Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
REBEKKA
It’s been seven days since the worst day of my life.
Seven days since the door exploded and Rian saved me, not for the first time, from the monster I married.
We’re in Rian’s penthouse. Our penthouse—I suppose. The curtains are open. Dublin city is a scatter of gold below us. The stretch in the evening invites optimism and warmth for what’s to come.
A candle burns on the mantlepiece, the scent of pomegranate floats through the air. Champagne sweats in an ice bucket on the coffee table beside the couch where we’re sitting. Soft music floats from the sound system. Rian is doing his best to stitch our life back to some sort of normality.
He’s behind me on the couch, knees hooked either side of mine as his hands reach round working slow magic on my feet. His patient thumbs rub all the right spots. I close my eyes and let the pressure melt me.
The bruise on my cheek has faded. The shock of how close I came to falling prey to Anthony’s violent advances is slowly receding into memory. Every stroke of Rian’s hands reassures me I’m safe. I’m at home.
‘Is there any end to your talents?’ I murmur, curling my toes. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling his eyes on me. The little things feel enormous now.
His lips brush over my ear like he’s whispering a prayer. ‘No,’ I can hear his smile. ‘Want me to prove it?’
We’ve made love every day and every night since he saved me. At first, he was reluctant. But I needed it. Needed him to remind me how it felt to have a man on my body in a way that wasn’t ownership or punishment, but tenderness. To rewrite the memory Anthony tried to stamp on my skin.
I refuse to let that bastard ruin what Rian and I have.
‘What happened to him?’ I ask the question that sits like a stone behind my ribs.
Rian’s hands pause on my feet. I twist my head to look at him. He frowns, then sighs, and resumes massaging.
‘He’s in hospital,’ he says. ‘Broken ribs, concussion, a few cracked teeth. He’ll look a mess for a while.’ He gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘He’s not dead. Not even close. But he won’t be able to stand in public without people asking why he looks like he lost a fight with a lawnmower.’
My stomach drops and somehow lifts at the same time.
Relief isn’t a clean thing.
‘I was worried they’d—’ I start.
‘Killed him?’ Rian finishes my sentence for me.
His voice is low. ‘No. The point was to make sure he can’t use his mouth or his footage as a weapon.
Killian found the home movie he was trying to make.
’ Disgust rolls from him. ‘His team copied everything and secured it, and sent it to his parents. The De Courcys are disgusted with him. Marianne sends her regards. She said she wishes you the best. She’s not ready to see us together, but I had a full and frank conversation with her, and I made it exceptionally clear that I am going to marry you. ’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She was shocked at first, but what could she say? Her son is deranged. She had no idea how deranged until she saw the footage. It wouldn’t convince any woman to stay in a marriage, even without all of the cheating.’
‘I’ll reach out to her in a few weeks, when the dust settles. If it ever settles.’ I shrug.
‘Of course it’ll settle, sweetheart. Now we’ve bought Remington, the De Courcy leverage is gone. Anthony can’t touch you. Living is a better punishment than death—especially when he sees how happy I’m going to make you.’
I breathe out. The tension that’s lived under my ribs all week loosens a notch. I rest my head in the hollow of his throat knowing for the first time in a very long time that whatever storms come, we have each other.
Rian slides a strand of hair away from my face and kisses the corner of my mouth. ‘You filed today, didn’t you?’ he asks casually, as if we’re talking about napkins.
I nod. ‘The divorce is in motion. I’ll push it harder now I know he’s still breathing.’
I glance down at my empty left hand.
Rian follows my gaze and chuckles. ‘Don’t get used to being without a ring on that finger, Bekka. If I have my way, you’ll be wearing another one really soon.’
I snort. ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mr Beckett.’
‘Am I?’ He tilts his head, eyes bright. ‘I like getting ahead—almost as much as I like giving head.’
He reaches for the bottle of champagne, fills the two glasses beside the bucket, then hands one to me.
The charms on my bracelet chime like a tune; my new book charm gleams beneath the low lighting.
As promised, Killian returned it to me, along with my collection of first editions, and the rest of my stuff.
‘Taste that.’ Rian’s eyes twinkle with devilment. ‘While I taste you.’
He’s on his knees on the floor in front of me before I can even clink my glass against his.
‘How is this my life?’ I ask him as he lifts up my dress and buries his face between my legs.
‘Because you’re my everything,’ he mutters, pulling my lingerie to the side and sweeping his tongue over my centre.
‘Fuck.’ My back arches.
‘Yes.’ He pauses for a second. ‘We’re going to do that too.’
‘I love you, Mr Beckett.’ I run my hands through his hair as my head rolls back against the couch, surrendering to the pleasure he’s providing with that exceptionally talented tongue.
‘I love you more,’ he murmurs. ‘I have done for three years, thirteen weeks, and one day.’
Something huge and simple blooms in my chest.
Gratitude.
Awe.
Love—fierce and ridiculous and true.