Second Hearts (The Wishes Series)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “Sure it would. It would mean I married well. I’d probably be able to swing a country club membership with a rock on my finger.”

  “Probably,” he agreed, almost smiling. “I spent the best part of the day researching. The problem is, just about every stone signifies something.”

  I was amused that he’d overanalysed it to the point of confusion.

  “So what did you finally settle on?”

  Displacing me, he reached in his pocket. “If you don’t like it, just say the word,” he said, placing a ring box on my lap.

  He’d talked it down so much, I wasn’t sure if I should open it. “Before I look at it, tell me what it means.”

  Adam looked as if the conversation was causing him unbearable pain. “Well, I made a few mistakes today. Looking for a meaningful ring after telling the sales assistant that you’ll pay whatever it takes to get the right one isn’t such a bright idea. They kept showing me huge solitaires. On your hand, they would look like a baseball.” He placed his hand against mine, palm to palm. “After looking at ten million rings I ended up in a place on Fifth Avenue. I changed my approach and told the sales assistant that I wanted a ring with a legend behind it weightier than the stone in it.”

  “And how did that work out for you?”

  “Better, I think. She told me a few clichéd stories that didn’t mean much, but one sounded interesting. She told me that the Romans believed that diamonds were the splinters of stars.”

  My eyes drifted down to the small velvet box sitting in my lap. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Have I just given you a lesson in stars, Charlotte?”

  “Oh, trust me, Boy Wonder. I know about stars.”

  His smile broadened. “Educate me.”

  “You’d already be educated if you’d read Peter Pan.”

  Adam leaned over and picked his iPad up off the floor. “I’ll download it and read it now,” he said, tapping the screen. “Maybe I’ll download the French version and read it out loud to you. Who knows, if I put a seductive spin on the accent, I might get lucky tonight.”

  I giggled, more at his Machiavellian expression than his silly words.

  “I am a sure thing, monsieur Décarie,” I declared, still sniggering. “I am the surest thing you’ve ever had.”

  The download finished and he and placed the iPad on my lap.

  “Tell me about stars, Charlotte,” he ordered.

  I swiped through the pages of the book, quickly finding the quote I was looking for. I cleared my throat. “Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it is.”

  He lunged toward me. “You are so lovely,” he moaned.

  I put my free hand on his chest, holding him at bay while I continued reading. “So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak, winking is the star language. But the little ones still wonder. They are not very friendly to Peter, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out.”

  I placed the iPad down on my lap and dropped my hand. Adam didn’t seem to notice that I’d stopped reading. He didn’t move.

  “How much of your childhood was spent trying to blow out the stars, Charli?” he asked.

  I dropped my head, a little embarrassed by the admission I was about to make. “I used to try all the time. When I was little, Alex used to put me on his shoulders, telling me I’d have a better chance if I were closer to the sky. When there were no stars on overcast nights, he’d tell me that was because he’d already blown them out.”

  Adam frowned slightly. “Do you wish you’d known the truth back then?”

  “About stars on cloudy nights?”

  “No, that Alex is your dad.”

  I barely had to think about my answer. “Alex was always my dad, even before I knew it. Nothing changed once I found out the truth.”

  His hand moved to the side of my face, cradling my cheek. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call him and confess that I’m about to permanently steal his only daughter away?”

  As brave as his offer was, it bordered on insanity. Alex wouldn’t give us his blessing in a million years.

  “No. In my experience, confessing to crimes is better done after the event. He’ll try and talk me out of it.”

  Adam leaned across, pressing me into the cushion, ignoring the fact that the ring box and iPad had fallen to the floor.

  “Do you think he could?” He sounded worried.

  “No.” I quickly kissed him. “I never have second thoughts. I always go with the first. Can I see my ring now?”

  He groaned a long sigh into my shoulder. “Yes, of course.” I wriggled beneath him, making a grab for the box. “If you don’t like them, I’ll take them back.”

  “Them?”

  He sat up, releasing me. “There are two rings,” he murmured. “If I’m going to give you stars, I’m going to give you as many as I can.”

  I’d never worn a ring in my life. The prospect of wearing two on one finger was a little daunting.

  I flipped open the lid of the box and stared.

  “Do you like them?”

  He took them out and slipped them on my finger. In a terribly clichéd pose, I held my hand out, wiggling my fingers to enhance the twinkling.

  There was nothing not to like. Pieced together, the rings looked like a delicate string of jewels wound around my finger over and over. When separated, they looked like little diamond curly fries. They’d match my Miss Pork Belly tiara perfectly.

  “I adore them,” I told him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him back to me.

  ***

  Adam wasn’t thrilled by the idea of spending the night before our wedding apart. He was even less thrilled when I told him Ryan had agreed to put him up for the night – providing he promised not to steal anything while he was there.

  I had it all worked out. Ryan would pick me up from our apartment in the morning, and Bente would make sure Adam was at the marriage bureau by ten.

  The plan was flawless but hard to execute. The gorgeous boy with the cerulean eyes just didn’t want to go. I gripped both of his hands, keeping him at a distance while I pushed him toward the door.

