Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  I turned my head, searching for Bente while maintaining my unreasonable grip on my brother. She was at a table, chatting with William’s parents as if she’d known them for years. I’d told her how beautiful she looked a million times that day, but it wasn’t enough. Coming from me, it never sounded credible. I’d spent too many years wasting the compliment on women who didn’t deserve to hear it.

  “She’s so freaking special,” I muttered. “She knows me and she puts up with me and she loves me.”

  Adam hadn’t protested at my grip, but he drew the line at being shaken. The sharp shove he delivered to my chest brought me back to my senses.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached out to straighten him up.

  He slapped my hand away. “Get off me,” he ordered, punching out a hard laugh. “What are you going to do about it, Ryan?”

  “Do about what?”

  He motioned to Bente with an upward nod. “The girl who knows you and still doesn’t think you’re a dick.”

  I gazed at Bente for a long time before replying. “I think I’m going to marry her.”

  50. PET PREFERENCES

  Bente

  Conversing with William’s parents was tricky for a few reasons. First, I’d never met them before. Second, I don’t speak a single word of Cantonese. If I did, I would’ve asked how a Chinese family ended up with a last name like Best.

  Mrs Best was lovely. I had no idea what she was saying, but she smiled a lot and stole one of the flowers off the table to put in my hair. Mr Best was much quieter, perhaps due to the language barrier. The only time I saw him break a smile was when William came and talked to him.

  Ryan and Adam had generously closed Nellie’s for the afternoon, which seemed to be overkill considering there were only twenty guests at the reception. Most of the empty tables had been put in the storeroom, which left plenty of room for a dance floor. Trieste was keen to make use of it.

  “Dance with me, Bente,” she ordered, appearing out of nowhere and pulling me to my feet. Her request was unorthodox, but nothing about Trieste was run of the mill. I’d never danced with a bride before but was prepared to give it a go, right up until she pulled me into a waltzing stance – then I just felt silly. I pulled free, deciding that a solo side to side shuffle was the best I could manage. If the need for distance offended Trieste, she didn’t let on. She called out to a passing waiter, “Music please, maestro.”

  “Don’t you think you should save the first dance for William?” I asked.

  Her smile was blinding. “We danced in the limo on the way here.”

  I couldn’t begin to imagine the logistics of that manoeuvre so I didn’t ask for details.

  The song that started playing was slow, which was probably a good thing. Trieste’s solo technique was questionable to say the least. I barely moved, but her hips were swinging and her arms were flailing like a hula girl. Perhaps her family and friends were used to her. No one except the wait staff batted an eyelid as I took the occasional slow step to the side to keep up with her. I ignored their looks and focused on the conversation at hand, which progressed much faster than the dance.

  “Are you in love with Ryan?” she asked getting straight to the point.

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “He’s hopeless, you know,” she warned. “But one of my favourite people in the whole world.”

  I wanted to snap at her and defend him, but thought better of it. She wasn’t being disparaging. She was being honest.

  “He likes you too, Trieste.”

  “I know.” Her confidence made me smile. “I think he’s serious about you,” she mused. “You’re smart and brunette and don’t take any of his crap. I think he likes that.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I’m glad you gave him a chance.” She leaned forward to compensate for her quiet tone. “Most people think he’s a mean jerk, but I can tell that you see past that.”

  “You do too, right?”

  “I see through both of them,” she replied, as Adam and Charli walked past. “They’re not as tough as they pretend to be.”

  Trieste was an unexpected wealth of information. In a few short minutes she gave up a glut of Décarie secrets. Apparently Adam had mentored her at school. In return, she schooled him on how to be less-frog-more-prince and go after the little family he had waiting for him in Australia. Her friendship with Ryan stemmed from the three years she worked at Billet-doux while attending law school. She told me he nearly cried when she left, and I believed her.

  “I have an eidetic memory,” she explained. “It’s a talent that comes in handy when waitressing. Ryan appreciated my efficiency.”

