Star Promise (17 page)

Her head snapped up, her stare fierce. “I meant what I said,” she said. “This conversation goes no further than you and I.”

Bridget chattered the whole way back to my office, but I barely heard a word. My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, and working through them was impossible.

I’d put myself in a horrible position. Charli deserved to know her mother was in the city. I just couldn’t protect her from the hurt that would follow when she found out she wanted nothing to do with her.

“I like that dance place, Daddy,” declared Bridget, tugging on my hand as she skipped beside me.

“And Madame Kara? Do you like her?”

“She’s a nice lady.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I wasn’t about to share my misgivings with Bridget. “I’m glad you had fun, baby.”

I tried to pay attention to her as we continued our walk. By the time we got back to my office, she’d all but talked my ear off.

Ryan was waiting in the lobby, unwilling to head upstairs in case he ran into Dad. Bridget pulled free of me and took off running. Ryan scooped her up before the inevitable crash.

“Ready to go?” he asked, giving her pigtail a playful tug.

“Yes!” She squashed his cheeks between her hands. “To the park, Ry. Okay?”

Her hands moved with him as he nodded. “Just for a change?”

She giggled, and it was by far the best sound I’d heard all day.

Ryan lowered Bridget to her feet. She slipped into her own world as she twirled on the marble floor, practicing the moves Olivia had shown her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“How’s the permit situation looking?”

I’d been dealing with paperwork pertaining to the club all week, and our business partnership was fairly one-sided because of it. I looked across to make sure Bridget was out of earshot before speaking. She was busting out her ballet moves for George, the security guard on duty.

“I’ve lodged most of them,” I told him. “Which is more than you’ve done, I’m sure.”

“I’ve been busy too, you know.” Nothing about his tone was believable.

“Doing what?”

Ryan folded his arms. “I’ve been taking care of public relations.”

I wanted to smack the smug look off his face, but laughed instead. “Is that what you’re calling it, now?”

“Don’t cheapen it, Adam,” he mocked, feigning hurt.

Any thought I had of a witty reply escaped me when Bridget let out a shrill squeal that echoed around the vast space. Every person in the lobby turned to stare. “You’re a lovely dancer, George,” Bridget shouted, clapping her hands.

George the security guard, a stout man in his early sixties, stood with both arms above his head, clumsily pirouetting as if his life depended on it.

“Is the whole world her puppet?” asked Ryan incredulously.

“No,” I replied. “Just the people in it.”

I’d had more visits from my family that week than ever before. Fiona was the latest to cut in on my working day, appearing out of nowhere while I watered the display of begonias outside the front window of the gallery.

“Darling,” she purred on approach, “don’t they have people to do that?”

I emptied the small watering can into the planter box. “I am people,” I replied.

She hesitantly leaned in and kissed me, keeping her distance as if I was covered in mud. “I have something to show you – a surprise.”

I guessed whatever it was was concealed in the garment bag she had hooked over her arm. I pointed the watering can toward the door. “Come inside,” I offered. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“You don’t have people for that either?” she asked, making me laugh. “I thought you had a real job here.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out that her surprise was a dress. Bente had shown me the gorgeous gown she’d gifted her to wear to Trieste’s upcoming wedding. I assumed she’d bought me one too.

Fiona laid the garment bag across my desk and unzipped it.

“Is it a dress for Trieste’s wedding?” I asked.

She looked up. “No, darling.” Her perfectly made-up eyes widened. “But leave it with me. I’ll find you one.”

There was no point saying no, so I thanked her.

“My pleasure,” she replied. “The occasion for this dress is far more special than that strange girl’s wedding.”

Fiona never referred to Trieste by name. She was always ‘that strange girl’. It was an honest but rude assessment that I’d given up scolding her for.

She lifted one of the prettiest dresses I’d ever seen out of the bag. I loved all things vintage, but this was vintage at an extreme level. It was positively medieval.

“The Sunkiss foundation is hosting a charity ball on Saturday night,” she explained. “The theme is the French Revolution. I want you and Adam to attend.”

