With only a couple of days until Christmas, and no sign of the stalker, I’m learning the meaning of patience the hard way. I’ve thought about trying to draw him out, but I refuse to put Avery at risk. His silence is worrying, especially given what he uncovered about my past.
The finance minister was fuck-all help. The dirty bastard worked his way through a string of prostitutes in the last few months. His apartment had more comings and goings than Dublin airport.
Avery is putting the final touches on the sixteen-foot pine tree in the living area. I’ve lived in here for seven years and I can safely say, it never once occurred to me to put up a tree. Mind you, it never once occurred to me that Avery Williams would be my live-in girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
It’s such a childish description for a woman like her.
Which is why as soon as this shit is behind us, I’m going to make her my wife. Especially now she’s seen my truths and can still find it inside to love me. She might not be convinced about the values of marriage, but I am. My parents are a stellar example of what marriage can and should be, and James and Scarlett are now too. Avery will be wearing my ring before next Christmas. I’ll make sure of it. Now I finally have her, there’s no way I’m letting her slip through my fingers.
Soft classical Christmas songs play from the surround system. The scent of peonies mixed with cinnamon and citrus candles wafts in the air. In a matter of weeks, Avery’s transformed this house into a home, something that I never thought was possible. I think deep down, part of me felt that with everything that happened in Mali, I didn’t deserve to be home, to even have a home, when so many others lost their lives out there.
But still, I’m here. I have to live, so I’ve resigned myself to doing it right, regardless of whether I deserve it or not.
‘What do you think?’ She makes a voila gesture at the silver and blush pink baubles imported from the Christmas shop we stumbled across on the far side of the Golden Gate bridge.
‘Stunning.’ I’m not referring to the tree. In a pair of baby pink sweatpants and a tight white tank top, Avery is the epitome of casual sophistication. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she’s not wearing a scrap of make up. She doesn’t need it. Never did.
‘I think this calls for champagne.’ She claps her hands together and waggles her eyebrows.
‘Fine, but don’t expect me to drink that shit.’ I pull out a bottle from the fridge, pop the top, pour her a glass, and get myself a double whiskey—Beckett’s Gold.
Sterling and Walsh are in my games room. Ten other men patrol the building and grounds. Thirty-eight cameras monitor the property. There’s not a lot else we can do but sit and drink. Well, I could happily spend the evening with my face buried between Avery’s long lithe legs, but Scarlett and James are on their way over—a surprise I arranged. And it would be one hell of a surprise if they were to walk in on that. The thought makes me laugh out loud.
‘Something funny?’ Avery swivels on her bare feet and plants a hand on her hip.
‘No.’ The lingering smirk on my lips suggests otherwise.
I cross the room with our drinks. The need to have her within my reach all the goddamn time is like a disease. I pass her glass to her and she clinks it against mine.
‘To our first Christmas together.’ She beams and her smile is warm enough to infiltrate even the deepest, darkest cracks in my soul. She’s a balm I never knew I needed.
‘To your last first Christmas with a new boyfriend.’
Her eyes flare. ‘It’s a good job I find your possessiveness hot.’
‘Good, because this time next year you’ll be wearing my ring—it’s not up for debate.’ I pull her against me and kiss the sensitive spot on her long, slender neck.
Her mouth parts in a tiny O. ‘Christ, Beckett, one minute you’re more buttoned up than a nun’s knickers, then you’re blurting stuff that makes my stalker seem sane.’
I snort. ‘He’s deranged. I’m deadly serious.’
‘I love your confidence, baby.’
‘And I love you, which is why one day, you will be my wife.’ We’ve said those three little words every day over the past week, but they still send a shocking sharp thrill through me every damn time. What started as an awkward, bluntly delivered admission—on my part—has now morphed into a daily ritual of being the last thing that leaves my lips each night.
‘You know how I feel about marriage.’ She sighs. ‘I’m just not sure it’s for me. It’s nothing personal.’ She takes a mouthful of champagne, eyeing me over the rim of the glass.
‘Let’s have this conversation again after Christmas, okay?’ I have full faith in my family’s ability to sell the virtues of marriage to the only woman I’ve ever wanted to march down the aisle. ‘Besides, I think we already have a stellar wedding planner, and we both know you’re eager to wear a white dress.’
Her mouth opens, but before we can get any further into it, the intercom buzzes. She startles.
‘It’s okay, it’s just a little surprise for you.’
‘A surprise? For me?’ Her features relax instantaneously. ‘I love surprises.’
‘Which doesn’t surprise me at all.’ I press a kiss to her temple, then guide her towards the hallway with my hand splayed across the base of her spine. ‘For future reference, I hate surprises.’