  I understood why he liked her so much. In Ryan Décarie’s world, everything was black or white. He had no tolerance for indecision, drama or treading gently – unless you were four years old and related. Like him, Trieste was blunt and didn’t suffer fools. In many respects, they were similar creatures.

  ***

  Dinner was a quiet affair. Twenty people in a large restaurant don’t make much noise. Ryan was particularly quiet. It bothered me so much that I questioned him about it.

  “I’m okay,” he mumbled from the corner of his mouth. I turned my head to get a better look at him. He didn’t look okay; he looked pale.

  “Do you need some air?” I asked. “We could go outside for a minute.”

  He nodded and stood. It was left to me to excuse us. Ryan didn’t seem capable of words.

  Rather than heading outside, he led me up to the mezzanine. He wasn’t looking quite so ashen anymore, but he was still acting strangely.

  “What on earth is wrong?” I asked, reaching out to feel his forehead. He grabbed my wrist and took a step back. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “I have to tell you something,” he said gravely.

  “Okay, can you do it while standing still?” His pacing was making me dizzy. “What’s this all about?”

  Ryan stopped walking. He ran both hands through his hair and rested them on the back of his head – but still didn’t speak.

  “Ry, you’re scaring me now.”

  The look on his face was one I’d never seen before. I couldn’t even place the expression. He dropped his hands in a motion that looked like defeat. “I’ve been putting a lot of thought into this, so I don’t want you to think it’s a spur of the moment thing,” he began.

  Oh, God. He’s breaking up with me. “Okay,” I squeaked, sounding exactly like Noelle.

  “And I don’t want to do it at an inappropriate time,” he added. “Like when we’re in bed. But we’re always in bed, so my opportunities are limited.”

  He’s definitely breaking up with me.

  He waved his arms around. “This probably isn’t ideal either but –”

  “Just get to the point, Ryan.” I folded my arms tightly across my chest to stop myself whacking the side of his head. I’d promised I wouldn’t do that any more.

  He blew out a long breath I hadn’t noticed him take. “We should move to the next level, pecan pie girl.”

  I consider myself to be pretty quick on the uptake, but I had no idea what he was almost saying. The blank stare I gave him had no effect. He stared back looking just as flummoxed. After a long and excruciating pause, he finally elaborated. “We should get married and make a few babies, and buy a dog. I’m not sure I could handle a big dog, but a little one might be okay. Or a cat. We could get a cat. Do you prefer dogs or cats?”

  I couldn’t speak. I played the first four words over and over in my mind. Even then, I wasn’t entirely sure what he was suggesting.

  My lack of reaction seemed to cause him physical pain. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead and he grimaced. “Bente?” He managed to squeak out an awesome Noelle impersonation too. “Dog or cat?”

  I shook my head, trying to get a grip on the ridiculousness. “Are you really asking me about pet preferences?”

  “No.” The word got caught in a nervous laugh. “I’m asking you t
o marry me.”

  51. A RYAN PERSON

  Ryan

  It was probably the worst marriage proposal in history, but I’d somehow gotten through it. Bente’s reaction wasn’t exactly the stuff of fairy-tales either.

  “I need to sit down,” she whispered. I grabbed the nearest chair and positioned it behind her. For a quick moment, I let myself think it was because she was overcome with emotion. The reality wasn’t quite so romantic. “My feet are killing me.” She kicked off her shoes and let out a groan of relief.

  I dropped to my knees and grabbed her foot. “Well?”

  “I’m not really a pet person, Ry.”

  It was my turn to groan, but not in relief. I dropped my head, mumbling my next question as I massaged her foot. “What about a Ryan person, Bente? Are you a Ryan person?”

  She put her hand under my chin and tilted my head, locking my eyes to hers. Her brown eyes were warm and shining. Mine probably just looked terrified. “I am a Ryan person,” she confirmed. “And if you promise to keep rubbing my feet like that, I’ll gladly marry you.”