  “I can’t just leave you here,” he complained, dipping his head to murmur the words so close to my mouth that his lips brushed mine.

  “I managed just fine for a month before you got here.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Of course it’s not.” I waved behind me. “I have furniture now.”

  “Let me stay.”

  His voice was so smooth and persuasive that it took effort to say no, but I managed to hold my ground. “The day after tomorrow, when you wake up, I’m going to be right beside you.”

  He took my face in his hands for the final time that night. “Yes, Charlotte,” he breathed. “And you’ll be legally obligated to be there.”

  My ensuing laugh was cut short. It was the most divine of kisses – desperate, deep and expectant. He was the one who ended it, as if leaving me gasping for air was revenge for making him leave.

  I stood at the doorway, waiting until he reached the elevator before calling out to him. He turned, granting me a knee-weakening half-dimpled smile.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

  Ignoring the fact that the elevator doors had just opened, he stalked back toward me. Claiming the win, I stepped inside and quickly closed the door.

  Seconds later, a note appeared by my feet.

  For a boy who’d mastered three languages, his note was remarkably simple. There weren’t even any words. The little hand-drawn love heart was the most precious message I’d ever received.

  18. Promises

  Ryan arrived early the next morning. I was happy to see him for a few reasons. Firstly, he was a distraction. My conscience was getting the better of me that morning. I’d actually considered
calling Alex to confess that I was about to tie myself to Boy Wonder forever. Secondly, I was having trouble reaching the zipper at the back of my dress.

  As soon as I opened the door, I turned around, holding the front of my dress against my chest. He didn’t need instruction, just stepped forward and zipped it up.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I turned to face him, nervously smoothing the front of my dress. “What do you think?”

  “At the risk of sounding highly inappropriate, you look stunningly beautiful.”

  I rolled my eyes at his convoluted compliment. “Can’t you just be normal?”

  He smiled. “Fine. You look hot, Charli.”

  “Better,” I praised. “See how easy that was?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” he uttered, grinning again.

  He closed the door, and for a few seconds an awkward silence filled the air. I wondered if that was the moment I was supposed to tell him he looked hot too. It would have been an unnecessary compliment. Ryan always looked handsome. Today was no exception but I could tell a little more effort than usual went in to his outfit. His navy blue suit and matching tie was so impeccably pieced together, he looked crisp enough to snap at any moment.

  “Can we go now?” I asked.

  He glanced at his watch. “Now? We’ll be early.”

  “I’m all dressed up and it’s wasted on you,” I said, grabbing the skirt of my dress and fanning it out. “I should be out there showing off.”

  Ordinarily he might have protested, but that day was mine. Perhaps he knew that. Ryan was good at picking his battles. He helped me put on my coat and followed me to the door, saying nothing until we were in the elevator. “You know, Gabi will freak out when she sees your artistic efforts on the wall in there,” he said irrelevantly.

  “Do you care?” Ryan and Gabrielle weren’t close, and that was putting it mildly. He called her worse names than I did. “I thought you didn’t get along with your cousin.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t. Never did. Never will.”

  “Yes. Why is that?”

  Through the mirrored wall of the elevator he flashed me a lazy grin. “What do you want me to tell you? Are you waiting on some scandalous story?”

  “I might be. I’d love to hear a scandalous story involving Gabrielle.”

  “It probably won’t happen,” he said, sounding disappointed. “She’s too clean-cut for that. That’s basically why we don’t get along. She’s probably shacked up in Tasmania with a goat farmer.”

  “No. She’s shacked up in Tasmania with my father.” I said it a little acidly.

  Ryan picked up on it immediately. I knew there was no way to go back and convince him that I actually approved of their relationship. His loud laugh bounced around the confined space we were in. “The princess and an old man? I didn’t see that one coming.”

  I cringed at the mental picture he was probably conjuring up in his mind.

  “He’s hardly old. My dad just turned thirty-six.”

  I watched the mental maths through the mirror. “So how old are you? Twelve?”

  The doors slid open. I called him a name and walked across the foyer to the door. I was good at picking my battles too.

  ***

  If Ryan was upset at being over an hour early, he didn’t let on. There’s no way he could have been bored. Hanging out at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau reminded me of sitting in the lounge of a busy airport, only a lot more stylish.

  The waiting hall was a long narrow art deco room with stylish long green couches, shiny marble columns, and chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling. Couples and their posses loomed everywhere. And like airport travellers, I couldn’t help wondering what brought them there.

  It was a first-come-first-served process, and I could progress no further without my groom – who wasn’t due to meet us there for another hour. Ryan and I sat down on a couch, waited and watched. Some brides were dressed to the nines. I considered myself to be dressed to the sevens (the fives if I’d taken my tiara off). A handful of extremely casual brides were in jeans and tired winter coats. There was a token knocked-up bride, a nervous groom who looked to be there against his will and a sweet-looking old couple who reminded me of the Swanstons from my breakfast shift days at Nellie’s.

