Free Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series by GJ Walker-Smith Page B

heart was in the right place, and I spent most of the drive to Astoria trying to convince Ryan of that.
    The second we got out of the cab, every promise I’d made him that things would go smoothly went out the window. I could hear the girls going at it hammer and tongs in the house. Ryan obviously heard it too. “Getting you out of here is practically my civic duty, Bente,” he grumbled.
    I hooked my arm through his to keep him moving up to the house. “Just play nice.” As opposed to my nieces. Through the screen door I could see them strangling each other in the hall.
    They separated the second we walked in. Fabergé didn’t react to Ryan – unless a blank stare can be considered a reaction – but Malibu unravelled quickly. The colour drained from her already pale little cheeks and she took off up the stairs. “Mama!” she screamed. “She got married with the bad man! Don’t let him live here!”
    Ryan looked smug, but it didn’t last long. Ivy came bounding down the stairs and stopped half-way, giving her the advantage of height and distance. “I told you not to bring him here,” she said sourly. “He’s already upset Malibu.”
    Ryan tilted his head to the side and whispered. “Marry me, Bente. I dare you.” He must’ve expected my elbow to his side because he didn’t flinch.
    “We came to talk to you,” I said strongly, “but you’re going to have to calm down first.”
    Ivy clung to the timber balustrade as if she was holding herself back. Her eyes darted between the two of us a hundred times before she finally spoke. “You have two minutes.”
    “That’s generous,” mumbled Ryan. Ivy confounded him. He saw her as nothing more than a maniac who hated him for no good reason. I knew differently. My sister had fiercely protected me for as long as I could remember. And if he’d seen the emotional wreck of a woman that she’d had to scrape off the floor after he was done with me the last time, he would’ve understood.
    Despite softening enough to hear me out, Ivy dragged out the drama as long as she could. Ryan and I sat in the small, over-furnished living room while Ivy disappeared to make coffee. Fabergé stood in the doorway, staring Ryan down. Malibu was nowhere to be seen.
    “How are you Fabergé?” asked Ryan, making the smallest of small talk. “Long time no see. Do you remember me?”
    “No.”
    “Pity,” he replied. “I guess there’s no point asking for my phone back then, huh?”
    I had no clue what he was talking about, and was fairly sure I didn’t want to. I changed the subject. “Ryan is my boyfriend,” I explained, sounding incredibly juvenile.
    Ryan leaned across and patted my knee. “And Bente is my girlfriend,” he added, sounding worse.
    Fabergé wasn’t impressed. “You guys are lame,” she muttered, disappearing from sight.

    17. DEATH METAL GIRL
     
    Ryan
    We weren’t lame. The candy pink velvet wing chairs we were sitting on were lame.
    Ivy’s living room was a horrendously girly display of pageant trophies, diamante crowns and ribbon sashes. The house looked like a unicorn had thrown up in it.
    “Nice chairs, sweetheart.” I ran my hands along the velvet arms.
    “They’re great, aren’t they?” My comment backfired the instant I realised she was serious. “They were the only things I shipped back from Boston, besides my dresser.”
    “These are yours?”
    “Yeah,” drawled Bente, sounding far too proud.
    She wriggled back as if settling in for a nap. The hideous chair swamped her. There was no doubt about it. My very first girlfriend had appalling taste.
    “Bente, what kind of music do you listen to?” I asked nervously.
    She turned her head. “Why?”
    “Just wondering.”
    She hit me with a smile so gorgeous it almost made up for her lack of taste in home furnishing – until she ruined it by poking her tongue out and following up with the devil horns salute. “Heavy metal mostly…. or really loud death metal when the mood hits.” I