  The first part of her I kissed was her foot, then her knee, her thigh and almost her elbow by accident when she suddenly lurched off the chair and into my arms. That’s when I found her gorgeous garnet lips.

  We spent the next half hour on the upper floor of my restaurant making out like a couple of teenagers, which was ironic because I’d never felt like more of a grownup in my whole life. I was getting married.

  52. QUALITY OVER QUANTITY

  Bente

  I couldn’t wait to leave. As soon as William and Trieste bade farewell to their guests and skipped out the door, we bolted. Ryan called for a car and we stood on the sidewalk waiting for it to arrive. Ryan looked much better. The Black Plague symptoms had given way to a grin that refused to fade.

  I felt blissful. I’m not a foolhardy girl. I’m sensible and cautious and careful. Making rash decisions wasn’t something I was particularly good at, but nothing about accepting his proposal seemed wrong. I loved him and wasn’t afraid to admit that I probably always had.

  As sure as I felt, it didn’t stop me questioning him. I wanted to know why the career bachelor had suddenly decided to move things up such a big notch.

  “Because you’re the truest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he replied.

  “The truest?”

  “Yes,” he replied simply. “And I want to keep you forever.”

  “Just me, forever?” I wanted to be sure he understood that the commitment he was making extended further than cats and dogs.

  His gorgeous smile broadened. “I’m honestly ready for you. That’s what makes you true. Are you ready for me?”

  I didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “We’re going to close this deal quickly. I don’t want to waste a minute.”

  I should’ve been perturbed that he’d likened getting married closing a business deal, but I wasn’t. To him, it probably made perfect sense. I reached out and he took my hand, kissing it before tangling his fingers through mine.

  “A short engagement then?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He barely hesitated. “Two months seems reasonable, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” I choked. “There’s a lot to organise.”

  “Charli and Adam organised their wedding in less than a week.”

  “They didn’t have a wedding, Ryan,” I pointed out. “They got hitched at the marriage bureau. I’m not sure I want to go that route.”

  He dropped my hand and stepped in front of me. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked what you wanted.”

  “I was hoping for something a little more special,” I replied. “Nothing huge.”

  He leaned down and softly pressed his lips against mine. “You can have whatever you want – as long as you can pull it together in two months.”

  “What’s your rush?” My words hummed against his mouth. “Are you afraid you’ll change your mind?”

  I felt his smile. “No; are you?”

  I’d been worried about him changing his mind since day one, but I didn’t admit it out loud. I chose to say nothing and kissed him instead.

  ***

  We didn’t go straight home. I didn’t recognise the address Ryan instructed the driver to take us to. I couldn’t quite decipher the cryptic phone call he made along the way either.

  “Who was that?” I asked when he ended the call.

  “A man called Mr Shultz,” he said vaguely. “Our jeweller.”

  I almost laughed out loud. “Your jeweller?”

  He looked sheepish enough to let me know he realised how conceited it sounded.

  “My family all use the same jeweller,” he replied. “Is that weird?”

  “Not at all.” I snickered. “It’s perfectly normal to have a family jeweller.”

  “You’re making fun of me?” he teased. “That’s hardly acceptable behaviour considering we’re engaged to be married.”

  “Au contraire, husband-to-be. It’s licence to make fun of you for the rest of my life.”

  ***

  Mr Shultz, the jeweller, didn’t seem put out by Ryan’s request that he open his store at ten on a Saturday night. I suspect he knew it would be a worthwhile inconvenience. He greeted Ryan with a hug and asked about his family, specifically his mother. “Such a beautiful woman,” he enthused. “Your father is a fortunate man.”

  “I’ll pass on your regards,” replied Ryan.

  “Yes, please do,” he urged, before turning his attention to me. “And who is this lovely lady?”

