Chapter 19
Paris in February is crisp, cold and colourful. The whole city glows like it’s been dusted in diamonds. Streetlamps cast pools of golden light onto slick cobblestones, couples huddle beneath umbrellas, and the Seine shimmers like liquid silver beneath the bridges.
It’s Valentine’s Day. Rian, the newly converted romantic, booked the family jet, and reserved an entire floor of the most decadent hotel in Paris, The Hôtel Plaza Athénée. Its exterior gleams like an elaborate jewellery box on Avenue Montaigne—red awnings, roses everywhere, just in case one might forget it’s Valentine’s weekend. Rian insisted we escape the Jack O’Connor search in favour of spending the weekend in the city of love, celebrating his and Rebekka’s one-year anniversary. Apparently, this is the day they ‘sealed the deal’ last year.
I love my brother, but that is too much information.
Still, there’s no way I’d turn down a trip to Paris.
Even if I am the only single Beckett here.
Shame I couldn’t bring my business as my date—because it’s never looked more beautiful. After a rocky first week back, things are on the up. Beckett Deluxe Design just secured a massive contract with the British branch of the Crownwell Hotel Group—our first full-scale international rollout, spanning six boutique properties across London and Edinburgh.
Cosmopolitan UK emailed yesterday requesting an interview for their ‘Women Who Build Empires’ feature, which Nico nearly fainted over.
And, as if that wasn’t surreal enough, I’ve been shortlisted for Ireland’s Young Businesswoman of the Year Award.
Professionally, I’m winning.
Personally? When I look around at my loved up family, I’m not so sure.
We’re gathered in the hotel’s private penthouse bar, thirty floors above Paris. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, the Eiffel Tower dominating the skyline in the distance. The city sparkles beneath us—gold, silver, and midnight blue. The bar smells like champagne, money and old-world power.
The Becketts fit right in.
Most of the Becketts anyway.
James stands in a sharp, tailored suit looking at Scarlett like he’s about to devour her. Killian’s positioned near the glass balcony doors with Avery, but his eyes are tracking every exit like he’s scouring for a sniper. Caelon leans against the marble bar, with his arm draped around Ivy. They brought the kids’ nannies so they could really enjoy the break. No doubt I’ll have another niece or nephew before the year is over if the come-to-bed eyes they’re giving each other is anything to go on. Sean’s charming Layla, whispering God only knows what filth into her ear. Rian is glowing like he invented love itself, his hand permanently planted on the base of Rebekka’s spine. My mother floats around her sons with her usual elegance. Her arm is linked through my father’s like they’re just courting instead of forty years married.
And then there’s me.
Three weeks home, and I still don’t feel like myself. It’s probably jet lag. Work overload. These new developments are exciting, but the burden of them weighs heavily on me.
A random wave of nausea rolls through me from nowhere.
We might have come to Paris to celebrate Valentine’s Day, but the Becketts are celebrating another victory too. My brothers congregate closer until they’re forming a semi-circle. With a whiskey in one hand, and a woman in the other, they all look like a poster advert for the billionaire playboys they used to be—most of them, anyway. Sean was never seen with a woman until he met Layla.
‘He couldn’t possibly have seen it coming.’ Caelon shakes his head; his entire face is lit up in a grin.
‘Man, I’d have loved to see his face when he heard the news.’ Rian drops a kiss on Rebekka’s temple. ‘That would have wiped that smug All American shit-eating grin from his face p>
They’re talking about Cole Hartmann.
They couldn’t stop the Hartmann Hotel in Dublin, so now they’ve gone after him another way. I still have to break the news I accepted his contract, but I’ll wait until I’ve designed Caelon’s refurb before I drop that bomb. ‘Guys, do we really need any more enemies right now? We’ve got enough to start a war.’ I sigh, lifting my glass of champagne to my lips.
Weird. It smells off. Too strong. Too sweet. My stomach turns. Maybe I’m coming down with something.
‘We’re not starting a war,’ Caelon says. ‘Yes, it is bound to infuriate a man who infuriated us by not respecting our boundaries, but buying Cannes is a strategic business move for all of us. James gets another French distillery in addition to Provence, I get another luxury hotel, and Rian gets another bar. Naturally, it comes with land.’ Caelon clinks his whiskey glass against Sean’s. Sean deals with land and property acquisition at Beckett Enterprises. ‘And obviously, a place of that magnitude will need security.’ He moves his glass to clink it against Killian’s. ‘It’s win-win for all of Beckett Enterprises. Even you, little sister. Who do you think I’m going to sanction to design the interior p>
His reasoning leaves no room for argument. And of course I want to design the interior of the deluxe hotel in Cannes. The time I’d have to spend there for “work” away from my overbearing brothers and the prying eyes of the Irish society pages would be worth it alone. Mind you, the tabloids tend to leave me alone. I’m nowhere near as interesting as my big bad brothers—in their eyes anyway.
Yep, there are worse places to work than Cannes.
Add in the weather, culture and possibility of some sexy fun, it’s a no brainer.
Yet, something about it feels wrong. Dread pools deep inside my stomach.
‘Now we’ve got this over the line, we can focus on the Barcelona project,’ Sean beams.
