Secrets in Love (West Village Series Book 2), page 1
Why is the one thing you can’t have always the very thing you want the most?
For years, my life—my very existence—has orbited that of my family.
I have lived and breathed only for them.
Become indifferent to my dreams. Lost myself.
But one night, one ridiculous conversation, and one seemingly innocent encounter has opened the metaphorical floodgates, washing away the walls I had erected around my heart, revealing hidden secrets, and exposing the one thing that could bring me back to me.
Cruelly, that thing, that person, had been right before my eyes for years but now sits on the other side of the world…
My brother’s best friend.
Copyright © 2023 by Bindi Kennedy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All artwork is copyrighted by the author.
Copyeditor by Jenn Lockwood
Cover design by Haya in design
Formatting by Champagne Book Design
Published by Bindi K Publishing.
In the interests of a good tale, the locations in and geographical features of Byron Bay, London, New York City, and State, have been fictionalised.
This novel’s story and characters are wholly fictitious creations of my imagination. Certain long-standing institutions, public offices & agencies, celebrities, works of literature, film, T.V. & songs are mentioned.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Author’s Note
Epigraph
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Secrets in Love can be read as a stand-alone, but I do recommend you start with Rules in Love—Book One of the West Village series.
Check out Finn & Scarlett’s tale here.
“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope…I have loved none but you.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
For all the people who’ve forgotten who they are. May you find your way home safely.
Evie
Everyone called me Evie, but that wasn’t my real name.
It was actually Aoife. Aoife Mary Austen.
Pronounced Ee-fa, it was Irish Gaelic for beautiful and radiant. It had something to do with a badass warrior princess in Irish mythology and was kind of beautiful. But it was also peculiar. Especially when you didn’t grow up in Ireland but on a beachside farm in Australia.
Depending on who you asked or what you Googled, Aoife was anglicized into Ava, Eva, Eve, sometimes Alfie, or as my little brother Finn used to say, Evie. Of all the names, little Finn’s was my favorite. Like him, it was cute. People smiled when they said Evie. They didn’t pause, have a crack, get it wrong, and then ask me to repeat myself fifty-two times. “It’s EEEEFFFAAAAAA. EEEEFFFAAAAAA.”
Formative years filled with people contorting their faces when saying your name could leave you a little…well, bitter, and may have influenced my sometimes-prickly disposition. Hence, when a dance teacher called me Foofa in a packed ballet class, seven-year-old me proudly declared, “I’ve had enough of this shit! No one is ever going to call me Aoife again!”
Since then, only one idiot has had big enough cojones to call me Aoife—my brother’s best friend, Nate.
Little did I know, a lighthearted, innocuous exchange between me and my brother, regarding said idiot, was about to rock my world, proving that the most nonsensical conversations could impact your life in the most unexpected and monumental ways.
New York had been our home for a few months, but Finn still insisted on taking his precious Jeep everywhere instead of walking. Considering no one claimed to drive in this city, the traffic was hideous, and I had been keeping myself entertained by upholding a long-standing Austen tradition—mocking Finn for his overly emotional nature. At 6’4”, he was a sweet mound of muscle and tears that I wouldn’t change for the world. Mainly because nothing made me happier than teasing him about crying. Nate loved it too and was not shy about applying a notorious Australian nickname for one so fragile—Sooky Sooky La La—to his bestie.
Unsurprisingly, Finn didn’t take the reminder well. “Bloody Nate could talk. He was always sooking to me about you, but did I tease him? Nope.”
All giggling ceased. “Nate was sooking about me? Why would he be sooking about me?”
“Uhh, because he liked you and was madly in love with you?”
“What?” I snapped and delivered a sharp blow to the side of Finn’s head. “Nate liked me? Loved me? Since when?”
“Since we were, like, born.” Finn’s bulging eyes darted between me and the road, which was more than concerning as he was a shitty driver. “You’re honestly telling me you didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know! Why would I know? How did you know? Why would you know and never tell me?”
Condescension, protectiveness, and perhaps a touch of love resulted in an eye roll only my freakishly large brother could muster. “Well, I knew because I was his best friend, my girlfriend was his twin, and he talked about you constantly. We even made a deal when we were fifteen. Neither of us was to go near the other’s sister. Obviously, I broke that deal, but Nate didn’t.” Guilt replaced the disdain on Finn’s face. “That’s part of the reason he was so upset when Shelby and I got together.”
A steady and loud stream of what was undoubtedly crap continued to flow from Finn’s mouth, but I could only concentrate on the synchronicity formed between the rain pounding against my window and the fierce beating of my heart.
Nate liked me. Had the hots for me? Me.
Finn pulled into the parking lot, and I hastily jumped from the still-moving Jeep, classically landing with a splash in the largest puddle in the lot. Carrying the weight of a million thoughts, my head was down, my mind focused on the cold water now trickling down the backs of my legs and pooling in my shoes, when another voice added to the chaos.
