Second Hearts (The Wishes Series) (27 page)

The lock he had on my eyes lasted much longer than usual. I used the time to assess his mood. Adam looked tired but otherwise unscathed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, tucking my hair behind my ear.

It was my turn for a silent stare, which didn’t faze him in the least. “How was lunch?”

“It was fine. We ate sandwiches.” His smart aleck answer had left me with nowhere to go but to call him out on his stinginess.

“Classy.”

Adam grinned. “You didn’t let me finish. We ate sandwiches at the airport while we waited for her flight to be called. Whitney decided to get away for a while. She’s meeting her parents in St Barts.”

I was relieved. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Time away will be good for her.”

“She doesn’t want to be in town when word gets out that…”

I dipped my head as his voice trailed off. “Just say it, Adam.”

“Her words, not mine, okay?” I nodded, giving him a green light to insult me. “She doesn’t want to be around when word gets out that I married the whore I dumped her for.”

I actually winced as he said it. Adam rubbed his hand up and down my arm in a feeble attempt to comfort me.

“Is that what she thinks happened?”

Adam shook his head. “Nothing I said would’ve helped, Charli. Whitney needs a villain.”

“I’m tired of being the bad guy, Adam,” I muttered.

He pushed me backward into the cushion. “It’ll pass, I promise. At least we’re not trying to protect anyone’s feelings anymore. The whole world can know –”

I covered his mouth with my hand, cutting his sentence short. “The whole world already knows. Kinsey found out.”

Adam groaned, burying his head in my shoulder. “Excellent.”

21. Finding Balance

Days had passed since I’d seen Bente. Keen to catch up, we made plans to get together at Nellie’s before opening.

The weather was horrific, but Adam’s best efforts at dissuading me from going fell on deaf, frozen ears. Because of the recent heavy snowfall, the walk took double the time. It wasn’t even pretty snow. It was dirty, sludgy and wet. The overcast sky stole the daylight, making the early afternoon seem like night. I arrived at the closed restaurant looking like something a cat had dragged in.

Bente was alone inside, setting tables for the evening service. I pounded on the door and she rushed to open it.

“Welcome, stranger,” she greeted, throwing a handful of cloth napkins at me. “Don’t drip on my floor. That would be a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

I followed her across the room, trying to pat myself dry. “Anyone prepared to go up against the Décaries deserves a multi-million dollar payout.”

“Ooh, Charlotte,” she drawled, cupping her hand to her ear. “Is that the sound of someone changing their tune?”

I grinned. “Not at all.”

Bente heaved a sigh. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for some juicy gossip. This place has been dead since Christmas.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t have juicy gossip.”

That vague hint was all it took for Bente to abandon the table settings and run to the kitchen. I wasn’t surprised; I’d seen that manoeuvre before. I pulled out a chair at the table nearest the kitchen door, waiting for her to return.

“Chocolate cake,” she announced, crashing through the swinging door to the kitchen. “It’s no pecan pie, but it will have to do.”

“How do you know I even have gossip worthy of chocolate cake?”

“Well, for starters, you have an impressive-looking shiner.” She pointed at my eye. “That’s got to be a great story right there.”

The hour I’d spent covering it up with makeup had been pointless. The snow had washed it all off.

“It’s not what you think.”

Bente took a huge bite of cake and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “You don’t know what I think; but I must say, a newlywed bride with a black eye is never a good look. People could easily get the wrong impression of your frog.”

“I know.” I’d spent many days cooped up at home for that very reason. “But Adam would never –”

“Relax, Kemosabe. He’s a frog, not a thug. I want the real story.”

The real story was worthy of far more than chocolate cake. I filled Bente in on the whole sorry saga, starting with the slap from the queen and ending with Whitney skipping town. “So all in all, it’s been a rough week.”

“You’re telling me!” shrieked Bente gleefully, taking far too much delight in my misery. “Do you think Fiona got it all out of her system? Is it happy families from here on in?”

“I doubt it.” I poked my piece of cake. “I think she was more concerned that I’d tell Adam, rather than the damage she’d done to me.”

“She really didn’t take the news well, did she?” Bente’s tone was uncharacteristically sympathetic.

I continued my tale of woe, explaining how no one had taken the news well. My father was so furious that he was unwilling to deal with me. Alex’s promise of calling me after a few days was the first he’d ever broken. I hadn’t spoken to him in nearly a week. Whitney was convinced I’d found a way of breaking up her perfectly happy relationship with Adam. To her, I was nothing more than a home-wrecking whore. “How can someone be so blissfully happy and yet so miserable at the same time?” I smiled to dull the gravity of my question.

A slight frown crept across Bente’s face. “Can I give you a little advice?”

“Please, do.”

“Trying to convince people that you’ve done nothing wrong would be a whole lot easier if you both stopped sneaking around as if you have.”

“I don’t fit in with these people, Bente. His family and friends are never going to accept me.” I pushed my plate of uneaten cake to the centre of the table. “All I want is Adam. I’d be content to hide forever if it meant having him all to myself.”

I knew how selfish and unrealistic it sounded. I wasn’t expecting Bente to tell me anything otherwise. “So his friends are douche bags.” She shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no way around that, but for some weird reason, Adam likes them. You’re going to have to make more of an effort to fit in.”

“I can’t see it happening.”

Bente picked up a saltshaker and poured a stream of salt on to her empty plate, followed by two packets of sugar. “Imagine that this salt is the purple circle,” she said, stirring the grainy pile with her finger. “And the sugar is his family.”

“Because they’re so sweet?” I asked.

Bente walked to the information station and returned with a tall wooden pepper mill. “You can be the pepper – hot and spicy.”

