Second Hearts (The Wishes Series) (24 page)

“A couple of hours and we can get out of here,” he mumbled, as his mother glided into the room.

“Hello darling,” she said, pointing to her cheek, giving her youngest son instruction. “Merry Christmas.”

Adam kissed his mother’s cheek. “Merry Christmas to you, too. You remember Charlotte, don’t you?”

Charlotte?
I hated playing the part of Charlotte. It wasn’t one I was good at. It was like trying to act a scene from Shakespeare without a script. I was never going to pull it off.

“Of course,” she purred. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m fine, thank you. You have a lovely home.” Somehow, I managed to choke out the rehearsed words without stammering.

“It can get a little crowded over the holidays, but we make do,” she replied. I glanced around. We might as well have been standing in a museum after closing time.

“Is Ryan here yet?” asked Adam.

“Not yet. I’ve warned him not to bring that wretched Aubrey. We can’t accommodate every drifter in town.”

Adam’s grip on my hand tightened, almost restricting the circulation in my fingers. It confirmed what I already knew. I was the drifter she was referencing. Fiona excused herself from the room on the pretence of checking on dinner.

Adam led me to one of the couches. It was so quiet; I could hear the ticking of a clock. I scanned the room in every direction, unable to find it.

“Is your mum really cooking dinner?” I asked, unable to imagine her slaving over a hot stove in her couture dress and six-inch heels.

“No. She has staff.”

I looked across, studying his face for a long time before speaking. “Is this how you grew up, Adam?”

He broke the lock I had on his eyes and looked straight ahead. “And you thought
you
were the sheltered one. You’ve given me everything, Charli.”

For the first time ever, I believed him. It was a surreal moment.

The queen didn’t return to the room, even when Ryan arrived. I could hear him chatting to Mrs Brown in the foyer. Through the frosted glass door, I saw her silhouette lunge forward as she broke protocol and stole a hug from him, just as she had with Adam.

“About time,” grumbled Adam as the door slid open. “She told us to be here at seven.”

Ryan pretended to study his watch. “So? I’m fashionably late.”

“At least you came without Aubrey,” I jibed.

Ryan slumped on the couch opposite us as if he was already exhausted. “I came without scandal, which is more than I can say for my little brother. Have you told them the happy news yet?”

“No. Dad’s not here yet,” muttered Adam.

As if on cue, the door slid open again and Jean-Luc walked in. “
Ah, mes deux fils
,” he announced, clapping his hands together loudly. He beamed, genuinely happy to see his boys. “And Charli. How are you, dear?”

Dear?
It was slightly better than darling but still horrid.

“Fine, thank you,” I replied politely.

“Good to hear. I hope you’re making yourself at home. You’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you,” I repeated. “You have a lovely home.” The insincere compliment was becoming my catchphrase.

“Do you think so?” asked Jean-Luc, glancing around the room. “I find it awfully medieval. The burden of lodging family heirlooms has limited our decorating options considerably.”

Laughing probably wasn’t appropriate but I did it anyway.

“We keep the suits of armour upstairs,” added Adam dryly. “They creep us out.”

Father and both sons laughed – disturbingly similar laughs, that dulled the instant Fiona walked into the room. She greeted Ryan with a kiss on the cheek and praise for not bringing Aubrey.

“She was busy,” said Ryan. “I did invite her.”

The next half hour of conversation was quiet and dull, designed purely to pass the time until the other guests arrived. Eventually Grandma Nellie arrived. Mrs Brown helped the elderly lady into the room and into the arms of her grandsons, who hugged her warmly and wished her a Merry Christmas.

Grandma Nellie was old school. In a strong English accent demanded a glass of whiskey and ordered Fiona to turn down the heat. There was a new queen in town.

“And who might you be?” asked Nellie, staring straight at me. “One of Ryan’s floosies?”

“Mother!” scolded, Fiona.

Jean-Luc and Ryan sniggered.

“No. Grandma, this is Charli,” Adam said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hello,” I said politely.

Nellie squinted as she ga
ve me the once over. “Oh yes, Adam’s foreign girl.”

Fiona quickly shoved a glass of whiskey into her hand. If it was a ploy to shut her up, it worked. Nellie barely said another word – except to demand another drink. As brash as she was, I liked her. There was an honesty about her that her daughter didn’t possess.

As the evening wore on, Adam and I grew nervous – for different reasons. I’d caught sight of the table setting in the adjoining dining room. I’d counted four forks at each place. Alex and I would’ve been lucky to have four forks in our entire cutlery drawer. Dinner was going to be hardcore.

The reason for Adam’s nervousness was more serious. He was preparing to tell his parents he’d married a vagrant-pauper-trollop-minx-drifter.

Our level of agitation rose just before dinner when the last of the guests arrived – dim Whit. Judging by the looks of horror on the Décarie brothers’ faces, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know she was coming.

There was no sneaky hug from Mrs Brown upon her arrival.

Fiona sashayed across the room to greet her as Mrs Brown showed her in. “Whitney, welcome,” she crowed. “You look so lovely. I’m so thrilled you could make it.”

Ryan leaned forward, grinning errantly at me. “Hold on to your hats, kids, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Adam, roughly. The blank look on his face was alarming. It was as if he was completely trapped with nowhere to go.

“Come,” ordered the queen, taking Whitney by the hand. “Sit with Adam.”

Whitney half smiled as she sat beside him. She didn’t appear shocked to see me. As far as Whitney was aware, I was someone who hung out in the whore tree with the older Décarie brother, who sat opposite me with a disgustingly smug look on his face.

Nellie leaned over and whispered to Ryan, not so discreetly, “Well, this is a fine mess.”

“Indeed,” he mumbled.