“Evie, wait! Let me help you!”
Armed with an open umbrella and a sexy twinkle in his eye, Christian Alarie, my potential new boss, and owner of my niece Iris’s dance studio, raced to my side, sheltering me for the three paces it took to make it inside. Normally, I’d have thought him a tool and taken great joy in pointing out the uselessness of his actions. Three things stopped me. One, too much Nate on the brain. Two, Christian may be in command of my future earnings. And three, the man’s sheer hotness, because damn, he was hummina-hummina hot. The most beautiful man I’d seen since arriving in New York. Hot.
As we did that silly, twisty foot shuffle to dry our shoes, he lowered the umbrella, looked between me and the car, and winced. “That was a bit pointless, wasn’t it?”
“Pointless? No. Not at all. I was just thinking how gentlemanly of you it was. Though, you’ll look like a drowned rat if you do that for every parent.”
The smile, which could only lead to trouble, returned as he loomed over me. “I guess it’s good there’s only one parent I’m doing it for.”
I didn’t know if hearing yourself blush was possible, but I could have sworn every capillary in my face exploded, and each snap, crackle, and pop was audible. Christian’s voice dropped a good octave or two lower as he continued, and it hit my already-on-alert girly bits hard. “I was hoping you would pick Iris up tonight. I also hope you won’t sue me for sexual harassment when I ask you this.”
“What? Sue you? Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because, Evie, I want to ask you out. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you since you began your teaching trial.” It had been three days, and I think we had spoken three times. “And I’d like to learn more. It’s fine if you want to say no. There is no pressure or obligation. I have officially handed over all my boss-like responsibilities concerning you to my second in charge, Jody, who is fully aware of what I am asking for legal purposes.”
Soaked socks squelched as I bounced on the balls of my feet. “Okay… While I’m glad Jody knows, I would also like to ‘cause you’re kind of freaking me out.”
“Oh, God, Evie. Sorry for rambling. I’ve been doing that lately when I’m nervous. I talk and talk and talk, and people get so annoyed—”
He was right. It was annoying. So, to stop it, I held my hand on his broad chest, trying not to place any meaning to the rapidly pounding heart I could feel beneath my fingers. “You’re still rambling.”
“Right…okay. See, the thing is, Evie. I was wondering if you would like to go on a date…with me. Just a date, not sexual harassment, o-or any sex of any kind at all, really…unless you…you know.” Sweat began to drip from his forehead as his eyes drifted to my boobs, lingered, then rose back to my eyes in time with a cute flush to his cheeks. “Sorry. Oh…I mean, no pressure. There could be sex if you wanted, but I just mean dinner and…fuck. I’m so sorry.” He wiped his brow, then slid his hands down, concealing his eyes and flushed cheeks. “If you can’t tell, I’m…kind of goofy for you, Evie.”
Wait…what?
“You…” I waved my hands around his impressive frame, Vanna White style. “Okay, is this a joke? Are you filming this for TikTok? God, you didn’t fall and hit your head doing a jetée, did you?”
Christian chuckled and peeked through his spread fingers. Seeming to relax, he then dropped his hands altogether and sighed.
“No, I didn’t hit my head. We’re not being filmed—at least I hope not—and yes, I am sure.” Perhaps conscious of our locale, he stooped and leaned into my ear, whispering, “I find you incredibly attractive, Evie. I have since the first time you brought Iris in. I wanted to ask you out then, but I felt like it was inappropriate. Seeing you dance, though… Watching your body move and come alive…” Dangerous eyes raked over my body. “Inappropriate or not, I just had to ask. You and your petit ballonné are totally worth the risk.”
“Wha…”
That was it. That was my response.
I fancied myself a writer. Had penned umpteen unpublished novels, and the best I could summon was, “Wha…” Luckily, Iris’s timely arrival prevented my death by humiliating blank staring. “Um, I have to go, Christian. My brother is waiting in the car.” I grabbed the poor kid by the shoulders and pushed her out the door. “I will get back to you about that…thing. It sounds like it could be fun—if you don’t change your mind first, that is.”
Christian flashed his polished stage smile and winked. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Evie. I won’t be changing my mind. That thing is yours. Whenever you’re ready, just say, ”Oui.”
Back on the road, Iris faithfully detailed every child’s step in her class, and I allowed my mind to wander.
Could it be true? Could I, Evie Austen, have a hot man—no, not man, men, as in plural….as in more than one….as in two—interested in me?
For someone like my style icon and favorite New Yorker, Carrie Bradshaw, this would be just another sexy day in the city. But for me, a stumpy farm girl from Australia, it seemed a greater work of fiction than Miss Bradshaw herself.
Via the passenger side mirror, I watched the dance studio, and my chance to delve into Christian’s motives, fade into the distance. But I still had my brother. And when it came to Nate, Finn was a veritable treasure trove of info.
