Page 65 of Release Me
‘Yeah, we all heard you this afternoon.’ I roll my eyes.
‘Now we’re all here.’ Scarlett sashays across the room to where the record player is—a sleek, custom-built deck housed in a polished cabinet, and my mother’s pride and joy. ‘Let’s get this party started. Any requests?’ She lifts a selection of records from the cabinet’s lower shelf, fanning them out with a mischievous grin. ‘Shall we go classic Sinatra, or something with a bit more swing?’
‘Sinatra,’ my mother says without hesitation, raising her glass. ‘New Year’s Eve deserves proper romance.’
‘“New York, New York”for Rebekka,’ Ivy calls across the room.
Scarlett slides the vinyl onto the turntable and lowers the needle with a flourish. A burst of brass fills the room. ‘Come on, everyone,’ she trills, beckoning everyone to the open space behind the couches. ‘It’s New Year’s Eve—no wallflowers allowed.’
Within minutes, the drawing room is alive. My father and mother glide across the room, staring into each other’s eyes like they’re newlyweds. Caelon twirls Ivy until she squeals.
‘Shh! Don’t wake the kids!’ Scarlett begs, as James spins her around with an ease that tells its own story about their afternoon. Even Layla persuades Sean to join her on the floor, though he insists she owes him a foot massage if she treads on his toes.
I hover for a heartbeat, whiskey in hand, watching Rebekka. She’s perched on the arm of a claret-coloured sofa, legs crossed, laughter spilling out as Ivy tries to teach her a few steps. She glances up at me, like she feels my eyes on her.
I set my drink down on the sideboard and stalk over to her. ‘Dance with me.’ I put my hand out.
She hesitates, but only long enough to finish her champagne before sliding her palm into mine. Her hand is smalland delicate, and yet the jolt that shoots up my arm is anything but gentle.
For the next hour, the world shrinks to music and laughter. We swap partners, clap along to ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, and howl with laughter when Killian attempts an overly ambitious spin and nearly tips Avery out the window. The waiting staff produce another bottle of champagne, and the bubbles flow as freely as the jokes.
When the clock edges towards midnight, James places another couple of logs on the fire. ‘It’s nearly time, people,’ Avery claps her hands together with excitement. She switches off the record player, reaches for the TV remote, and flips through the channels until the familiar skyline of Dublin fills the screen—RTÉ’s live countdown show, fireworks poised over the Liffey.
The couples drift back together, my brothers draw their women close, my parents sway with foreheads touching. Zara looks at me. Technically, we’re the only two single ones here. I extend a hand to her, then glance across the room at Rebekka. She’s standing near the window, the glow of the snow-covered lawn behind her. She meets my gaze, the faintest smile curving her lips, and the air between us tightens. I beckon her over, offering her my other free hand.
The presenter on RTÉ’s countdown show calls out the numbers, fireworks poised over the Liffey. My family gathers closer, voices lifting together: ‘Ten… nine… eight…’
Rebekka slides her hand into mine, soft and cool from the windowpane.
The room falls away until there’s just her eyes, bright with reflected sparks.
‘Seven, six, five, four, three… two… one!’ The room erupts in cheers, champagne corks pop, and I pull her just a fraction nearer—close enough to feel the tremor of her breath against my collar as midnight breaks.
‘Happy New Year!’ Everyone shrieks.
So much for worrying about waking the kids up.
I pull Rebekka and Zara into me for a hug, squeezing both of them to the other side of my chest. But where my left arm stays firmly around my sister’s shoulders, my right one drapes around Rebekka’s waist, my hand gliding over the curve of her hip, tenderly stroking out all the affection I feel but can’t say out loud. My lips press against her temple. ‘Happy New Year, sweetheart.’
She tilts her chin up until our eyes lock. Hers mirror the same question as mine.
How the hell will it ever be happy, given the situation?
Before either of us can speak, fireworks erupt beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering the snow-dark sky with streaks of fuchsia and gold. They flare and shatter, trailing sparks that hang for a heartbeat before tumbling into nothing. The glass hums with the boom of each burst, but it’s nothing compared to the detonation in my chest. Every colour outside mirrors the riot inside me—heat, ache, want, all crashing together in a storm I don’t dare name.
Around us, my family cheers, the women pressed to the windows, faces lit by the glow, while I stand rooted, fingers still curved at Rebekka’s waist, feeling like the sky isn’t the only thing about to split wide open.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
REBEKKA
New Year’s Day is supposed to be a day of hope, wonder, the promise of new beginnings and a fresh start.
Basically, it’s a load of bullshit.
I wake up in Rian’s arms in the giant fourposter bed, with the heavy quilt throw draped around us. After the fireworks, we had a couple more drinks before the Becketts began to excuse themselves one by one. Rian snuck across to my room shortly before two a.m., but nothing happened between us. Well, nothing sexual anyway, which was surprising. He climbed into my bed and wrapped his arms around me, while I cried silently into his chest for everything that we can never be, everything that we can never have.
Last night with the Becketts was the best night of my life–but also the worst. Because now I know exactly what my life could have been if I hadn’t married Anthony. How happy I could have been.
