chapter THIRTY-TWO
Their table at the reception ended up being all the way in the back, by the kitchen doors, but Charlie still didn’t care. How could she when she was just relieved the worst of it was over?
Carrie, for once, had taken someone’s advice other than her own and had nailed her husband almost immediately after the ceremony. A good thing because four hours later, after the toasts had been made, the dinner served, and the cake cut, Damian Miller had shown up again with his thumb reattached—shifter surgeons could do amazing work—and his rage unhampered by all the pain meds he was on. He slurred his way through accusations of whoring and thievery, but he was such a mess that Ronald Farmington and the Farmington family didn’t believe a word of it.
Eventually, the intruder passed out and he was dragged from the room by the wedding planner’s security detail.
Charlie doubted it was over—multimillions had been stolen from that bear—but her involvement in all of it sure was.
She looked out over the dance floor and watched Max and Dutch tango from one corner to the other. Charlie winced at the bandages easily visible on her sister due to the cut of her dress. Shot in the back and Max refused to go home, to get some rest. Even worse, she’d let Dutch, of all people, yank out the bullets before the area was cleaned and bandages taped over the wounds.
Charlie sighed and focused on the slice of honey cake a waiter had placed in front of her.
Berg came back to the table and, lifting Charlie up, sat in her chair and then put her on his lap.
“Is this a thing we do?” she asked.
“It is now.” He gave her a short but warm hug. She liked it.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Did you see them?”
“Nope. If the twins and your cousin were here, they’re gone. I did touch base with Ric Van Holtz. He said that Malone and Smith are on their way to Italy, trying to find them.”
“According to Max, they know what they are now. This kind of changes everything.”
“How? It’s not like it’s going to make them meaner.”
She shrugged. “You have a point.”
“Oh, and your father disappeared.”
“Of course he did.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Although she still wondered how the old bastard had gotten everyone’s bank account information. Even worse, he hadn’t bragged about how he’d done it. He bragged about everything, which meant he was hiding something big . . . or disastrous. And that worried her more than anything.
Dutch and Max tangoed over to them and Max dipped Dutch so that his head was almost in Charlie’s lap.
“Still hate me?” Dutch asked.
“Forever and ever.”
“What’s wrong?” Max asked before bringing Dutch up and twirling him away. She dropped into a seat and motioned to one of the waitstaff. She pointed at each of them and asked, “Beer? Beer? Beer? Beer? Four beers,” she told the waiter.
Once the waiter was gone, Max asked, “So what’s up?”
“Dad’s gone.”
“Of course he is. Although I have to admit, I was impressed you threw half a table at him.”
“It was awesome,” Berg said, burying his nose against the back of Charlie’s neck.
“He just made me so mad.”
“I understand that,” Berg said, squeezing Charlie a little tighter. “There is something about your father that just makes you want to punch him.”
Bernice stopped by on her way to more drunken schmoozing, repeatedly pointing her finger at Charlie before telling her, “Nice job, pretty girl.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I pay you tom—”
“Tonight,” Charlie insisted. “You promised. The rest of the money tonight, including the bonus.”
Bernice quickly held up her hands but stumbled a little in the process. “Not a problem. My husband has the cash. I’ll send him up to get it for you.”
When she’d walked away, Berg asked, “You going to tell her about the account numbers situation?”
“After we get paid, I’ll tell her and Will. Not before.”
“Especially since we don’t know how much longer she’ll have access to ready cash,” Max muttered, smirking at Dutch.
Stevie came back to the table and dropped into a chair. Dutch motioned to his lap and she kicked off her shoes and placed her feet there. Dutch was smart enough, though, not to actually rub her feet. That she hated.
Stevie looked around the room and admitted, “I’m so bored here.” She leaned in a bit and whispered, “Our party last night was so much better.”
“It really was,” Max agreed. “Of course, we had zebra legs.”
Charlie laughed and Stevie held up her phone. “So I got a call from the CERN director. I think he cried a little.”
“You’re making the world of science very sad,” Charlie told her sister.
“I’m not giving up science. I am science.”
“I really don’t think you should be hanging around that Kyle kid,” Max warned.