Dare I dig a little deeper?
“He emails me a few times a week, you know.” It was more often than that, but I was dipping my toe into the murky waters to test the temperature. “Texts me sometimes too. He always says it’s to check in on his number-one girl, Iris, but do you think he…? No. No, that’s silly.”
“Evie,” sighed Finn, “I’ve told you before. I don’t know what you are talking about when you start mid-sentence. Who emails you?”
“Nate,” I whispered.
“What? Nate? Nate emails you a few times a week? I’m lucky if I’ve gotten one message this month, and you’ve been getting weekly emails and texts for how long?”
“Since we left Byron. And he has messaged you. You just bloody ghost everyone all the time.”
Sounding remarkably like a dog with a bone stuck in its throat, Finn scoffed and whined, “Jesus, Evie. He’s still into you. Fuck. That’s rich. That bastard gave me so much shit for chasing Shelby, and he’s been doing the same thing behind my back this whole time.”
As usual, we fell headfirst into an argument, which came to a screeching halt when Finn proclaimed he was putting his foot down. Nate and I had to stop talking. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I then made my own proclamation: Finn was an asshole who had no right to do anything of the sort. And Iris laughed at us both and learned several choice new words.
Happy days.
It was the perfect evening for a barbeque and a beer. The clouds had cleared. A pink and tangerine sunset illuminated the sky, and a light, cooling breeze carrying that ever-present hint of NYC garbage swept through my room, taking the edge off the sticky heat. But I was locked away. Trapped in my thoughts. A pathetic, sweaty mess.
Over the last nine-ish years, I’d lived a concurrently dramatic, sheltered, yet extraordinary life. My parents lost their lives in a tragic car accident. Shelby, Nate’s twin sister, Finn’s girlfriend, and Iris’s mom, passed away in childbirth, and I became a stay-at-home aunt-mom type to my adorable niece. Somehow, I pushed past the grief and found enough space and balance in my new life to complete my arts degree, qualify as a ballet teacher, and do the whole wannabe-writer thing. To complicate things further, my family—my Aunt Jocelyn, Finn, Iris, and I—left Byron Bay, our beautiful hometown on Australia’s east coast, and moved here to the bright lights and filthy air of New York City.
It was a lot. A whole lot. But none of it could’ve prepared me for haplessly wandering into a metaphorical late-summer sausage-fest. One where I was the guest of honor, and the sausages in question belonged to two opposite yet equally delicious men.
Christian, HotBoss, was quite possibly one of the most perfect-looking men in the history of men. Think of a ripped Jared Leto before he looked like Jesus. Crystal-blue eyes. The lean but muscular body of a dancer. Thighs that could crush a watermelon—or preferably, me. Cultured and sophisticated, he was a former lead with the New York City Ballet who was forced into early retirement when he ruptured his medial ligament for the third time. Instead of laying low, as many would, Christian opened Village All-Abilities Dance, VAAD. A studio welcoming adults and children of able or not-so-able bodies. Neurotypical or neurodivergent. It was a brave move, and he was kind of my hero. My hot, physically agile hero.
Then there was Nate. My brother’s best friend. My kind of friend. Nate was part of my life like my appendix was. Without knowing why, he was always there, just hovering quietly in the background, doing whatever it was he did, until he got a bit carried away and turned into a massive, completely disruptive pain in your side, talking incessantly and asking you to pull his finger until he was removed.
The problem was that he was also gorgeous. Sandy, sun-bleached hair. A thick, bulking body crafted by years of surfing and farm work. Deep brown eyes that could inspire a million love songs. And most importantly, a complete slut.
Young Nathaniel could sweet-talk his way into anything and proved that by the number of pants he’d gotten into and by being the only male granted membership to the Byron Bay branch of the CWA—the Country Women’s Association. Think old ladies, perms, scones with jam and cream, and knitting. Those old birds took sixteen-year-old Nate under their wings and gave him three and a half thousand years of wise, womanly experience, hints, and tips. Hence his successful sluttery. It was all thanks to those old-time skanks…and his undeniable hotness.
As I conjured images of his long, toned body, it dawned on me just how often my gaze roamed freely over his shirtless form when drifting side by side on our surfboards or studied how the veins in his forearms tensed and flexed when effortlessly carting hay. Ohh, and the power grip his thighs had on his horse when riding bareback.
Fuuuccckkkkk.
Okay, I’d possibly nursed a teeny-tiny admiration for Nate for a long time, but honestly, I became emotionally stunted when we lost Mum and Dad, and then Shelby so soon after. I was numb for years. I felt too raw to feel more than the bare minimum necessary to function, and the little excess I did have went into Iris. She became our everything—sun and moon, stars, and sea. So even if I did have a childish crush, my heart was too full of pain and Iris to do anything about it. Plus, there was the whole he’s-younger-than-me thing. Also, he’s my brother’s bestie, and my brother would kill him—and possibly me.