  “I wonder what their stories are,” I whispered to Ryan.

  “I imagine there are many levels of stupidity in this room,” he replied flatly.

  I scolded him with a harsh look. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “I think you’re too young. I don’t think you know anything about life.”

  “I don’t need to know everything. I just need to know what makes me happy. Your brother is it.”

  Ryan huffed out a sarcastic grunt. “I hope you hold that thought, Charli. Being part of my family is a tough gig.”

  “You’re in it. It can’t be all bad.”

  Ryan leaned back in the couch, resting his head as he looked to the ceiling.

  “You know, when I was a kid, I always dreamed of having a sister,” he mused. “But I wanted her to be older, with really gorgeous friends.”

  The majority of Ryan’s snide attitude was false, a front he maintained for reasons unknown. One of my favourite pastimes was calling him out on it. “Eventually Ryan, you’re going to be a really nice guy – when you stop playing in the whore tree.”

  He stood up. “I enjoy that you have so much faith in me.”

  I grabbed his arm and demanded to know where he was going. My tone suggested I thought he was about to abandon me. “I’m going to buy a newspaper. If I’m not back in five minutes, check the wedding chapel. That woman over there keeps staring at me.”

  Dropping the death grip I had on him, I peeked in the direction of his upward nod. A pretty redhead wearing a frightful apricot dress quickly looked away when I caught her eye. “Oh yeah. She wants you.”

  Ryan walked away without another word, returning shortly after with a newspaper in hand. “Right,” he said, brandishing a pen. “How are you at crosswords?”

  “Hopeless, actually.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you.” I knew his idea of helping me meant dumbing it down. “Nineteen across. Origin of the Manx people.”

  “You tell me,” I gibed.

  Ryan glanced across at me. “I don’t know the answer. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “Do you think I know it?”

  “No. Clearly I’m just humouring you.”

  Ordinarily his condescension would have infuriated me but this time, I had the upper hand. I knew the answer. “The Isle of Man.”

  I watched his eyes grow wider as he counted out the letters. “You might just be right. How could you know that?”

  “The Adhene are Manx fairies.” He looked totally perplexed, giving me no option but to elaborate. “In Manx folklore, fairies are thought to be fallen angels, cast from heaven but slightly too good for hell – a bit like you really.”

  “Speak for yourself, Charli.” If he’d hoped to sound hurt, he failed.

  “They’re malevolent, mischievous and delight in causing misery,” I added.

  Ryan twisted his body to look at me, staring in a way that made me nervous. “You’re such a strange girl.”

  We didn’t get through much more of the crossword before Bente and Adam arrived. I walked as fast as I could toward Adam without running.

  “We’re early. I didn’t think you’d be here yet,” said Bente, glancing at the clock on the wall. “How long have you been here?”

  I didn’t have the focus to answer her. I fell into Adam’s arms the second he was within reach. By that time, Ryan had joined us and answered her question. “Long enough,” he muttered, trying to sound inconvenienced.

  Adam looked at me for a long time, saying everything without actually speaking. For some reason, he saw things in me that Ryan and everyone else seemed to miss. His bright eyes showed no hint of nervousness or
regret, and I knew what I’d known all along. He was the one for me.

  When Adam finally did speak, it was to tell me how lovely I looked. I wanted to tell him the same thing but feared it might sound weird. I also wanted to grab the hem of my long dress and twirl around like a child but decided against that too.

  I’d never seen Adam dressed so formally. Unlike his brother, he favoured a casual look. But he wore the dark charcoal suit and matching tie well, looking nowhere near as snobbish and untouchable as is brother.

  Now that he was there, we could move forward with the formalities. License in hand, we lined up in front of the reception desk. Reaching the front of the line brought no great prize. We were assigned a number and told to wait for it to be called.

  When it finally was called, it was only to sign documentation and present identification. Once again we were told to listen out for our number. It was like a long game of bridal bingo.

  We headed back to the couch, acting much less antsy than the two people who were there to bear witness for us. Despite their inability to sit still, Ryan and Bente chatted easily, as they always did. It made Ivy’s snide remarks about him even more intriguing. Ryan was a dick – just never to Bente.

  “Charlotte,” Adam said, from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have any flowers.”

  I turned my head to look at him but he didn’t meet my eyes. He was focused on the latest couple to call bingo. Bride number twenty-six jumped off her couch, pulling her groom to his feet with one hand and waving her neat bouquet of red roses with the other.

  How could I have overlooked flowers? Until that moment I thought I’d remembered everything. Bridal flowers symbolise emotions, values and wishes. How could I have dared to show up without any?

  Finding a bouquet suddenly became more important than hearing our number being called.

  “I need flowers,” I announced. “We have to find some.”

  “Chill, Bridezilla, they sell them at the gift shop,” said Bente. “I’ll go and get some.”

  Ryan offered to go with her, leaving Adam and me alone on the couch, holding hands as we always did whenever we were within reach. We said nothing – not one word. The silence made me blissfully happy. There was only calm in my heart.