“Remember what I told you about the first night?” he says.
I nod. “Your mother will have arranged a ‘casual’ dinner that’s actually a carefully orchestrated evaluation.”
“And?”
“And your mother’s views do not dictate yours.”
His lips quirk at one corner. “Perfect.”
The light catches the gold flecks in his eyes—the feature that first drew my attention at that gallery opening where we met. I’d been explaining my painting technique to a potential buyer when Cillian approached, his gold-flecked eyes fixed solely on my canvas. Not on me, not on the crowd, but on what I’d created. He grasped what I was trying to convey before I’d spoken a single word.
That man is the one I’ll always fight for.
I reach up to straighten his collar, letting my fingers linger at the base of his neck. “I love you,” I whisper.
It’s not the first time I’ve said these words, but it feels significant here.
Cillian’s eyes soften. He leans down, pressing his lips gently to my temple. It’s a final moment of intimacy before we step through the threshold. I close my eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the cold winter air. For just a second, we’re alone in the universe.
“I love you, too. No matter what happens in there,” he murmurs against my skin, “remember that’s not my home anymore. My home is with you.”
The words wrap around me.
He pulls back, his hand finding mine and squeezing once before reaching for the doorknob. The brass feels ice-cold against my fingers as I touch his hand. The door is heavier than it looks, requiring Cillian’s shoulder against the wood to push it open.
Warm air rushes out, carrying the scents of pine mixed with cinnamon. The doorway glows golden from chandelier light within, casting our elongated shadows across the threshold.
We cross into the Brown estate together, the door closing behind us with a sound like finality.
Chapter 2
Iexpect a drafty old mansion, but instead, the grand foyer is breathless warmth and golden light. Marble floors gleam beneath a chandelier that looks like it’s dripping diamonds, casting rainbows across the high ceiling. It’s not just impressive; it’s breathtaking.
“Wow,” I whisper, looking around. “Cillian, this is incredible.”
I take a step, and warmth seeps through the soles of my boots. I look down, surprised.
“Heated floors,” Cillian murmurs, stamping the snow off his shoes. “Mother detests cold feet.”
“She thinks of everything,” I say, genuinely impressed. I imagine Mary Brown as a thoughtful matriarch who ensures her guests are comfortable the moment they walk in. I feel a rush of gratitude. I can work with thoughtful.
We walk further in, our footsteps echoing lightly against the polished stone. I catch my reflection in a gilded mirror on the wall—my cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, my eyes bright, and the red dress peeking out from my coat looks vibrantand cheerful. I straighten my shoulders, smiling at myself.You belong here,I think.You’re ready.
A staff member dressed in black slacks and a white blouse is the first person we meet. She promptly takes my tray of chocolates out of my hands and begins walking away.
“B-but, I wanted to—“ The woman doesn’t stop, unconcerned that I preferred to hand deliver the treats myself.
“Don’t worry about it,” Cillian reassures. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you made them.”
“Speaking of which….Mother?” Cillian calls.
The house is quiet, but it feels peaceful rather than empty. I’m just about to suggest we check the living room when movement at the top of the sweeping staircase catches my eye.
A woman appears. She’s tall and elegant, with silver hair swept into an immaculate chignon. She’s striking. Even from this distance, I can see the piercing blue eyes Cillian inherited.
I take a breath, readying my warmest smile. But then I pause.
She’s wearing emerald green.
