Second Hearts (The Wishes Series) (25 page)

“Oh, Mitchell. You have no idea.”

From where I stood, I could hear raised voices coming from the Christmas room. I did my best to ignore them. As far as Mitchell knew, nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I even managed to maintain my normal tone when Whitney rushed into the foyer in a flood of tears and grabbed her coat. “Tell me what you’ve been up to,” I said, stepping aside as she made a bolt for the front door.

Mitchell was spending Christmas on the beach in Kaimte with the other cardboard villagers. At that point, I would have given anything to be there with him. We spoke for a few minutes about nothing important. It was a blissful escape that just didn’t last long enough. Before I knew it, the call had ended and I was standing alone. I couldn’t hear yelling any more, and the reason why soon became apparent.

The glass doors slid open and I was face to face with the queen.

“What do you want from my son?” she asked through gritted teeth.

I spoke slowly and truthfully. “Nothing. I love him.”

“Love?” she scoffed, edging dangerously close to me, pointing her finger. “What could either of you possibly know about love? I will make sure you see not a cent of his money. Do you understand me?”

All her threat proved was how little she knew me. And that wasn’t her fault.

“I don’t care about the money. I just want him.”

“This marriage will be annulled by the end of the week.” Fiona spoke with complete certainty. “I suggest you get out of New York.”

“No. That isn’t going to happen.”

I don’t know where the sudden rush of courage came from but it certainly wasn’t to my advantage. Incensed by my very existence, the queen lost all control.

In all my life, I had never been hit before. And being on the receiving end of a backhander hurt more than I imagined it could.

Immediately remorseful, Fiona reached out to me but I took a quick step back. “Oh, Charli!” She gasped. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

She might have meant it but I didn’t trust her. She had proven herself to be an accomplished liar.

“Mother! What the hell did you do?” yelled Ryan, rushing toward me.

I didn’t see from which direction he came, but could tell by the revulsion in his voice that he’d seen everything.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Let me see,” said Ryan, pulling my hand off my cheek. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it under my eye.

No wonder it hurt so much. I was bleeding. I was confused. She’d slapped me, not stabbed me. I looked at her hand and realised she’d clocked me with her massive diamond ring.

“I’m okay,” I insisted.

“Unforgivable,” muttered Ryan.

“I know. Oh, Charli, I’m so sorry,” repeated Fiona, more desperately than before.

“Mom, get her some ice,” ordered Ryan.

Fiona didn’t question him. She scurried out of the room as quickly as a woman in six-inch heels could.

“Is it bad?” I asked, as soon as she was gone.

“No. You’ll be fine.” He pressed the cloth under my eye, making me wince enough for him to apologise. “Sorry. Listen, can I suggest something?”

“Boxing lessons?”

He grimaced. I couldn’t blame him for not seeing the funny side. “Don’t tell Adam about this. I know what she did was terrible, but it was a one-off. She’s very upset,” he told me. “Adam will never forgive her if he finds out.”

I nodded and his hand moved with me. “I won’t tell him.”

I had a knack for bringing out the worst in people. It was practically a hobby. Realistically, I should have been thumped a million times before now.

Fiona barrelled back in to the room with a silver champagne bucket filled to the brim with ice. The absurdity nearly made me laugh out loud, but I fought against it. There was a slight chance that she meant well.

Ryan grabbed a handful of ice, wrapped it in his handkerchief and pressed it against my cheek.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Charli, I – “ Fiona didn’t get chance to apologise again. The glass doors slid open and Adam walked in.

His eyes were wide with horror. “What the hell happened?”

Fiona stared at me, probably waiting for me to rat her out.

“She’s fine,” assured Ryan.

Adam pushed him and the icepack out of the way, taking my face in his hands. “What happened?” he repeated, calmer this time.

I vaguely pointed to the shiny marble floor. “I slipped.” It was a dangerous fib to tell. It showed Fiona that I was just as good at lying as she was. I glanced across at her. Her expression was one of total relief.

“Take Charli home, Adam,” instructed Ryan, reaching for our coats.

Adam didn’t argue. I got the impression he was as keen to get the hell out of there as I was.

By the time we arrived home, my whole face was throbbing and I was exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, Charli,” mumbled Adam gravely – as if he’d whacked me himself. “It looks like it’s going to be a nasty bruise.” He stood in front of me, unbuttoning my coat. Maybe he thought I’d lost the use of my arms during my pretend slip on the floor. I shrugged out of the sleeves and he hung both our coats on the hooks by the door.

“It’s not your fault. Accidents happen.”

He looked at me for a long moment, searching my eyes – perhaps for the truth. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t buying my story. “I should have listened when you suggested staying here,” he said regretfully.

“At least they know we got married. Everything is out in the open now. Alex knows. Your parents know. It’s all out there and we lived through the war.”

Adam put his hand to my face, lightly skimming over the graze with his thumb. “Is this a war wound?”

If he was hinting toward a confession, it wasn’t going to happen. No good could possibly come from telling him about his mother’s brain snap. I stretched up to kiss him in a ploy designed to mask my insincerity. “No.”

“You’ve never struck me as being the clumsy type.”

“Adam, what exactly do you want me to tell you?”

His hand moved to my face again. “Charli, did Whitney do this?”

Poor dim Whit just couldn’t catch a break.

“Why would Whitney do this? She’s pissed at you, not me.”

He stared at me for a few seconds before shaking free of whatever thought he was lost in. “You’re absolutely right. It’s absurd. I’m sorry.”