Fiona’s philanthropic ventures were always on a grand scale, raising thousands of dollars per event. I’d attended a few in my time – at her insistence – but nothing as formal as a grand ball. The notion made me a little nervous, until she flashed the dress at me.

I would’ve sold my firstborn for an excuse to wear it.

The patterned brocade gown was over-the-top in the best possible way – floor length with huge pagoda sleeves. Lappets of heavy lace decorated the bodice, and I could tell just by looking that it probably weighed a tonne.

“Why do you want us to go?”

She replied as if it was a silly question. “Because I found you the perfect dress, darling.”

Talking Adam into attending was going to be hard, but I had all afternoon to plan. I beat him and Bridget home that afternoon, and in a purely tactical move, I used the head start to prepare dinner.

They arrived home just after six. Bridget dumped her backpack on my carefully set table, gifted me a quick kiss and headed for her pile of girls in the living room. Adam moved slower. He shrugged off his jacket, stripped off his tie and made his way over to me.

“Hey,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re cooking?” He let me go and lifted the lid off the pan that was bubbling away on the stove.

“Yes,” I proudly replied. “Real food.”

“You spoil us, Coccinelle,” he teased.

“How did your meeting go today?” I’d tried not to put too much thought into it until now. I wasn’t quite over the last debacle. Torturing myself with thoughts of round two wasn’t good for my soul.

“It was okay,” he said simply.

“When does she start?”

Adam grimaced. I had no idea what to make of it. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “She didn’t tell me.”

“But it went well?”

He leaned against the counter and swiped his hands down his face. “Yes, Charlotte,” he roughly replied. “It went well.”

Being tired might’ve explained his pissy mood, except Adam was tired most nights. I didn’t usually cop attitude because of it.

“I’m only asking.”

He straightened up and pulled in a long breath. “And I’m only telling you. It went well. I have nothing else to report.”

He walked away then, heading to the bedroom without another word. It wasn’t Adam’s usual MO when it came to avoiding conversations. He was usually much less abrasive about it, choosing to deflect with ambiguous answers or an artful change of subject. Something wasn’t right, and I wasn’t above grilling the little person in the next room to find out what it was.

Bridget has more dolls than most little girls could dream of, but the only one who had received any attention lately was Treasure, the reborn nightmare.

I sat on the floor beside her, trying not to look appalled as she wrenched Treasure’s arms behind her back to get her dress off.

“Mamie gave her some new dresses,” she told me, “but I can’t get them on her.”

“Can I help?”

She thrust the doll at me. “Yes, please.”

I loosened Treasure’s dress. “Did you have fun dancing today?”

Her longwinded answer went on forever, which was fine except for the fact that I didn’t gain a whole lot of information from it. They met the teacher, she danced for a while, then Adam took her back to his office. Ryan picked her up and they spent the afternoon playing at the park with the compass.

The only thing that seemed to be troubling her was her teacher’s demand that she ditch the boots. “I might not do it,” she said in a tiny voice. “I just love boots.”

I kissed the top of her head. “You do what you think is right, baby. Only you can decide.”

It’s hard to avoid someone in a twelve-hundred-square-foot apartment, but I gave it my best shot. Poor Charli didn’t deserve it and I was too inept to explain why I was giving her the cold shoulder.

It was a hopeless situation, any way I looked at it. I didn’t want to lie to her, but not telling her what I knew was essentially the same thing.

Avoiding her only took me so far. Once Bridget was in bed, she bailed me up in the bedroom and demanded an explanation. “You’ve been a jerk all night,” she accused.

“I’m sorry,” I inadequately replied.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

Her sad look crushed me, and at that moment I realised the poison of Madame Kara was already taking hold.

“Nothing.” I trailed my hand down then length of her arm. “A tough afternoon, that’s all.” I touched my mouth to her ear and whispered, “Let me make it up to you.”

I felt her swallow as my lips passed across her throat, and in another promising sign that I was on my way to making amends, the rhythm of her breathing changed.

