Four months later…
From my vantage point on the mezzanine of Caelon’s new flagship hotel, I have a perfect view of Dublin’s elite as they mingle beneath crystal chandeliers and gold leaf ceilings. Beckett’s Bliss Dublin is officially the most expensive hotel ever built in Ireland—five hundred million euros of luxury that my brother insisted was ‘an investment in the future.’ Looking at the crowd fighting to be seen here tonight, perhaps he was right.
The grand ballroom glitters with wealth and privilege. Women draped in couture and diamonds, men in bespoke tuxedos trying to look like they’re not impressed by the thirty-foot waterfall feature cascading down black marble. A five-piece acoustic band with soulful vocals occupies the elevated stage at the far end of the ballroom, their contemporary pop covers elegantly understated yet powerful enough to fill the vast space without overwhelming conversation.
Paparazzi line the red carpet outside, desperate for a glimpse of the Becketts and their illustrious guests. If they so much as think about taking an inappropriate photo of Avery, they’ll end up like the last man who did.
‘All clear on the south entrance,’ Thomson’s voice comes through my earpiece. Fully recovered from his Christmas ordeal, he’s back to his efficient, interfering self. He persistently asks when Avery and I are going to tie the knot.
My answer?
The second she’s ready.
‘Copy that,’ I respond automatically, my eyes finding Sterling across the room. He gives me a subtle nod. Since I allowed him to invest in Beckett Security last month, he’s taken even more ownership of these events, which gives me more free time to spend with the woman I love, and finally put a smile on his sullen face.
My attention shifts to my family scattered throughout the crowd. Caelon stands proudly by the main entrance with Ivy, her gold gown draped elegantly over her baby bump. Beside them, James has his arm protectively around Scarlett, who looks radiant carrying their third child. My mother moves gracefully between guests, her hair swept into an elegant chignon, while my father watches her with the same admiration he’s shown for forty years.
But it’s Avery who holds my attention, as always. Some things will never change. In a backless black gown that hugs every curve, diamonds at her throat and wrist—including the Cartier watch, which she never takes off—she outshines every woman in the room. Not just because of the dress or the jewels, but because of the confidence she carries. The magazine column, the wedding dress shoots she finally secured, the charity foundation she’s established for victims of stalking—she’s become a force entirely her own.
I watch as she laughs with her mother, who’s brought her latest boy toy—a Spanish artist fifteen years her junior, but still the longest relationship she’s maintained since Avery’s father abandoned them. The Spanish artist is besotted with her, following her around like an eager puppy. His background checks came back clean thankfully, or he’d be somewhere in the Wicklow mountains already.
‘You’re doing that thing again,’ Rian remarks, appearing at my side with two whiskeys.
‘What thing?’ I accept the drink, not taking my eyes off Avery.
‘That thing where you drool over Avery and stare at her like she’s the centre of the universe.’ He smirks.
‘She’s the centre of my universe.’
His eyebrows skyrocket at my blatant admission. ‘What happened to my cold, emotionless brother?’
‘He fell in love.’ I shrug, unembarrassed. ‘Speaking of which, who’s your target tonight?’
Rian’s gaze drifts to a blonde actress by the bar. ‘She’s in town filming some historical drama. Thought I might show her some real Dublin drama, starting with the inside of my pants.’
‘You ever think about settling down?’
‘I’ve thought about it.’ A wistful look mists his eyes.
His remark from Christmas stuck in my mind. All the good ones are taken.
He downs his whiskey before disappearing back into the crowd.
I scan the room again out of habit; cataloguing exits, security personnel, potential issues. All clear, yet something nags at me.
Sean.
He’s not here yet. It’s not like him to be late. Especially not for a family event of this magnitude. I’m about to check in with his security detail when Avery appears beside me, sliding her slim arms around my waist.
‘Stop working,’ she chides gently. ‘The world won’t implode if you take a night off.’
‘Force of habit.’ I kiss her temple, breathing in the scent of her peony perfume.
The band starts a new song, its familiar chord emblazoned on to my heart, a cover of James Arthur’s ‘Say You Won’t Let Go’, the first song Avery and I ever danced to. We glance at each other, the memory bouncing between us. ‘This has got to be our wedding song,’ she sighs, leaning into me. ‘Better buck up with that ring so I can start planning.’
‘I have the ring. I’m just waiting for confirmation you’re ready.’ I keep my tone light, but we both know how much it means to me.
Her eyes meet mine with the directness that first captivated me. ‘I’m ready.’
I cradle her face in my hands. ‘Better late than never.’
Laughter bursts from her mouth. ‘But make it good, Beckett. I only plan on being proposed to once, so it needs to be epic.’
‘Epic.’ I repeat. I’m going to need Thomson’s interference after all, the romantic bastard that he is.
‘And I want the best photographer in Dublin to capture every second of it.’
‘You want that micro penis sporting weirdo to photograph me proposing to you?’
‘No, but I want a proper engagement shoot afterwards.’
It’s a battle to not roll my eyes. ‘Is there any other option?’
She twists her lips coyly, ‘Well, there is one I suppose.’
‘What is it?’ Truthfully, it doesn’t matter, because months later, I still can’t say no to her. She’ll get whatever she wants, because the only thing I want is for her to be happy.
‘Remember Mandy suggesting you could be involved in an article for ELEGANCE? I know they’d love to do a feature on us together.’
I sigh in resignation. ‘Fine.’
‘Yay! I love you so much,’ she says, her tone earnest, her eyes softening.
‘And I love you.’ My lips catch hers and for a second, the entire world fades to nothing.
She pulls away all too soon. ‘You’re ruining my lingerie.’
‘Let’s get out of here so you can show me.’
A sudden hush falls over the crowd near the entrance. I look up, instantly alert, to see my brother Sean standing in the doorway.
And he’s not alone.
‘Holy shit,’ Avery whispers beside me. ‘That’s—
‘Princess Layla Sinclair, third daughter of the King of England.’ And she’s hanging off my brother’s arm in a way that would suggest they know each other–intimately.
In a deep red gown, she looks utterly regal. But it’s the way she looks at my quiet, intensely private brother that catches my attention. Like he’s her entire world.
‘She hasn’t been seen in months!’
‘I guess now we know why.’
‘Did you know about this?’ Avery squeals, gripping my arm.
‘Nope.’
The crowd parts as Sean guides the princess through the ballroom. My parents’ faces are a study in shock. Caelon nearly drops his champagne. Even James looks stunned, which takes some doing. Rian is back to grinning like a madman.
Avery turns to me, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. ‘A fucking princess, Killian. An actual royal princess. And not any princess—my favourite royal out of the whole damn lot.’ She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘How did Sean even…? It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?’
‘You thought I was quiet once,’ I remind her, enjoying her expression.
‘Yes, and you turned out to be a filthy depraved nympho.’ She nudges my torso.
‘Says the woman who just admitted to ruining her lingerie,’ I remind her, smoothing my hand over the curve of her ass as I watch Sean and the princess, noting the subtle security detail that surrounds them, and the way my brother’s hand never leaves the small of her back.
‘There’s a story there,’ I murmur into Avery’s ear.
‘Damn right there is.’ She grins and rubs her hands together. ‘And I, for one, can’t wait to hear it. Let’s go introduce ourselves.’
As the night unfolds around us, I hold Avery against me, finally at peace with my past and unexpectedly eager for our future. Whatever it holds, we’ll face it together.
Some men spend their lives building walls. I spent mine constructing the perfect fortress—until a blue-eyed blonde with a smart mouth and a stubborn streak found her way in and taught me that the real strength isn’t in the walls we build, but in knowing when to tear them down.