I groaned. “Will you please stop apologising?”

I started to walk away but he grabbed my hand, pulling me back to his side. “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling.

Linking my arms around his neck, I pressed my body against his. “Look, today needn’t be a total washout. We have plenty of good things going on.”

“Like?”

“Like, I’m a new bride. I have a freaking tiara to prove it. Despite everything, Adam, I am blissfully happy. We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s the
only
thing that matters,” he agreed, sweeping his hand through my hair.

“I also managed to strike number eighty-one off my list of things I’ve never done. That’s exciting. Tonight, I got my very first black eye.” I said it way too proudly. “Of course, I expected it to happen during a wild pub brawl or while I was resisting arrest, so the circumstances are quite disappointing.”

“Of course. How disappointing.” He pulled me in impossibly close. “Just out of curiosity, what’s number eighty-two on the list?”

I replied without hesitation. “Getting stung by a bee.”

He pursed his lips, smiling with his eyes. “You’ve never been stung by a bee?”

“Nope.” I ti
lted my head. “Not for the want of trying though.”

“You’re crazy, Charlotte.”

“Like I’ve never heard that before,” I replied. It was good to hear him laugh.

20. Coup de Grâce

By the next morning, I had to concede that there wasn’t a whole lot of good in having a black eye.

I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The bluish-black bruise extended from the top of my cheek to the corner of my eye. The graze made my cheek puffy and red. I looked like a ghoulish pirate.

Adam tried to play it cool when he saw it, promising me that it really didn’t look too horrible. I called him out on being a terrible liar and he promptly left the bathroom without further comment.

I began to worry that it might scar. I’d never been a vain person, but permanently resembling a pirate was hardly a good look. I considered consulting a plastic surgeon. No doubt Kinsey or Seraphina could hook me up. I could sue Fiona Décarie to pay for it. Ryan could represent me. I could clean her out and steal her kingdom, just as I’d stolen her youngest prince.

The sound of Adam calling my name jolted me back to reality – and put a stop to any plans I had of ending my chaotic mental rambling with an out-loud evil laugh. The urgency of his voice suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d called out to me.

“I’m here,” I said, looking at him through the mirror.

He leaned against the doorframe, frowning. “I know you’re here. Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. My mother is here.” His face matched his dour tone.

“Why?”

“To make peace, I think. Please, Charli. Play nice, for me.”

“I will,” I promised. “Just give me a minute.” I waved my compact at him through the mirror, implying that I wanted time to cover my bruises.

Truthfully, I wasn’t even going to attempt it. The queen deserved to see exactly what she’d done to me in her fit of rage. As soon as Adam left, I put the compact back in the drawer, pulled my hair into a ponytail and put my game face on.

“Charlotte, darling,” crooned Fiona, the second I walked into the room.

She still had her coat on. It gave me hope that she wasn’t going to stay long.

“Hello, Mrs Décarie,” I replied, trying to sound as if I felt as sore as I looked.

I stood beside Adam and he grabbed my hand. The reassuring squeezes he gave my fingers had almost become a secret language between us. He did it a lot when we were in hostile territory.

“Call me Fiona, please. I just wanted to stop and bring you this.” She stepped forward, thrusting a poinsettia plant at me.

Adam thanked her, probably because he thought I wouldn’t.

“It’s lovely,” I said, setting the scarlet Christmassy plant down on the edge of the kitchen bench.

It was a lie. I hate poinsettias. Besides, the idea of Fiona Décarie gifting me a flower that represented purity was more than a little odd – not that she would have had a clue about its meaning.

“Your eye looks a little better this morning.”

I wondered if every word we’d ever exchange from here on in would be a whopping great lie.

Adam called her on it straight away. “No, it doesn’t.”

Fiona nodded. “It’s true. You do look terribly wounded.”

“I’ll recover.”

The smile she gave was tiny. “Well, as long as you’re okay.”

And haven’t grassed on you
, I added silently.

A long few seconds of silence set in. It was Adam who got a reprieve. His phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. I was jealous. I would’ve accepted a call from the devil himself if it had brought me an excuse to leave.

“I think we should wipe the slate clean,” suggested Fiona, as soon as he was gone. “You and I should spend some time getting to know each other, Charlotte.”

“Why?”

Her eyes drifted to the floor but I got the impression it was me who was supposed to be embarrassed by my question. “Because whether we like it or not, we’re family now.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense just to steer clear of each other?”

“This won’t be an easy process if all the effort has to come from me,” she snapped.

“Fine. What do you suggest?”

“I think we should meet for lunch next week – when your face is respectable again, of course.”

“Of course,” I said sarcastically. “You do remember why my face is bruised, don’t you?”

Fiona stepped toward me to hiss her words. “I regret it terribly, Charlotte.”

I felt no need to play nice anymore. If she were truly remorseful and genuine about starting over, she would handle it. “It’s Charli. I’m just plain, wrong-side-of-the-tracks, Charli. Calling me Charlotte doesn’t add any grandeur to who I am.”

“I’ve noticed that my son prefers to call you Charlotte.” The wretched look on her face suggested she’d just brought something awful to my attention.

“And I’ve noticed that you like to refer to Adam as your son. Is it a territorial thing or do you have trouble remembering his name?”

Fiona didn’t appear ruffled in the slightest. “In time you’ll acquire some decorum,” she said calmly. “I hope you’re a fast learner, for all our sakes.”

“At least you realise I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you’re going to maintain such a nasty attitude, it’s going to be impossible to move forward. You’re not too ignorant to realise that.”