A BMW X5 is double-parked outside the revolving glass doors. I nod to Giles, the white-haired porter, and he shoots me a knowing wink. ‘Hot date, Miss Jackson?’
‘Something like that.’ Poor Giles. He’s seen it all since he started here four years ago. There’s been many a night I’ve come home tipsy and shared my curry chips and my woes with him. He’s like the grandfather I never had.
‘About time you got back out there.’ He lifts a weathered hand and gives me an encouraging thumbs up.
‘You said it, Giles.’ I stalk across the marble floor with a confidence I don’t necessarily feel.
Cillian hops out and struts around to the passenger side to greet me.
Oh. My. God. However hot Mr Suave Suit Guy is, Casual Cillian is equally as devastating. The grey round-neck jumper clinging to his broad shoulders makes me want to slide across the muscular planes of his chest and wrap my legs around his waist. His now familiar scent surrounds my senses, luring me in.
‘Afternoon.’ His lips lift into an almost-smile as he opens the door for me. I’d nearly swear he’s happy to see me. Well, as happy as an eternal grump can be.
‘And you claim not to be a gentleman.’
He arches an eyebrow. ‘Don’t be fooled by basic manners.’
Do those same manners apply in the bedroom?
The more time I spend with him, the more I’d love to find out. My mind is in the gutter.
I hop into the vehicle, and he closes the door behind me. The brand-new car smell has nothing on Cillian’s cologne.
‘Are you ready?’ I ask, the second he slides back into the driver’s seat.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Cillian pulls into the driveway of my childhood home and the front door flies open so fast, the decorative festive mistletoe wreath hurtles to the ground.
Once again, my date – I mean fake date – opens the door for me, unwittingly securing my parents’ seal of approval before he’s even had the chance to say, ‘pleased to meet you’.
My mother’s bob is perfectly styled as usual. It doesn’t budge as she hops from foot to foot in excitement. ‘Ava! It’s so good to see you!’
Really? Is that why her gaze is focused intently on the man beside me? The one whose ever-rigid lips are stretched into what I think is supposed to be a smile but looks more like he’s holding back a ferocious fart.
My dad appears in the doorway behind her, snaking an arm around my mother’s waist. ‘Frank, fix the wreath, please!’ She squeezes his hand with the same affection I’ve watched pass between them for my entire life. And Cillian tells me there’s no such thing as true love. He’s about to get a first-row seat to the biggest love story I’ve ever witnessed.
‘You must be Cillian.’ Mam gushes as we reach the front door. ‘It’s great to meet you! Welcome to the madness.’
Cillian extends a hand for a formal shake at the same time as my mother lunges at him and yanks him into a typical Penny Jackson overfamiliar embrace. His shoulders stiffen and it’s a battle to suppress the laughter bubbling in my chest. If he thinks that gesture’s inappropriate, wait until they get started on the wine.
‘Hi Dad.’ I spring a kiss on his cheek before stepping into the hallway.
‘I’m Frank.’ My dad shakes Cillian’s hand enthusiastically, but there’s a hint of something stern in his gaze. An unspoken warning not to hurt his youngest daughter. No fear there. Can’t get hurt from a relationship that’s not real. Can you?
‘Great to meet you.’ Cillian’s voice is deep and rich and surprisingly genuine.
Mam links her arm through Cillian’s and guides him through to the living room. Dad and I exchange a knowing look.
In true Jackson style, mam and dad have put the Christmas tree up already. They do it every year on the first of December and crack open the sherry.
‘Do you like the tree?’ Mam’s still clinging onto the curve of Cillian’s taut bicep. A ripple of envy surges through my stomach. A longing to touch him blooms like an unfurling flower. I push it down and try to remember why we’re here.
My business. I need Nate to invest.
‘It’s beautiful, Mrs Jackson.’ Cillian reaches out to examine one of the personalised baubles, another Jackson tradition. Each year we get a new family photo made into a bauble. This year’s photo is special. Nate’s fiancée Holly is in it, and so is their new baby daughter, Harriet.
‘Oh please. Call me Penny.’ Mam swats Cillian’s forearm playfully, then turns to me. ‘Oh honey, I can see why you’re so keen on him.’
