Page 1 of Release Me
PROLOGUE
Rian
Three years earlier
I’ve always known I was the best man, but it’s taken twenty-two years of friendship for Anthony De Courcy to finally admit it.
My best friend is getting married.
At first, I thought it was a joke.
The Anthony I know doesn’t do marriage—he does vodka shots, poker tables, and women he can’t remember the names of in the morning.At twenty-five, he’s an even bigger player than me—and that’s no mean feat. Perhaps that’s why his father arranged a merger with an American publishing house, where marrying the heiress was one of the stipulations.
Either way, it’s a great excuse for a party, which is why I find myself at the De Courcy mansion tonight. The décor drips with obscene wealth. No detail has been spared for Anthony’s engagement party. Everyone who is anyone in Dublin’s elite social circle is here, bumping shoulders, clinking drinks and competing in an unspoken dick-measuring competition. It’s superficial bullshit, but I know how to play the game—I’ve been doing it my entire life.
The crowd parts as I cross the room, a benefit of being a Beckett. I might be the youngest of my brothers, but my name, and the fact I’ve carved out my own lucrative chain of bars and nightclubs, is enough to ensure I’m treated with the utmost respect.
Men nod reverentially as I pass through, offering congratulations on my latest acquisition—a sought-after club just off Grafton Street.
Women eye me like I’m the last bag of sweets in the candy shop.
I smile as I spot a blonde I fucked in the toilets at a charity ball last month. She bites her lip coyly as I brush past her; the look in her eyes openly assures me she’s up for a repeat. I’m not entirely averse to the idea once she understands a repeat doesn’t mean a relationship—because that’s not on the cards for me.
Not for another ten years at least.
And not with anyone from around here. When I do eventually settle, it’ll be with someone who hasn’t done half of Dublin to drag their way up the social ladder.
‘Rian!’
Anthony’s mother, Marianne De Courcy, coos.
‘Mrs De Courcy.’ I grin. Anthony’s mother is like a second mother to me. I spent my entire childhood in this house. Anthony is an only child, and I think having me here helped ease her guilt about that. ‘You look stunning.’ I wink and press a kiss to her cheek.
She scoffs, swatting a hand in front of her face, but I don’t miss the blush that creeps into her cheeks. ‘Now, now, Baby Beckett, you know flattery will get you absolutely nowhere with me.’ She pats her ash-blonde bob nevertheless.
‘And you know I can’t help but try.’ Flirting comes asnaturally to me as breathing. I can’t help it. I love women, and they love me.
‘You should be using that smart mouth of yours to find yourself a wife. Then you and Anthony can double date.’
It’s my turn to scoff. ‘Please. I’m too young to settle down.’
‘Age won’t come into it when you meet the right one.’ Her bright blue eyes glitter with mirth. ‘One day, a woman will walk into your life and knock you clean off your feet. And I, for one, can’t wait for that to happen.’
‘Don’t hold your breath.’ I help myself to a tumbler of whiskey from a pretty waitress. ‘Where is the happy couple?’ I scan the crowd.
There are plenty of faces I don’t recognise. They must be from the bride’s side. Anthony’s fiancée, Rebekka Remington, is from New York. No doubt she brought an entourage with her. While I’ve heard Anthony banging on about her perfect tits and ass that he can’t wait to fuck, I’ve yet to lay eyes on her myself. Curiosity flickers in my chest about the woman who is entering our lives—because it isourlives, not just his. We move in the same circles.
‘Anthony’s brokering a deal in his office.’ Mrs De Courcy rolls her eyes. ‘You know my son. Every event is an opportunity. Even his engagement party.’ She shakes her head good-naturedly. ‘Rebekka was here a moment ago.’ She twists her head to scan the crowd. ‘Maybe she’s gone to get some air. All of this must be overwhelming—the engagement, moving to a new country, a new job.’
‘I’m sure Anthony will help her settle in smoothly.’ Thankfully, my tone is more convincing than I feel. I know my friend, and his track record with women is poor. Still, now he’s getting married, he’ll have to grow up a bit.
Before she can answer, she’s pulled away into a group ofgaggling women, cooing over her outfit and squealing over her son’s engagement.
All this talk of settling down is giving me a headache. I make my way through the high-ceilinged drawing room towards the De Courcy library, where I know for a fact Anthony keeps his secret stashof Cohiba Behikes.The music fades as I slip further away from the party. I know this house as well as my own—I spent hours playing hide and seek here as a kid. I duck under the curved archway and push open the heavy double doors.
Silence greets me, along with the rich scent of mahogany and leather. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases line the walls, their shelves crammed with hardbacks that look more ornamental than read. A dome-like ceiling soars overhead, painted with a fading mural of gods and angels staring down in judgement. Deep leather armchairs sit like sentinels around a marble fireplace, its grate polished to perfection.
I sigh as the door closes behind me, my gaze homing in on the huge ornate desk that not only houses a stash of the world’s finest cigars but a crystal decanter containing my family’s best whiskey—Beckett’s Gold. I stride purposely towards it, running a hand over the front of my sleek suit jacket, pausing as I spot a silhouette standing in front of the huge diamond-shaped window overlooking the mansion’s vast lawns.
