“Born ready,” I say.
I think about the invitation that started this—the handwritten note on thick cream stationery. Not a request but a summons, artfully disguised as family concern. “We simply must meet the woman who has captured our Cillian’s heart after all this time.” The “all this time” doing heavy lifting—reminding everyone that I’m not the first, not the expected one.
Not Bea.
I’ve never met her—Cillian’s ex-wife—but her ghost rides with us now, another passenger squeezing into the space between our seats.
“We can still turn around,” he says, half-joking. “Head to a hotel. Tell them we got snowed in.”
The car slows as we approach the circular portion of the driveway directly before the house. Cillian puts it in park but doesn’t kill the engine. For one wild moment, I think he’s considering turning around if I don’t answer fast enough.
“Cillian!” I say.
He sighs. “Ah, you’re right. They already know we’re here.” He nods toward a curtain moving in one of the windows. “Security cameras at the gate.”
Oh. Well, good on them. Never a bad thing to stay safe.
The engine idles, suspension creaking as Cillian shifts in his seat to face me. “You don’t have to charm them. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself.”
I send him a charmed smile.
I love him, and while I think—hope—he’s being overprotective, love means walking straight into the fire, anyway.
Cillian turns off the engine, and we’re enveloped in sudden silence. The absence of sound feels tangible, pressing against my eardrums as if I’ve been submerged underwater. Only thesoft tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine and our synchronized breathing punctuate the stillness.
Beneath my wool coat, I smooth the red dress I chose deliberately for this weekend. I found it three weeks ago and bought it specifically for tonight. It’s vibrant and festive—a festive crimson splash to celebrate the holiday.
I wanted to look the part. To show Mary that I take her traditions seriously.
The Brown family Christmas card, which arrived at our apartment last week, featured them all in coordinatedCandy Apple Redsweaters, all arranged on a white sofa like catalog models. I studied that photo for hours, memorizing the shade. I chose this deep crimson to match them. The classic holiday palette.
I am not here to stain their pristine page. I am here to be the finishing touch. I want to stand next to them by the fire, wine glass in hand, and finally feel like I belong in the picture.
Cillian watches me, his gaze soft and searching. He reaches across the console, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The tenderness in the gesture makes my throat tighten.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
Not appropriate. Not suitable. Beautiful.
That’s why I love him. Why I’m here.
“Ready?” he asks, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
I nod, not trusting my voice with anything more complicated than, “As I’ll ever be.”
The car doors open simultaneously, and winter air rushes in, stealing the warmth we’ve cultivated. I step out onto the snow-covered driveway, my boots crunching through the fresh powder. Our breath forms visible clouds that dissipate in the frigid evening air. The cold slices through my coat, making me shiver—though perhaps not entirely due to the temperature.
Cillian pops the trunk, and we gather our luggage. I watch his movements become more precise, more controlled with each passing second. The casual slouch in his shoulders disappears. His jaw tightens. He’s transforming before my eyes—my Cillian becoming their Cillian.
I hate it.
He catches me watching him and forces a smile. “Three days,” he reminds me. “We just need to survive three days.”
I squeeze his hand.
We reach the massive oak door with its ornate brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. The craftsmanship is undeniable, the message unmistakable: power lives here. Old power. Unyielding power.
Cillian sets down his suitcase and places his hand at the small of my back. The gesture is protective, possessive even. His jaw is set with determination—a muscle ticking along its edge. I’ve seen this expression before, in the moments before he confronts difficult clients or stands up to his overbearing boss. Battle armor.
