Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RIAN
It’s been forty-two days—six weeks exactly—since I watched Rebekka disappear down the drive at Silverpine.
Six weeks since I’ve seen her in the flesh, six weeks since I kissed her, six weeks since I held her in my arms. The scent of her skin is burned into my memory, the feel of her flesh curled against mine.
And her face is still the only one I see every time I close my eyes, but I also see it in glossy magazines, and brief glimpses on the TV—such are the circles we move in.
Okay magazine featured a two-page spread of her and Anthony at some charity gala, his hand welded to the small of her back.
A breakfast TV show interviewed her about Remington’s spring releases beneath bright studio lights.
She conducted herself with perfect poise and grace as always, but there’s no missing the dullness in her irises, or the way her smile failed to reach her eyes.
I promised I’d stay away, and I have—at least physically. But every time her name pops up in print, every time I catch a photo of her tightly pursed lips, it rips my chest right open with a wound that only she can stitch.
The magazine lies open on my desk now, a photo of her frozen smile while Anthony stares down the lens beside her. My coffee’s gone cold. My inbox is full. And I’m just here, staring like an idiot.
‘You’re meant to be working, not brooding over the society pages.
’ Sean’s voice cuts through the quiet as he steps into my office without knocking—as usual.
He drops into the armchair in the corner of the room, stretching his legs out and surveying my desk.
‘Didn’t realise you’d taken up a subscription to Hello! magazine.’
‘It’s Okay, actually,’ I mutter. His eyes narrow, landing on the photo before I can shove it into a drawer.
‘Ah.’ He leans back, linking his hands behind his head.
‘Don’t start,’ I warn, but my voice lacks bite.
‘Rian…’ Sean lets out a low sigh. ‘I get it. She’s gorgeous.
She’s also married—and not just married, married to your oldest friend.
If Anthony even so much as suspected what’s going on in that head of yours—let alone whatever happened between you two in Wicklow—it’ll be a bloodbath.
For you. For her. For all of us. The De Courcys are not a family you fuck with. ’
‘I know,’ I grind out, rubbing the back of my neck. ‘You don’t need to spell it out.’
‘Someone has to.’ He studies me, expression steady. ‘You’re not built for half-measures. If you keep circling her, you’re going to cross a line you can’t uncross—and it won’t end well for anyone.’
I let out a humourless laugh. ‘It’s not like I can help it.’ I cut myself off, shaking my head.
Sean watches me for a beat, then leans forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Don’t sit here torturing yourself in limbo. That’s the worst place you can live.’
He’s right. I know he’s right.
But as I glance at the magazine, I’m not sure I can live anywhere else.
Sean lets the silence stretch for a moment, then clears his throat, shifting the mood.
‘So,’ he says, tipping his chin towards the framed plans propped against the wall. ‘How’s the refurb at Elixir coming along? You ready for the grand reopening on Friday night, or are you planning to charm the inspectors with that scowl you’ve been perfecting?’
I huff out a breath, grateful for the change of subject. ‘It’s fine. Mostly. The sound system still needs tweaking, and I’m half-convinced the new cocktail glasses are going to bankrupt me before anyone can drink out of them, but it’ll be ready.’
‘Valentine’s Day,’ Sean muses, amusement curling his mouth. ‘Trust you to reopen a nightclub on the most romantic night of the year.’
I flick a pen across the desk, avoiding his knowing look. ‘It just made sense for the calendar.’
‘Right,’ he says, drawling the word as only an older brother can. ‘Hoping a certain someone might show up?’
I shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. ‘It’s a public event, Sean. Anyone could show up. And if a certain someone does show up, she’ll be with her husband. Though by his own admission, he’s still shagging his PA. He told me himself last week at the golf course. The stupid fucker.’
‘I told you he was a wanker.’ Sean shakes his head with disgust, rises from the chair, and smooths down the front of his jacket. ‘But stay out of their marriage, Rian. If she chooses to leave him, it’s a different story.’
‘She can’t leave him.’ I lean back in my chair, letting the legs creak under my weight. ‘There’s too much at stake.’
‘Yeah—for all of you. Don’t forget it.’ Sean studies me for another heartbeat, as though deciding whether to press the point, then nods once and heads for the door.
When he’s gone, I glance again at the magazine on my desk, at the faint outline of her smile beneath the fold.
Will she come to Elixir Friday?
Do I want her to?
I’m not sure what’s worse, seeing her and not being able to touch her, or not seeing her at all.
Anthony will definitely show up. As my oldest friend, he’ll make a point of being seen there. The place will be crawling with paparazzi, desperate to steal shots of Layla and Avery especially, though the name Beckett draws enough interest alone.
Will he pretend to be the devoted husband, given it’s Valentine’s Day?
Or will he leave her to rot in his penthouse like he usually does?
Both options make me seethe.
But it’s not my fight, not until she makes it mine, anyway.
I slam the magazine shut and shove it in the top drawer of my desk
Enough now, Rian, enough.