‘I know.’ She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ‘If anything even slightly veers from schedule, you start twitching.’
‘I do not.’ I scoff, even though she’s uncannily accurate. Seems I’m not the only observant one in this relationship.
‘Do too! Your need to be in control is obsessive. But I’m okay with it.’ She raises her hands in a peace signal, but her next statement is like waving a red rag. ‘I prefer men who take the reins.’
‘Men?’ I lower my hand to her peachy ass and slap it hard enough to make her squeal.
‘I think the word you meant to use was man. Single. Not plural. You prefer your man to take the reins. And right now, I’m contemplating tying you to my bed posts with them.’
‘Promises, promises, big guy.’ She turns to me, grabs my shirt in both her fists and yanks me towards her mouth. ‘And it’s our bed posts, now.’
The elevator doors ping open. ‘Oh my goodness!’ Scarlett squeals, clutching her chest. ‘I wasn’t sure if James was fucking with me, but Jesus Christ you two are practically humping in the hallway.’
‘Ahhhhh!’ Avery’s answering shriek practically deafens me, but her sheer elation at seeing her friend is worth it. ‘I can’t believe you’re here!’
Avery drops me like a hot potato and races towards Scarlett. The two women hug like it’s been years instead of weeks. In fairness, they haven’t seen each other since St. Barths, and a lot has happened in that time. James steps in and slaps my bicep. I flinch. Old habits die hard.
‘I would ask how you are’—his black eyes gleam—‘but it’s fairly fucking obvious you’ve never been better.’ His lips stretch into a grin that is apparently contagious because I feel mine do the same.
‘How long has this been going on?’ Scarlett demands, her silver eyes scrutinising my woman from head to toe.
Avery shrugs, then turns to me. ‘Officially, things heated up in St. Barths on a yacht. Unofficially, I’ve been pining after this pretty boy since the Luxor Lounge.’
‘What?’ Scarlett throws her hands in the air. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because he’s your hot broody brother-in-law who used to pretend he despised me.’
‘I despised that I couldn’t have you.’ I shake my head. It’s one thing opening up to Avery, but I don’t feel like dissecting the ins and outs of my emotional awakening in my opulent hallway. ‘Come through, guys. Let me get you a drink.’
Scarlett links her arm through Avery’s and the two women take off towards the kitchen, talking at a million miles an hour. James falls into step beside me, glancing around at the newly acquired feminine touches in my home. ‘We all fall hard in the end,’ he muses.
‘Not all of us. Sean has never been seen with a woman, and Rian, well, he’s still dipping his dick anywhere and everywhere he can.’ Unfortunately for me, I have the videos to prove it. Our youngest brother has no regard for the fact that someone watches the cameras in his villa. My men are sick of the sight of Rian’s cock these days.
‘I often wonder about Sean.’ James slides out of his suit jacket, a custom-made Italian Lora Piana cashmere-silk blend. I know, because I have several like it hanging in my own wardrobe.
‘Don’t. He’s entitled to his privacy. We need to respect that.’ I’ve often thought about doing a bit of digging around our mysteriously well-behaved brother, but always decided against it.
‘Do you think he’s gay?’ James reaches into my fridge and pulls out the open champagne bottle. I grab a crystal flute for Scarlett from the cupboard.
‘Does it matter if he is?’ I hand it over and James fills it while I fetch him a whiskey.
‘No, of course not, but I’d hate for him to think he had to hide his sexuality from us.’ A frown furrows my oldest brother’s forehead.
‘If or when he wants us to know, he’ll tell us.’ I nod towards the fridge where Anabelle left an elaborate cheeseboard, overflowing with aged Comte, creamy Delice de Bourgogne triple cream, truffled Pecorino, jewel-like champagne grapes, fresh figs split and translucent ribbons of 24-month aged prosciutto di Parma, all meticulously arranged on a veined Carrara marble platter. ‘Shall we?’
We cross the room to Avery and Scarlett, who are still talking at a million miles a minute, as they admire the twinkling Christmas tree. The city lights glint below and the moon hangs low over the Liffey. My heart squeezes in my chest.
I never knew it was possible to be so fucking happy. Obviously I’ll be a lot happier when I catch the stalker, and even happier again when he’s six-foot under, but I’m trying to live in the moment and appreciate the little wins. Spending the evening with the people I love most in the world is one of them.
James’s beady eyes weigh heavily on me. ‘I’m delighted for you, bro,’ he whispers, not that either of our women would hear us over the sound of their own voices.
‘Thanks.’
James clinks his whiskey against mine, then slaps my bicep again. This time, I don’t flinch.
