Two hours later, we’re cruising up the seemingly endless driveway that winds through the Beckett estate. Ancient oaks and horse chestnuts line the immaculate gravel road, their bare winter branches creating a natural archway dusted with snow. The grounds stretch for acres in every direction—pristine white lawns, frozen ornamental lakes, and in the distance, the stable block where Alexander Beckett, Killian’s father, keeps his prize-winning thoroughbreds.
As we round the final bend, Killian’s childhood home comes into view. The house is a Georgian mansion of ridiculous proportions—honey-coloured stone and perfect symmetry. Twenty-something windows across the front facade gleam in the winter sunlight, framed by ivy that’s been meticulously trained around the stonework for generations. Four enormous stone pillars frame the entrance, where a wreath the size of a small car adorns the glossy black front door. The entire place practically screams old money, power, and the kind of history that can’t be bought. Anticipation melds with excitement in my stomach.
Killian pulls the Aston Martin to a stop in the circular driveway. He finally got it back from the garage yesterday. Sterling, Thomson, Donovan and Mason travel in the SUV behind us and Killian assured me there are already sixteen other armed guards manning the perimeter. He turns to me, his expression softening in a way reserved only for when we’re alone. ‘Ready to face the Beckett Christmas circus?’
I swallow thickly. ‘Are you sure your parents aren’t horrified that you’re dating a glamour model?’ I run a hand over the deep green velvet Victoria Beckham dress I picked out for today. It pairs beautifully with a pair of silver Manolo Blahniks, and the gorgeous new Cartier watch decorating my wrist.
He cups my chin across the ivory leather console and angles my face to meet his unwavering stare. ‘Former glamour model—not that it matters to them. And I’m not dating her. I’m in love with her. Trust me, they’re going to be ecstatic with this turn of events.’
Before we can discuss it further, the front door opens. Naturally, I’m expecting a butler or a maid, given the grandeur of the place, but it’s Vivienne Beckett herself. Her hair is curled around her shoulders in a professional blow-dry, but she’s wearing an apron.
She waves enthusiastically from the doorway, her smile warm and genuine in a way that immediately eases some of my tension. In a simple cashmere jumper and pearls—even with that incongruous apron—she exudes elegance. The kind that comes from generations of knowing exactly who you are in the world.
Thomson appears at my door and opens it, while Sterling goes to Killian’s side.
‘You’ve got this, kid.’ Thomson offers me a wink.
‘Thank you.’ He’s my favourite out of all of Killian’s men. ‘And thank you so much for the help with the watch. He loved it.’
‘Of course he did.’ He taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. ‘It’s from you.’
‘I’m sorry you have to work today.’ I feel bad that the staff are all working overtime because I have a stupid stalker on the loose.
‘Don’t be. Walsh is swapping out with me in a couple of hours.’ He winks again. ‘Got to give the Mrs her present too, if you know what I mean.’ His low laughter carries on the breeze.
‘Happy wife, happy life, right?’ I tease.
‘Exactly.’
Killian comes round to my side and slips his arm around me. Vivienne’s eyes quadruple in size as she freezes momentarily. Killian chuckles beside me.
Finally, she overcomes her initial shock, starting down the steps despite the frosty air. ‘Merry Christmas! We were beginning to think you’d changed your minds.’
Killian’s hand settles on the base of my spine, his thumb stroking me in reassuring circles. ‘Still time to run,’ he murmurs, ‘Doesn’t mean I won’t chase you down, but you could try.’
‘That could be a game for another time.’ I bite back my grin and beam at Killian’s mother instead.
‘Avery, it’s so wonderful to see you again.’ Before I know it, I’m enveloped in a cloud of Coco Chanel and squished against her bosom. ‘We’re absolutely delighted you’re joining us for Christmas. When James told me you two were…’ She pauses for a second, seeming to search for the right word. ‘Together, I thought he was winding me up. I mean, you two didn’t exactly look like you were hitting it off at the wedding, and then boom, next thing you know, it’s serious. Tell me, what happened? I want to know every single detail.’
‘Trust me, you don’t, Mother.’ Killian offers his mother a perfunctory peck on the cheek when she finally releases me.
‘Oh, don’t be coy! I love a bit of romance. Tell me everything.’ She waggles her finger at her son.