I rolled my eyes. “What is this visual display in aid of?”

She twisted the mill, covering the plate with flakes of pepper. “Bear with me.” Again, she stirred the pile with her finger. “Adam’s whole world is on this plate – his friends, his family and you.”

“Okay,” I dragged out the word, still unsure of the point she was trying to make.

Bente pushed the plate toward me and ordered me to separate the grains.

I looked down at the concoction, shaking my head. “You know I can’t.”

“Of course you can’t, Charli. And neither can he. Adam is constantly trying to pick pepper out of salt. No one can keep that up for long. You’re going to have to change your ways.”

22. Legends

Our New Year’s Eve was meant to be a quiet affair. My eye hadn’t quite healed and Adam was suffering a mild case of the flu.

Eating dinner by candlelight was my idea. We sat side by side on the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table. The mushroom risotto I’d attempted hadn’t gone exactly to plan. I was hoping that the dull light might make the gluggy mess seem less horrid. Adam never mentioned it. I wondered if he thought it was beyond even false compliments.

“If you don’t eat it all, you can’t have dessert,” I teased, bumping his arm.

He set his fork down on his plate. “I have something for you.”

“A fillet steak?” I asked, only half-jokingly.

“No, not quite.” He reached into his jeans for a small black box. He set it on the table and we stared at it as if it was about to explode.

“What is it?” For some reason, I whispered the question.

“It’s your new ring.”

“Well, can I see it?”

His pained frown confused me. Unless he’d managed to have the ugliest gold ring in the history of rings made, I saw no reason for his hesitation. I didn’t bother waiting for an answer. I picked up the box and flipped open the lid. There were two plain gold rings inside. The gold from Adam’s wedding ring had been used to make a simple thin band for me; his altered ring was about half the original width.

“What do you think?” he asked, picking up his fork and stabbing at the mush on his plate.

I took my ring out of the box, slipped it on my finger and flapped my hand. “It fits like a glove,” I replied. “I’ll never take it off.”

“I’m glad.”

His dull tone annoyed me. Perhaps his stuffy head was to blame. Or maybe the horrid risotto was sucking the life right out of him. “You don’t sound glad, Adam.”

Still looking slightly tortured, he shrugged. “I like the other ones better, that’s all.”

I sidled closer to him, snuggling in, linking my arm through his.

“I love my curly fry rings. You know I do. I just can’t wear them. This ring is perfect for me.”

I held my hand out, wiggling my fingers. He slowly shook his head. “Nothing about a plain gold band is special.”

I was furious. It was one of the few joyous moments I’d had that week, and he was ruining it with the superficial opinion that it wasn’t grand enough. I released my hold on him and straightened. “To me, it’s special. I don’t want a big flashy ring.” I slipped the ring off my finger, put it down on the table and stood up, towering over him for once. “And if you want the truth, I’m not so keen on the big flashy life that comes with the big flashy ring either.”

He lifted his head to look at me, looking positively wounded. “What does that mean?”

I wanted to tell him exactly what it meant. I was having major issues when it came to adjusting to life in his world, most of which he was oblivious to. But I didn’t. I walked away.

I learned something that night.

Adam wasn’t a chaser. My father was a chaser. Every spat I’d ever had with Alex ended with me storming out of the room. Minutes later he’d follow me, attempting to either calm me down or continue the argument.

Adam didn’t follow. He left the apartment, which was nothing less than I deserved.

He left because he couldn’t deal with me. The list of people who were prepared to deal with me was becoming shorter by the day. It seemed like a good idea to try bumping numbers.

I called Alex.

“Hi Charli,” he greeted, answering on the second ring.

“Hello father.” I was thrilled that he sounded pleased to hear from me. “I miss you.”

“You can come home any time you like.”

As tempting as his offer was at that moment, I had no intention of jumping ship.

“What are you doing for New Year?” I asked, changing the subject.

Alex explained that he and Gabrielle were spending a few days in Hobart. “We’re going to watch the fireworks on the waterfront.”

My heart ached for home – just a little. As a child, Alex took me to Hobart every New Year’s Eve to watch the fireworks. I was glad he’d kept up the tradition.

“I guess you and Adam are heading to Times Square?”

“I’m not sure what our plans are yet,” I lied.

I knew exactly what my plans were. I just didn’t think Alex needed to hear how I was going to see the New Year in alone because my bad behaviour had driven Adam out of the apartment.

“Are you happy, Charli?” Alex asked, perhaps sensing something was amiss.

“I’d be much happier if I heard from you once in a while.”

“I haven’t had much to say to you lately.”

“Are you still mad?”

“I’m still disappointed,” he replied after a long pause. “I’m still trying to get my head around why you think getting married was a good idea.”

We were about to repeat mistakes of old. Ending the conversation before one of us said something regretful seemed sensible – mainly because the regretful comments usually came from me.

“Alex, I have to go. It’s getting close to midnight.”

He wished me a Happy New Year and promised to call me in a few days. It was a promise I wasn’t sure he’d keep. The distance between us lately wasn’t just geographical.

I really didn’t want to be alone at midnight, but as the minutes ticked by it seemed likely. I grabbed a blanket off the bed and rugged myself up on the couch. It was a position I held for only a moment. I couldn’t stand the sight of the two plates of ghastly risotto still sitting on the coffee table. I carried them to the kitchen, scraped them into the bin and set about making a pot of tea. That’s where I was when Adam walked in the door, a few minutes before midnight.

He made no effort to come any closer than the edge of the kitchen – probably worried about the reception he’d receive. I wanted to speak but couldn’t summon words. I hoped he was silent for the same reason. The mutual stare down lasted an uncomfortably long time before he finally made a move that was well worth the wait.