“I hope you don’t mind me being here,” said Whitney to Adam. “My parents went to St. Barts for the holidays. I’m in town alone.”

“It’s fine, Whit,” replied Adam, insincerely.

Ordinarily it might have been fine. Adam and Whitney could’ve spent the evening reminiscing about old times. The only thing making it uncomfortable was the fact that his wife was in the room. I dropped my head; catching sight of the pink cardigan I was wearing, suddenly feeling the urge to tear it to shreds. I had officially become the little pink elephant Ryan had warned me about.

It was almost a relief when a Fiona finally announced that dinner was served. Adam stood first and practically ran to the table. I wasn’t sure why until I saw the place cards were a little askew. Obviously he’d made some quick alterations to the seating arrangements. If his mother was annoyed that he was no longer sitting beside Whitney, she didn’t let on.

Everyone took their seats and the games began.

Jean-Luc led most of the conversation. He was charismatic and interesting to listen to, which was a good thing because no one else really had much to say. Fiona played the part of hostess perfectly. It was as if she was indulging a group of strangers rather than her own children. I wondered if family get-togethers were always like that – or just when little elephants were in the room. Her reason for inviting Whitney clearly had nothing to do with her being alone for Christmas. It was a ploy to get her and Adam in the same room.

Jean-Luc asked Whitney how long her parents were expected to be away.

“About three weeks,” she replied, smiling at him. “They said the weather is spectacular. I wish I’d gone with them.”

She should have gone with them. I would have appreciated the rest.

“Adam, didn’t you and Whitney go to the Caribbean together last summer?” asked Fiona, seizing the opportunity to mention it.

“Yes, we did,” he miserably confirmed.

“We saw some of the most beautiful sunsets ever,” remembered Whitney, glancing briefly at Adam.

If I’d been eating, I would have choked. The reason I wasn’t eating was because I had absolutely no idea which fork to use. Ryan helped me out from across the table, picking up the fork on his far left and giving me a slight nod.

“Those are the memories worth treasuring,” said Fiona, her eyes darting between Adam and Whitney.

I wondered if leaping across the table and strangling Whitney would make a memory worth treasuring. Truthfully, I couldn’t be angry with her. She was just a clueless girl trying hard to win back the boy she loved – with the help and approval of his mother.

Dinner seemed to last for hours. The only person who looked more bored than me was Nellie. When she announced that she was tired and wanted to open the Christmas gifts, I was relieved.

We made our way through more sliding doors into yet another huge room. I called it the Christmas room. It even smelled like Christmas. A gigantic pine stood in the corner, decorated entirely with white glass baubles and clear twinkling lights. It was postcard-picture perfect. The mountain of gifts underneath it had such pretty wrappings it seemed a shame to undo them.

Adam led me to a tapestry-upholstered chair. His absent gesture of touching me gave Whitney the first hint that all was not as it seemed. Her face crumpled but she recovered quickly, moving to stand beside Jean-Luc. I sat on the chair and Adam stood beside me, arms folded in an unusually hostile pose.

Gift-giving in our house lasted all of ten minutes. I’d give Alex his presents and he’d give me mine. It was that simple. Gift-giving in the Décarie household was a long, drawn-out process where everyone had to observe the unwrapping of every single present. It was boring and unnecessary. The Décaries wanted for nothing.

Nellie’s enthusiasm waned quickly. As soon as her glass of whiskey (the fourth for the evening) was empty, she bade everyone goodnight. Ryan volunteered to help her to her room. He was probably grateful for the escape.

As soon as they were gone, Fiona turned to Whitney. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, darling,” she said, fossicking through the remaining pile of gifts. “Actually, it’s a present for you
and
Adam.”

Whitney looked thrilled. Boy Wonder looked appalled.

Jean-Luc walked across the room and poured himself a drink from the heaviest-looking crystal decanter I’d ever seen. Maybe it was to calm his nerves. The whole notion of a joint present seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room.

As Whitney unwrapped the flat gift box, some papers fell to the floor. Adam scooped them up, reading them before she had a chance.

“Tickets to Europe?” he asked, outraged.

“Time away – without any distractions – will do you both the world of good,” announced Fiona, looking straight at me.

Adam thrust the papers at Whitney. “Find someone to go with, Whit. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

His attitude toward her infuriated the queen. “Adam!” she hissed.

“I did warn you, Fi,” said Jean-Luc. “You’re meddling.”

“It is not meddling,” she hissed. “It’s protecting my son.”

“From what, Mom?” Adam barked. Fiona made the mistake of glancing in my direction, silently answering his question. “From Charli? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I understood none of the angry French diatribe she directed at him but I knew it wasn’t kind.

“Butt out,” he warned.

Fiona marched across the room, pointing at me but looking at Adam. “Who is this girl? Who is she to keep you from you family and friends?”

Oh, here we go
, I thought. She’d just asked the magic question. If Adam had been waiting for the right moment to tell her his news, that was it.

He answered strongly, enunciating every word. “She is my wife.”

Whitney let out a sharp gasp. Jean-Luc sculled the rest of his drink and promptly poured another one. Fiona staggered to the nearest chair as if she’d just been shot.

I sat perfectly still, unsure of what to do or where to look.

Mrs Brown, unaware of any drama, walked into the room waving my handbag.

“Your phone, Miss Charli.”

My heart skipped a vital beat. It had to be Alex. He was the only person who ever called. I thanked Mrs Brown, took my bag from her and scurried out to the foyer. Alex could scream and yell at me all he wanted; it was still preferable to being in the middle of a Décarie war.

Reading the number on the screen was the only joyous moment of the whole evening. My caller was Mitchell Tate. I couldn’t wait to hear his voice.

“Happy Christmas, Charli. Is it a good time to call?”