to extend your family unit. For some crazy reason, I asked him. “How do you know that the time is right?”

  He looked surprised, as if it was a stupid question. “Life just keeps moving on to the next step, Ryan. Bridget’s four now.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine making decisions like that.”

  “You will.”

  “You think so?”

  “You’re already doing it,” he said. “You never thought you’d live with a woman, until you found one that changed your mind.”

  “I guess so.” I grabbed the end of the tape measure that he’d futilely reeled in for the millionth time.

  “Before you know it you’ll be married and making babies,” he told me.

  “That’s a scary thought,” I replied, walking away with the end of the tape. “Why doesn’t it scare you?”

  “Why would I be scared? You’ve seen the babies I make. They’re perfect.”

  “If you say so, Adam,” I teased, chuckling. “Your kid has a hole in her cheek like her father and a hole in her logic like her mother. There’s definite room for improvement.”

  48. SILENT WORDS

  Bente

  Trieste Kincaid’s wedding to William Best was to be a small affair held in the gorgeous Conservatory Garden in Central Park. Ryan and I wandered in through the Vanderbilt Gate entrance and took our time walking through the lilac and magnolia trees in the English garden.

  “Nice day for a wedding, huh?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

  It truly was. The sun was bright and the gardens were gorgeous. Daylilies and Astilbes were enjoying their final run before cooler weather set in.

  “It’s perfect,” I agreed. The idyllic setting wasn’t the only pleasant thing to look at. Ryan looked even more handsome than usual in the charcoal suit and crisp white shirt he was wearing. Seeing him suited up wasn’t unusual, but something about him seemed extra special that day.

  I felt like I belonged right by his side. I’d gone with the navy silk halter dress that Fiona had given me, topped off with a pair of heels I’d swiped from Charli’s collection. If I was honest, I’d have to concede that they were a little too small. My feet were killing me, but I worked hard to pretend otherwise.

  We caught up with Adam and Charli at the Burnett fountain. They looked like they’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine, and like Ryan they made it seemed effortless. Adam greeted me with a kiss. He smelled so incredibly good that I almost told him so. Charli greeted me with a click of her camera.

  Ryan made a half-assed attempt to admonish her. “You’re not the freaking paparazzi, Tinker Bell.”

  “I am today.” She aimed it at him.

  “Are you photographing the wedding?” I asked.

  “Unofficially,” she replied, “which is good because I’m more interested in photographing the gardens.”

  The official photographer looked much more intense. I didn’t notice him until Charli pointed him out, then I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He kept busy while waiting for the bridal party by snapping pictures of anything that moved. At one point he seemed to be taking photos of thin air.

  “He’s taking it very seriously, isn’t he?”

  Charli giggled. “I don’t think he’s going to miss anything, that’s for sure.”

  Adam and Ryan killed time by discussing the work at the club. To me, the topic was so overdone that it was boring. It made me wonder what they talked about before they bought it. “Where’s Bridget?” I asked. “I thought she’d be flower girl or something.”

  “Trieste did ask her, but it was conditional,” Charli explained. “She wanted her to lose the boots for a day. Bridge wasn’t interested. She’s hanging out with Mamie instead.”

  I shook my head. “That kid is of another world.”

  ***

  I’d never been to a wedding where a flutist played the Wedding March, but it was sweet and romantic. I noticed the groom for the first time when the music started. He stood at the end of the invisible aisle, wringing his hands while he waited for his bride.

  Trieste made her appearance looking nothing like the girl who’d shown up at our apartment a few weeks earlier. Her hair was piled high, trailing curls down her back. Her white dress was simple but lovely, and clearly worth the massive price tag. The only fault I could pick was her shoes. I couldn’t see them, but the awkward steps she was taking as she clung to her father’s arm proved they were too high for her. They were too high for William, too. She would’ve towered over him in flats.

  The way the overenthusiastic wedding photographer kept stepping in front of her to get his shot as she walked amused me, but it annoyed Ryan. “What a fool,” he muttered, taking it too personally.

  I glanced at him, then at Adam. Both were scowling, looking like the protective older brothers Trieste had never had.

  I’d asked Ryan about his friendship with Trieste, trying to understand how she’d inadvertently captured the hearts of both brothers. “She’s one of the most honest people I’ve ever met,” he told me. “You can’t help but like her.”

  She could only have been the most decent of people. There’s no way she would’ve gained the affections of Ryan Décarie by being anything but, and I’d seen a hundred try.

  ***

  The small group of guests gathered around and the ceremony got under way. With the exception of the dull noise of background traffic, it was quiet, peaceful and incredibly romantic. Even Ryan thawed a little. He reached for my hand and gave it a few squeezes at certain points in the service, making my heart fly.

  I allowed my mind to drift, wondering if we had a chance of ever making it this far. I wanted that kind of euphoria. I believed in it. I just wasn’t sure if the man squeezing my hand possessed the same kind of faith.

  The two people standing beside him certainly did. It was hard not to be envious of Charli and Adam. I could tell purely by looking that they fitted together. They could speak to each other without a word, and knew each other back to front.

  I realised something important when Ryan squeezed my hand for the umpteenth time. He was speaking without words too. We were on our way. All I had to do was figure out what h
e was saying.

  49. CHANGING WAYS

  Ryan

  Hosting a wedding reception at Nellie’s was a first. I’d offered Trieste the use of Billet-doux but she’d turned it down in favour of a more casual option. My first inclination when we walked in was to take charge and manage the reception myself, but Bente held me back.

  “You’re a guest,” she reminded, pulling me away from the podium.

  “I just want to make sure it all goes smoothly for them.”

  “Look at them, Ryan,” she urged. “They’re ecstatic with the way their day has gone so far.”

  I looked across at the couple, who were milling around the room chatting with their guests. There was no look of relief that it was over, or nerves because they’d locked themselves into a lifetime together. They simply looked happy.

  The wedding ceremony had sent my thoughts in directions they’d never gone before. Listening to Trieste and William declare their love for one another showed that happy-ever-afters are achievable. Some prove it, some die trying – but at least they try. I was in the stupid minority who had never been willing to try, and now something huge was gnawing at me, begging me to change my ways.

  The torture of my internal musing became physical over the next hour. My brother was the first to notice. He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me to a quiet spot near the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. “I just don’t like weddings.”

  “Is that all it is?” He looked amused. “I thought you were going to pass out or something.”

  In a move that must have seemed nothing short of bizarre, I grabbed him by the upper arms, forcing him to look at me. “Adam, I’m in big trouble,” I said desperately. “I really love her.”

  He frowned, looking slightly alarmed. “We’re talking about Bente?”

  “Of course.”

  “Right,” he muttered. “Well, that’s good news because Trieste is taken now.”