16. Killian
KILLIAN
When I finally see Avery waiting for me on the plane to Ireland, it’s all worthwhile.
This godforsaken competition, the time I spent carving a new “tattoo” into the back of one of Islington’s men after he was caught extorting one of the shops that’s on our border, the fact I’ve been so busy I haven’t followed Avery at all.
Even the arguments I’ve had from my dad because he’s noticed he has a minder.
All that matters is this girl.
I wonder whether I’ve done enough for Avery to fall for me, at least a little bit. Enough for her to marry me? I roll around the idea of kidnap in my mind, again.
But I made this stupid commitment, and while kidnapping Avery and forcing her to be my wife has considerable appeal, having two women in my life not accepting my decision might be a bit much.
I’m going to run this thing to the end. Play it by the book and choose Avery. No shortcuts, no reason for anyone to say I didn’t make a considered choice. I fell for Avery the moment I saw her, but I’ll show her we’re meant to be and she’s what I want.
Maybe a small kidnap if Avery disagrees, but we can get to that.
We fly to our house in Ireland for what Mam is calling the “private overnight dates”. One by one, I’ll spend time with each of the final candidates to be my wife, on our own. No spying eyes.
My mam lectures the remaining women while we’re on the private jet on the short hop from London to the nearest airfield in Southern Ireland. I don’t listen as she sets up detailed rules about them having to have breakfast at a certain time, and exactly how long the dates will be.
I just think about having Avery to myself.
On our own. I choose her to have a day together first and Avery and I spend the morning walking along a clifftop—the sky white and grey, the wind tugging at Avery’s dark hair—to a castle, then explore the ruin.
She enthuses about it, explaining the fireplaces and where the different rooms would have been.
I’m glad she likes it, but don’t tell her that I’ve bought it for her.
We chat. There’s a lingering ambiguity about what we’re doing and neither of us address it. She’s still my employee, and doesn’t know I’m aiming for her to be my wife in truth. Doesn’t realise how totally I’ve fallen in love with her.
We trade stories about our upbringing, and funny anecdotes. We have a long lunch in a tiny café on the beach, then stroll along the sand. Avery picks up shells, and I carry them for her, not caring that I’m getting sand and salt in the pockets of my suit.
It’s easier to talk now there’s no one listening, and Avery’s passion for history is insatiable.
And I want to hear every thought that goes through that pretty head of hers.
I drive her back to the house, then we head out on foot to my favourite local pub.
We find a snug table amongst the low beams and dark-brown furniture that is dull in comparison to her hair.
On the way back, I catch her hand, and hold it.
And when we’re outside the front door of the house, I pull her into my arms. I brush my thumb over her cheek and look down into her face. I’m so gone for this girl. “Come to my suite.”
For a second, she’s caught, as though shocked. But my mam clearly set out the remit for this evening. It’s just us. No one watching.
Avery could say no. She should say no, and remind me that this is a professional arrangement. That I’m paying her to be in this so-called competition.
But she doesn’t. Her eyes light, and she breathes, “Yes”.