‘Absolutely, but not now. No more business talk tonight,’ Rian insists. ‘Cheers.’ He raises his glass in a toast. ‘To family p>
‘To family.’ The sound of clinking crystal floats through the air.
I force myself to swallow a mouthful of champagne and instantly regret it. My stomach lurches. Bile bursts up my throat. I wince at the burn, swallowing uncomfortably.
Avery’s sharp eyes miss nothing. She’s almost as observant as her fiancé. ‘You okay, sweetie?’ She steps closer, placing a hand on my forearm.
‘Yes, fine, thank you. I’m just… hot or something.’ I touch my forehead. It’s slightly clammy, but I don’t feel feverish.
Tate cuts across the room right away. His eyes are always on me. That’s what I pay him for. ‘Shall I escort you to the restrooms?’ Concern taints his tone.
I nod, excusing myself, as the weight of my family’s collective stare burns into my back.
Another overwhelming wave of nausea crashes over me.
Everything smells wrong.
Even Tate’s familiar aftershave smells repugnant as he escorts me through the wide, majestic corridor to the ladies’ room. He steps in first, scanning it as always. It’s empty.
‘I’ll wait outside the door to give you some privacy. Call me if you need anything.’ I’m eternally grateful for the day Killian appointed Tate to me. If my mother had accompanied me, she’d be fawning all over me, talking incessantly, pawing at my hair, and fussing.
I grip the cold marble sink to steady myself, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. My appearance is frankly alarming. Exhaustion lines my eyes. My skin is pale. Sweat dusts my top lip. And for some reason, out of nowhere, I get the insane urge to devour a peanut butter sandwich.
I mustn’t be consuming enough calories.
Maybe that’s it.
I’ve been back on a strict fifteen hundred a day since I got back from the Dominican. But honestly, even the hot pilates four mornings a week has done nothing to shift the couple of extra holiday pounds I managed to gain in Punta Cana.
Maybe it’s just bloat?
I blame the cocktails. And the desserts. Not the type of dessert I indulged in with California either.
California.
I glance out the window at the full moon hanging low in the Paris sky.
Where is he tonight?
Is he celebrating Valentine’s?
The idea of him wining and dining another woman sets a fresh wave of nausea rising in my sternum. I turn the tap on, splash a little cool water on my cheeks, careful to avoid my eyes. I refuse to smudge my mascara. Not when I’m almost certain Rian is about to propose to Rebekka.
Why else would he fly us all out to the most romantic city in the world?
I dry my hands and dab my face with a white fluffy flannel, then toss it into the laundry basket.
‘You okay?’ Tate asks as I step out into the corridor.
‘Just feeling a bit… off.’ I don’t know how else to describe it.
He offers me his arm for support, and I’m not too proud to take it, though I drop it the second we reach the penthouse bar again.
Rian’s ebony eyes lock on mine, silently asking if I’m okay. I give him a nod and force my lips upwards in a smile. He claps his hands together loudly.
I knew it.
‘Family, can I have your attention for a minute, please?’ His focus turns to my sisters-in-law, who are the last to stop talking as usual.
I glance at my mother. Her eyes sparkle as she hangs on to my father, squeezing his arm hard enough for him to startle. I take a glass of champagne from a waiter who is dishing them out like sweets. There’s no way I can drink it, but I can at least raise a toast to the brother I’m closest to.
The room falls into a hushed, expectant silence. Rian beckons Rebekka in front of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Eiffel Tower. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her flush against his side. ‘As you all know, Rebekka and I have been together for exactly one year today p>
‘That’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had—other than with your right hand,’ Caelon quips.
My brothers laugh.
My mother tuts.
And Rebekka simply swoons, gazing up at Rian like he’s the only man on the planet.
‘It has, hands down, been the best year of my entire life.’ Rian turns his body sideways. Rebekka mirrors the motion so they’re facing each other. He brushes his thumb tenderly over her cheek, and the urge to cry wells up inside me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m not a crier. Never have been.
Rian’s eyes bore into Rebekka’s like she’s the rarest jewel in the world as he continues. ‘It mightn’t have been the smoothest, or the easiest path to true love, but that’s exactly what it is p>
My sisters-in-law collectively swoon as he drops to one knee. Hot tears burst from my eyes and flood my face. My emotions have me in a chokehold.
‘Rebekka Remington, I promise to love you and cherish you, and wake you up in your favourite way, every day for the rest of my life.’ He winks at her, and a crimson blush flushes her cheeks. Her slim, manicured fingers fly to her mouth as he plucks a black velvet box from his suit pocket and flips it open. A stunning diamond trilogy ring sparkles beneath the warm light. ‘Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife p>
‘Yes!’ she squeals as he slips the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. He stands then, scooping her up into his arms. Their lips meet like they’ve forgotten they have an audience. He practically devours her as she crushes her chest against him.
Thunderous applause fills the air.
James whoops, kissing Scarlett’s temple. Caelon squeezes Ivy’s arm with a look in his eyes that’s positively primal. Killian whispers something in Avery’s ear. Layla nestles into Sean’s shoulder. My mother and father wrap their arms around each other, proud expressions etched onto both their faces.
And I stand on the periphery, bawling like a baby, feeling something I’ve never felt when I’m with my family—alone.
What the hell is wrong with me?