Chapter 21
With its gleaming white render, clean architectural lines, and windows so wide they practically inhale the Irish Sea, Savannah Kingsley’s house looks like a billionaire Barbie Dreamhouse. We pull into her long driveway and up to the front door. Tate is driving. I’m in the passenger seat. Nico and Felstead are in the back of the SUV. Unfortunately, with Jack O’Connor still on the missing list, security is tight, which means my little red Jaguar F Type is stuck in my apartment’s underground carpark until further notice.
‘Nice pad,’ Tate comments.
‘You know you’re only supposed to be pretending to be part of my design team.’ My eyes flick sidewards as he kills the engine.
‘It was just an observation.’ He hops out of the vehicle and opens my door.
‘Thanks.’ I take in the well-maintained gardens. The rose bushes. The view from the property is outstanding. Dalkey is showing off today. We’re barely into April, but it feels like May. The sky is a crisp baby blue, the sun sparkles off the water in the distance, and swells roll in like liquid glass.
The front door opens before we have the chance to knock. ‘Oh my God, Zara. Thank you so much for squeezing me in.’ Savannah beams as she opens the door. She’s as blonde and bubbly as the day she coined the phrase Single Sav, and built an entire lucrative empire on her single mother status. She’s blissfully married now to a former Olympic swimmer, Ronan Rivers. I’ve met them multiple times over the years at various charity social events. They’re every bit as in love now as they were five years ago when news of their relationship broke the gossip columns.
‘Ronan sends his apologies—he’s in Amsterdam for a swimming event. He coaches the kids’ team p>
‘Not a problem.’ I smile as she ushers us inside. ‘Your home is gorgeous. So much to work with. And it’s the perfect time for a refurb now that the kids are older p>
‘Exactly!’ She throws up her hands. ‘They don’t finger-paint on the walls anymore, and I swear if I have to look at these beige sofas for another day, I’ll scream p>
‘This is Nico, my PA.’ He follows behind me, iPad in hand, sleek and efficient.
‘Great to meet you.’ She shakes his hand.
Tate and Felstead bring up the rear, greeting her with a nod and a grunt. They’re dressed in tailored charcoal suits, but there’s no missing their earpieces. Savannah glances at them with a quizzical expression. Honestly, who could blame her? Two ex-military walls of muscle standing guard don’t exactly look qualified to critique wallpaper samples.
We step into the foyer—double-height, polished Calcutta marble floors, and a sweeping staircase that curves like something out of a Hollywood film. I soak it all in. ‘So much space. What are you thinking p>
‘I want the house to feel fresh,’ Savannah says, waving her arms. ‘Sophisticated but still fun. The twins are entering the mood-swing era. I need a sanctuary to hide out in p>
I grin. ‘So, durable and beautiful. That I can do p>
We walk through the open-plan living room. Everything is white, beige, and more beige. The sea glitters through the huge corner windows like a postcard.
‘The light’s incredible in here,’ I say, running a hand over the back of a sofa. ‘I’d lean into the ocean views more. Maybe lower-profile furniture so nothing obstructs the windows. A soft coastal palette—sage greens, warm neutrals, brushed gold hardware.’ The Coral Reef Suite springs to mind—along with a vision of California’s ripped naked body, hard and ready to ride in my bed. It’s been months, and I still can’t get him out of my head.
‘What about the kitchen?’ Savannah’s voice pulls me back to the present.
I follow her into it. It’s huge. Gleaming. But definitely needs refreshing. ‘Yes, it certainly could do with modernising. Maybe oak or light walnut cabinetry? Pendant lights with texture. And I’d extend this island to add seating. Let’s create zones. This house is begging for personality p>
Savannah practically swoons. ‘I knew you’d get it.’ She leads us upstairs. The girls’ bedrooms are cute, bright, covered in posters of boy bands and sea creatures—normal tween chaos. The primary suite is stunning but under-used.
‘This,’ I say, stepping inside, ‘could be your sanctuary.’ I gesture to the balcony. ‘Imagine billowy linen curtains, a little reading nook overlooking the sea, maybe a modern canopy bed. We can build you something that feels like a retreat p>
Savannah presses a hand to her heart. ‘Ronan will die. He’s been begging for a space he can decompress in after training p>
I turn to Nico. ‘Will you take some photos and get the measurements p>
‘Of course.’ He gets to work while we head back downstairs to the kitchen.
Savannah flicks on her espresso machine. ‘Coffee?’ she asks.
‘Sure,’ I accept, even though I’ve barely been able to stomach the stuff lately. I haven’t felt right since Paris. I’ve been meaning to book in with our family’s GP. I’m pretty sure I’m deficient in something—and not just hours in the day. Maybe iron? I almost fainted at the Cosmopolitan UK shoot. They wanted photographs to go with the article. The spotlights were so bright and hot I thought I was going to pass out.