“You need a job, though,” Charlie said, pointing at Stevie. “Somewhere, somehow. I don’t give a shit. But you cannot just sit around the house doing nothing. We all know that leads to obsessing and possible hoarding.”
“I’m well aware of my mental health issues. I’ve got it all under control.”
“You’re not going back to Switzerland?” Berg asked Stevie.
“Nope. I already talked to Tiny and he says he’d be more than happy for us to stay.”
“Considering what he’s charging us—”
“He’s willing to work on a deal for the rent if we sign a lease and you continue to make him your honey-pineapple cake.”
“You promised him—”
“I said we’d talk about it. Didn’t I, Max?”
Max looked at her sister and admitted, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening because you’re boring the fuck out of me.”
Stevie’s eyes narrowed but before she could say anything, Max took off running and Stevie charged after her.
“Fun is fun,” Charlie yelled after her sisters, “until someone gets hurt!”
Charlie cringed when Max slipped in her heels and flipped herself over one of the open bars and into the liquor bottles, sending glass crashing to the floor and knocking the bartender out cold.
Dutch pushed his chair back. “I’ll deal with it,” he said before Charlie could start yelling at everyone.
Embarrassed, she couldn’t even look at Berg. He was probably checking for one of the seven exits she’d noticed and marked in her head in case of emergency. Not that she’d blame the man . . .
* * *
Berg tried to calm his mind. Because he knew, if Stevie wasn’t leaving New York . . . then Charlie wouldn’t leave, which meant she would stay. In New York. With him.
Don’t get too excited, he warned himself. He didn’t want to scare Charlie off. Don’t say anything that will spook her. Just keep calm and—
“Are you going to say anything?” she suddenly barked at him, making Berg jump.
“Say anything about what?”
She gestured across the room, and that’s when he noticed Max was covered in cuts and, apparently, liquor. She was also laughing hysterically along with Dutch while a tsk-tsking Stevie was trying to help the bartender, and the wedding planner was ordering the waitstaff into action and yelling at the badgers who’d caused a scene.
“What am I looking at?” he asked, confused.
“You didn’t notice all that?”
“Notice all what?”
She turned to the side, her butt still on his lap, so she could look him in the face. “You’re not embarrassed?”
“By what?”
“By what I affectionately call my family? I mean, look at them over there.”
Max had gotten poor Stevie into a headlock, which was doing nothing but pissing Stevie off.
But all Berg could do was shrug. “My sister grabbed the nuts of a polar bear and twisted until he squealed like an otter caught in a hunting trap. You haven’t even met my parents yet.” Berg suddenly looked off and said, “Oh, God. You’ll have to meet my parents.”
“So?”
“They’re going to embarrass me. And Dag. And Britta. Oh, Britta . . . she’s not going to be happy.”
“Berg? ”
“Yes?”
“Have your parents ever sold you into indentured servitude?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t think you have to worry about me judging them.”
“And you’re staying?” the question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He hadn’t meant to ask her so directly.
“Stevie wants to stay. I don’t know what Max is doing but that’s nothing new.”
“But you’re staying?”
“I have to. I have to bake food for Tiny.”
Realizing she wasn’t getting what he was asking her, Berg just closed his eyes and came out with it, “I love you and I want you to stay.”
Charlie let out an annoyed sigh. “Well . . . that’s all on you.”
Eyes snapping open, Berg demanded, “What the hell does that mean? You don’t love me?”
“Of course I love you.” She glared at him and added, “Idiot. But I’m just saying, if you’ve chosen to fall in love with a MacKilligan, after everything you’ve seen . . . then that is on you. I will not take responsibility for your continued poor decision making.”
Instead of responding to that logic, Berg decided to simply keep quiet and hold Charlie on his lap. While they sat there, silent, Stevie ran by yelling, “It was an accident! It was an accident!”
Max chased after her baby sister. Max’s nose now bloody from where—Berg was guessing—Stevie had punched her.
Dutch quickly followed, promising Charlie as he ran past, “I’ll get ’em. I’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry. Trust me!”
Lips pursed, Charlie looked at Berg. He shrugged and admitted, “Sorry, but I’m still glad you’re staying.”
Crossing her arms, Charlie shook her head and muttered, “Such poor decision making.”