Read Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) for Free Online

the manor had made in my absence.
    Everything was entirely too neat. Even the linen cupboard had undergone a makeover. Everything in it was impeccably folded and colour coordinated. I moved to the kitchen, setting my sights on the overhead cupboards. One by one, I opened them, studying the contents. Most of our tableware had come courtesy of Floss Davis and her generous desire to cook for us a few times every week for fifteen years. We very rarely returned her dishes, meaning we had more Pyrex than we could ever use. Not any more. The cupboards now boasted a bewildering array of stylish cookware. I scowled, cursing the Parisienne as I slammed the doors shut. I was being most unreasonable. It wasn’t my house any more. I hadn’t lived here for a long time, and I wasn’t entirely sure I could live here again.
    I opened one last cupboard and groaned at the sight of three perfect rows of matching drinking glasses sitting upside down on the shelves. I counted eighteen. Alex barely knew eighteen people, let alone eighteen people who’d all be in our house wanting a drink at the same time. I took my time righting every single glass. “There,” I muttered, standing back to admire my handiwork. “Much better.”
    Being unpleasant is tiring. After my mini crime spree, I lay down on the too-white couch and crashed. The day slipped away until the sound of Gabrielle walking in roused me. I sat bolt upright, giving her a fright.
    She squealed, somehow managing to sound demure. “I didn’t realise you were here, Charli. I thought you left with your father this morning.”
    “I did but he brought me home,” I replied sleepily.
    “Is the jetlag getting the better of you?”
    I nodded. “I was going to make a start on dinner but –”
    “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it,” she replied cutting me short.
    At that moment I realised I hadn’t come home. I was a visitor in her home.
    “Gabi, where’s my stuff?” She looked at me, forcing me to elaborate. “You said my stuff arrived from New York.”
    “Oh. Yes, of course.” Her porcelain cheeks flushed a pretty shade. “I asked Alex to take them to the cottage. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that there isn’t much room here.”
    I shrugged. “Would it be okay if I go and sort some of it out?”
    “Of course.” Gabrielle opened the drawer of the hallstand, picked up a bunch of keys and held them out to me. I thanked her, made a vague promise not to be too late back and slipped out the door.
    If the desire not to be in the house persisted, there was a fair chance I was never going to return the little rental car. I wondered how Adam would feel about the continual charge on his credit card.
    I pulled onto the driveway of the white brick cottage. It looked remarkably cheerful and bright, considering it had been vacant for a year and a half. The red tin roof had been recently repainted and the fussy gardens were well maintained. I wandered along the cobbled path, admiring the gorgeous hedge of lavender leading up to the house. I loved the cottage. No wonder Gabrielle couldn’t bear to part with it. What I couldn’t understand is why she’d moved in with Alex. The Parisienne had Décarie powers. Why hadn’t she convinced him to move in there?
    The inside looked exactly as it had when I’d last been there – except homier, thanks to Alex’s ugly brown lounge suite that now took pride of place in the centre of the lounge room. I found my stack of FedEx boxes in the bedroom that Adam had once stayed in. Each box was addressed to Charlotte Décarie. I sat on the floor, reached for the closest box and tore the strip of tape off the top.
    I instantly knew that none of it had been packed by Colin the delivery guy. Between each item of meticulously folded clothing was a layer of pink tissue paper. It wasn’t Adam’s style either. For a split second I considered calling him to ask who’d boxed up my life, but I thought better of it. I probably didn’t want to