“I can think of a better way,” she murmured.

“Better than this?” I undid the first three buttons of her shirt and kissed a line to her heart. “There is no better way.”

“What if I told you it involved dressing up like a dauphin?”

I straightened up, cocking my head. “Kinky.”

“No.” She giggled, swatting my chest. “Your mum wants us to go to a charity ball on Saturday,” she explained. “The theme is the French Revolution.”

My groan betrayed me, as did the plea that followed. “Anything but that, Charli.”

She pulled me close. “Please, Adam,” she said sweetly. “Your mum bought us costumes and everything. I have the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen.”

“You always look beautiful. You don’t need a dress to –”

“It has a corset,” she said cutting me off. The only thing sexier than her tone of voice was the look she gave me. It was classic Charlotte – a perfect combination of fire and ice. “It’s black and lacy and just wearing it is going to get me pregnant.”

When my laugh dulled she changed tack, swapping the seductress pout for sad eyes and rapid blinking. Both were killer moves. I groaned again, looking to the ceiling to escape.

“What’s my costume like?” It was a dangerous question. It gave her the impression that she was winning.

“Very, um …” she faltered “… traditional.”

I gave her a grin that she read perfectly. “
Habit à la française
?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Whatever that means.”

“It’s what they used to call men’s formal attire in the eighteenth century,” I explained. “And if you think I’m wearing a waistcoat and tight pants, you’ve got another thing coming.”

She pressed herself hard against me. “You don’t have to,” she purred. “Say we can go and I’ll let you wear my corset.”

It wasn’t Olivia who’d given me the don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-you line. It was Erin, her sidekick. Olivia gave me nothing other than an order to leave, which was perfectly clear and final – right up until she cashed my tuition cheque a few days later.

I had no idea what that meant. Given what she knew, it was madness to think Olivia could teach Bridget to dance, but my whole week seemed to have descended into madness.

The only time my father didn’t complain about impromptu visits to the office was when they were carried out by my mother. When she turned up and demanded that I try her stupid period costume on, he did nothing to save me.

“I’m busy, Mom,” I grumbled.

She sat opposite my desk and laid the suit bag across her lap. “Do what you need to do, darling,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

Clearly, she wasn’t going anywhere. I closed my laptop, leaned back and gave her my attention. “I’m not wearing pantaloons to your party.”

“They’re authentic for the period, Adam.”

When she made a grab for the zipper on the bag, I told her not to waste her time. “I don’t even want to go,” I complained. “I’m only doing it to keep Charli happy.”

She beamed at me. “You take such wonderful care of your girls, Adam.”

My mother was resolutely of the opinion that neither of her sons could do any wrong. It’d probably screwed us both up in one way or another, but I couldn’t deny that her unwarranted praise was sometimes good to hear.

“Bridget told me she’s starting at a new ballet school soon.”

“Yeah, it’s run by someone you know, actually. Olivia Kara.”

She smiled in a way that didn’t work. “Lovely,” she said tightly.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “What do you know about her, Mom? She said you were friends.”

“We’re not friends.” Her denial came out fast. “I barely tolerate the woman. She’s affiliated with some of the charities I work with. I find her values questionable and her motives disingenuous.”

This was not what I wanted to hear, especially considering the speed with which Olivia had cashed my cheque.

“Do you think Bridget will be okay there?”

She shifted, making the bag on her lap crackle. “I didn’t say she was a brute, darling. By all accounts she’s a wonderful dancer. I just don’t like her.”

“She seemed to know what she was doing,” I reasoned. “And Bridget liked her.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, picking up on my angst. “But you didn’t?”

Mindful of the dangers of giving her any information, I gave her half an answer. “I’m not sure yet. Time will tell, I guess.”

“You’ll have a chance to get to know her better on Saturday night,” she replied. “She’s attending the Sunkiss ball too.”

Wearing tight pants and a waistcoat instantly became the least of my problems. The bigger issue now was going to be keeping my wife away from the past she’d never known.