Savannah’s eyes track Tate and Felstead hovering politely by the window, surveying the grounds. She murmurs under her breath, ‘Do all your staff look like they walked off the set of a Calvin Klein commercial p>
I try not to choke. ‘They’re not my usual staff. They’re… consultants p>
‘Consultants,’ she echoes, smirking. ‘Right. Sure they are p>
I laugh despite myself and shrug. ‘Okay, they’re security. Occupational hazard of being a Beckett p>
‘I get it.’ She shoots me a sympathetic look as she hands me my coffee. ‘With wealth comes woes. Fame and fortune often equal crazed fans. It’s no joke p>
I cup my hands around the mug and take a sip—and gag internally.
What the hell?
It tastes… bitter. Burnt. Like poison in a cup.
Savannah tilts her head. ‘You okay p>
‘Yeah,’ I lie brightly, forcing another sip. My stomach lurches in protest.
What is wrong with me?
I used to drink three of these before noon.
Savannah’s sharp, assessing eyes narrow. She studies my face like she’s examining a bank statement for fraud, then understanding dawns in her eyes. A small smile lifts her lips. ‘Ah, I see p>
‘See what p>
She winks knowingly. ‘How far along are you?’ she whispers, low enough that the men can’t hear.
I almost drop the cup. ‘Excuse me p>
She shrugs, feigning innocence. ‘You made the face p>
‘What face?’ I squeak.
‘The coffee-aversion face. Ronan guessed it when I was about six weeks pregnant. I always loved coffee, then the second I was pregnant, I couldn’t go near the stuff without dry heaving.’ She fluffs her fingers through her hair. ‘Don’t worry, it passes,’ she says breezily, like she hasn’t just completely horrified me.
‘I—’ The word sticks in my throat. ‘No. No, no. I’m not pregnant,’ I hiss. ‘I can’t be. I’m on the pill.’ Memories of that last memorable night with California in Punta Cana blaze through my brain. The image of his cum dripping down my inner thighs.
No.
Savannah is wrong.
She has to be.
Because the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
‘I’m just tired. Overbooked. You know what it’s like; it’s hard to say no to any opportunity when you work for yourself. It’s nothing.’ Am I trying to convince her, or myself?
She gives me a knowing smile—the kind only mothers can pull off. ‘Sure, sweetie,’ she says gently, patting my arm. ‘But maybe take a test anyway. Just in case p>
My heart stops for a long beat then slams back to life, lurching erratically in my chest.
Heat floods my cheeks.
My palms sweat.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m absolutely fine.
Yet those two tiny mouthfuls of coffee sit in my stomach like a red flag.
I swallow hard. My voice comes out thin. ‘About the design.’ I clear my throat, straighten my spine and pretend she hasn’t just put the fear of God in me. ‘I’ll be in touch next week with some suggestions, colour swatches and ideas for the space. In the meantime, if you need anything, get in touch with Nico p>
Nico, thankfully, chooses this precise moment to enter the kitchen. After years of friendship and working side by side, day in and day out—he takes one look at my face and instinctively knows something is off. ‘I have everything we need, for now.’ He beams at Savannah. ‘I’m confident Beckett Deluxe Design Agency will be able to deliver your dream interior.’ He makes a point of checking his watch. ‘Zara, you have another appointment in twenty minutes. I’m sorry to cut things short, but we need to leave p>
I could kiss him.
The need to get out of here ASAP is all-consuming because as big as this house is, I feel like I’m suffocating. The walls are closing in with every passing second.
‘Thank you so much for squeezing me in!’ Savannah kisses both my cheeks and pats my arm once more, giving it a secret squeeze.
I place my barely touched coffee cup in her sink. ‘No problem p>
She shows us back to the front door and bids us a cheery goodbye while I gulp in the spring air like a goldfish.
Tate glances at me, frowning as he opens the passenger door for me. ‘You okay p>
‘No, I need to make a doctor’s appointment,’ I confess. ‘I think my iron levels are low or something.’ At least, I hope that’s all it is. I twist my head to look at Nico, who’s climbed into the back beside Felstead. Nico is certain Felstead bats for his team. I’m not convinced, but what do I know? It doesn’t matter to me either way. ‘Can you schedule me a GP appointment p>
Nico blinks. ‘Of course. Immediately or the next available Dr Tessa has p>
Dr Tessa has been our family’s GP for decades. She’s the best GP in Dublin. Efficient, thorough and utterly reassuring. I just hope to hell she has something reassuring to say to me.
‘Immediately,’ I say, forcing a breath. ‘Please p>
The weight of Nico’s eyes bore into the back of my head as Tate navigates the SUV out of the driveway, but I don’t look round again.
I can’t look round.
Because if I do, I have a horrible feeling I’ll burst into tears.