‘Me too,’ a deep voice calls gleefully from the doorway. Rian. He’s clutching a large tumbler of amber coloured liquid, and from the glow in his cheeks, it’s not his first of the day. ‘Merry Christmas! Come on in and tell us everything.’
Killian growls beside me as Vivienne ushers us in through the grand entrance. Rian throws his arms around me and places a slobbery kiss on my cheek. I fight the urge to wipe it off. ‘Welcome to the family, Avery,’ he slurs.
It’s not like him. Every time I’ve been in Rian’s company and he’s been drinking, he’s held it much better than this. My eyes flick to Killian, who’s staring at his youngest brother with a mix of wariness and confusion.
‘Thanks. Merry Christmas.’ I remove myself from his grip, before Killian does it for me, then step further inside the grand hallway, trying not to gawk like an absolute tourist at the opulence surrounding me. The entrance hall has soaring ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and a huge crystal chandelier. Gleaming marble floors stretch out beneath our feet, partially covered by antique Persian rugs in deep reds and blues.
To our right, a sweeping double staircase curves upward, the dark mahogany banister polished to a mirror shine. Family portraits line the wall alongside the stairs—generations of Becketts staring down with the same intense gaze Killian sometimes fixes on me. I spot him immediately in one of the larger frames—a serious-looking teenager standing ramrod straight between his brothers, not quite smiling but not quite frowning either.
‘Come on through, everyone’s in here.’ Vivienne motions for us to follow her into what must be the main living area.
A Christmas tree dominates the space, making the one I ordered for Killian’s place look positively miniature. It must be at least twenty-feet tall, decorated with what appear to be antique ornaments and twinkling lights that cast a warm glow over the surrounding furniture. Elegant sofas and armchairs in rich fabrics look so pristine I’m almost afraid to sit on them.
‘You made it!’ Scarlett squeals from her position on the floor, where her daughters are swinging from her like she’s a climbing frame. In a red Valentino dress that skims her to just below her knee, she looks festive and fabulous. A fire crackles in a fireplace large enough to roast an entire deer, a testament to how far Scarlett has come. For years she couldn’t stand the sound or heat of an open fire, but these days, it doesn’t seem to affect her. Killian isn’t the only one with a troubled past to overcome, but that’s another story entirely.
‘Welcome!’ Zara, Killian’s gorgeous and glamorous little sister rushes over, eyeing me like I’m a shiny rare object before flinging her arms around me.
Caelon and Ivy snuggle together in a plush velvet love seat while Caelon’s children, Orla and Owen, suck on red and white striped candy canes at their feet. They rise when we enter. Surprise flickers in Caelon’s eyes as they flit between Killian and me, but he welcomes us both warmly.
Ivy is positively bouncing around the place with excitement. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispers into my ear. ‘I thought you two were fit to kill each other at the wedding and now look at you!’ Her brilliant engagement ring sparkles on her left hand.
‘There was certainly a little tension, but we found other ways to work it off.’ I bite my lip.
Vivienne announces she’s going to fetch champagne—and her husband—from the kitchen. Rian heads towards the majestic mahogany sideboard where his brother, Sean, is pouring from a crystal decanter.
Sean is the quietest out of all the Beckett boys. I’ve known him for years, first from the Luxor Lounge, and now from social gatherings with Scarlett, yet sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all. He raises his hand from across the room and offers a warm smile. ‘Merry Christmas, Avery. Welcome.’
Killian shakes hands with his brothers. It’s impossible to miss the way his shoulders stiffen when his sisters-in-law peck his cheek, which makes me feel thoroughly privileged that the only places he stiffens for me these days is in his trousers.
He accepts a tumbler of whiskey, then rapidly returns to my side. ‘This place is stunning.’ The mantelpiece is laden with Christmas cards, family photos, and tasteful festive decorations. The scent of pine mingles with something delicious wafting from the kitchen.
The Beckett mansion is grand, undeniably so, but there are surprising touches of warmth everywhere—children’s artwork framed alongside priceless paintings, a dog bed by the fire, books left open on side tables. It’s a home, not just a showpiece, and that realisation makes me wonder if he’s right. If maybe there is something to getting married—if it means one day, we’ll build a life and a home like this one.