  Ryan introduced me as his fiancée. The only person more surprised by the title than me was Mr Schultz. He threw up his hands. “I never thought I’d see the day. Congratulations to you both.” His reaction made me wonder how many times he’d opened his jewellery store to accommodate Ryan’s late-night shopping sprees. Playthings probably love jewels. “Perhaps now you will buy something worthwhile,” he suggested, and turned to me. “Watches and cufflinks. Always watches and cufflinks!” he exclaimed. “I keep telling him to find a nice girl and buy her some diamonds. Then he will forget about cufflinks.”

  His words instantly put me at ease. It was a plaything-free zone.

  Mr Schultz wasn’t anywhere near finished. He had a few other gripes to get off his chest. “Your brother.” He pointed at Ryan. “He didn’t buy his wife’s ring from me. He is a stingy man.”

  I almost jumped in to defend the frog. Half a diamond mine went into the making of Charli’s rings, but Ryan saw no need to enlighten Mr Schultz. Instead he agreed with him, which was all the encouragement he needed to continue. “He came to me with one gold wedding ring.” He held his finger in the air. “He made me cut it in half and make two rings out of it. What kind of man does that?”

  “A total cheapskate,” replied Ryan, grinning wickedly. “He’s always been a tightwad.”

  Mr Shultz nodded so emphatically that his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. “I met his wife for the first time a few months ago,” he replied, pushing them back into place. “He still hasn’t bought her diamonds. The poor woman still wears half a ring.”

  Ryan could’ve set him straight, but didn’t. “I know,” he agreed. “It’s pitiful.”

  “I showed them all of these.” Mr Schultz swept his hand the length of the glass cabinet. “You know what they walked out of my store with?” Ryan shook his head. “A silver bracelet for their daughter. Not even gold! The wife gets half a ring and the girl gets silver for her birthday.”

  Ryan looked at the display in the cabinet. “Well, I’m not after half a ring. It will only be the best for my wife.”

  Lightning flickered deep in my chest, powered by his lovely words.

  Ryan pulled me forward. I stood in front of the display cabinet, blinking at a rate of knots. The store was small but most definitely exclusive. Most of the rings were huge; some were so flashy that they were downrigh
t gaudy.

  I’d never thought about what sort of engagement ring I wanted, but I got the impression that nothing was off limits. The next words out of Ryan’s mouth confirmed it. “Pick one,” he urged. “Anything you want.”

  Mr Schultz got the ball rolling. He set a tray of rings on the counter. I stared down at them before turning to Ryan. “What do you like?” My voice was tiny.

  “I’m not good at this junk, Bente,” he said sheepishly. “But I prefer quality over quantity. I want you to have something special.”

  “A solitaire?” suggested Mr Schultz, pointing at the tray.

  I nodded.

  Choosing a ring was a group exercise. Mr Schultz kept steering us towards massive rocks. Ryan urged me to try them on.

  Refusing graciously was difficult, but I tried. “They’re a little too big.” All I could think of was trying to type while wearing a golf ball on one hand. It was craziness. I finally managed to get them to scale it down, and settled on a pretty, bright solitaire diamond in a platinum setting. It was far more modest than most we’d been shown, but I was still too afraid to listen when the topic of price came up – so afraid that I excused myself and went outside.

  It was getting late. The cool night air felt crisp against my cheeks that were hot with excitement, but nothing was going to cure me and calm me down. I was getting married.

  53. POMP AND CEREMONY

  Ryan

  Like our courtship, our engagement would be short – just two months. I wanted to be married to Bente yesterday. I wanted the world to know that I’d somehow got lucky enough to close the deal and make her my wife. If I’d had my way, I would’ve gone the same route as Adam and Charli and whisked her off to the marriage bureau, but Bente’s ideas were different and I respected that. I wanted her to have whatever she wanted, and if a big wedding was it, then I was on board.

  Ivy and the squealers were the first to be privy to our plans. There was no pomp and ceremony when it came to telling them. We laid it all out over dinner at their house two days after Trieste’s wedding. Ivy and Fabergé took the news well. Malibu, not so much. “I’ll be good,” she wailed, smashing her plastic mug on the edge of the table. “Don’t be my uncle!”