Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

BONUS EPILOGUE

The following spring…

IVY

I smooth my hand over the Swarovski-embroidered ivory bodice, my fingers brushing lightly against the delicate curve of my belly. It’s barely noticeable, just the faintest swell beneath the fabric, but enough to remind me of the new life growing inside me. I can barely breathe. And it has nothing to do with the dress—it’s because I’m about to marry Caelon Beckett, the man I’ve been obsessed with since that first night in the club when he showed me exactly what kind of delicious devastation he’s capable of.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Scarlett fans her face frantically, trying to stop her tears from ruining her immaculately applied makeup. ‘You look absolutely stunning. Caelon is going to lose it when he sees you.’

Scarlett was the natural choice for maid of honour, given that we’re practically sisters now—or about to be, by marriage at least. She’s become my closest confidante, my best friend, and my ride-or-die—after my fiancé, of course. We brunch every Wednesday and join our mother-in-law and sister-in-law, Zara, at Eden Spa every Friday.

Life is unbelievably good.

I glance at the opulent gilded mirror propped against the white wood-panelled wall. We’re at the Beckett’s Bliss Hotel in Carvoeiro. It seemed like the obvious venue, given Carvoeiro is where we exchanged our first ‘I love yous’—and enough bodily fluids to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

My hair is twisted into a loose updo, pinned with a diamond-encrusted barrette. A few stray beach waves hang loosely around my face. My kohl-lined eyes look enormous, thanks to a very talented makeup artist and a mountain of expensive cosmetics, but the glow on my cheeks? That’s entirely natural.

Avery, my second bridesmaid and Scarlett’s best friend, glides into the room like she’s walking a runway—because, well, she probably is in her mind. She’s all long legs and effortless elegance, her sleek, pale pink satin dress clinging to her curves in that way only supermodels can pull off without trying. She gives me a quick wink before adjusting one of the rose bouquets on the dresser, as if her approval is the final sign-off on this whole operation. We met at Scarlett’s wedding last year and immediately hit it off. Which is more than I can say for her and my brother-in-law-to-be, Killian. But that’s an entirely different story.

Scarlett’s still in full gush mode when Orla peeks around the door, her eyes wide with excitement. My heart swells the second I see her in her tiny flower girl dress, a soft cloud of tulle and lace with delicate petals sewn into the hem. We picked it out together in Brown Thomas last month. She twirls shyly, her dark curls bouncing as she spins, before stepping into the room, clutching a small bouquet of pale pink peonies.

‘You look like a princess, Orla,’ I kneel down to her level, gathering my own lace and tulle so I don’t trip over it.

‘You do,’ her dark eyes roam over my face and my dress with awe. Her expression morphs into one of seriousness. ‘I can’t believe you stayed.’

‘Of course I stayed.’ My heart. I take her tiny hands in mine and pull her into my arms, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo. An image of the very first day I met her flashes to the forefront of my mind. She was wailing about everyone dying or leaving. We’ve come a long way since then. ‘You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.’

She grins, a gap-toothed smile that screams innocence and joy, and then, in the sweetest voice, she asks, ‘Ivy, can I call you mammy now? Since you’re marrying Daddy?’

The question knocks the air from my lungs in the best way possible. My throat tightens with emotion as I pull her into a gentle hug, careful not to crinkle her dress—or mine. ‘Of course you can, sweetheart. I’d love that more than anything.’

Her little arms wrap around my neck, and I blink rapidly to keep from completely losing it right then and there. Scarlett’s fanning her face again, and even Avery—stoic, untouchable Avery—looks a little misty-eyed from across the room.

‘Okay, okay, no more tears,’ I laugh, gently pulling away and brushing Orla’s curls out of her face. ‘We don’t want to mess up all this beautiful work, do we?’

Orla nods solemnly, then holds up her bouquet. ‘These are for you, to match your dress.’

I glance at the pale ivory roses mingled with soft blush peonies and sprigs of baby’s breath—delicate, timeless, and absolutely perfect. Just like him. ‘They’re beautiful, Orla,’ I say, my heart fluttering. ‘Just like you.’

Behind us, the French doors leading out to the terrace are wide open, letting in the fresh scent of the ocean breeze, mingling with the fragrance of the massive floral arrangements that line the room—roses, peonies, and lilies in every shade of pink, ivory, and gold. The sun casts a soft, warm glow over everything, while sheer curtains sway gently in the light breeze. Every detail screams luxury, from the marble floors to the hand-embroidered table linens, but it’s the love and warmth radiating from the people around me that makes it all feel real.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and I turn to see my father stepping in. For a man who is usually all stern-faced authority as a judge, today he looks like a teddy bear. His eyes are misty, his expression soft in a way I’ve never seen before.

‘You ready, Ivy?’ he asks, offering me his arm, his voice thick with emotion.

I smile up at him, placing my hand on his forearm, my other hand resting gently over the tiny bump hidden beneath my dress. ‘I was born ready.’

As we step out onto the sun-drenched terrace, everything around me fades into a soft blur of shimmering light and muted sounds, except for the delicate notes of 'Love Story' by Taylor Swift, played softly by the string quartet.

My breath catches in my throat as my eyes lock onto Caelon—Tortured. Only today, he looks anything but tortured.

He stands at the end of the aisle, tall and broad in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, the sun catching the rich black fabric and highlighting every sharp line of his powerful frame. He’s not just handsome; he’s devastating. The way his jaw tightens when he sees me, the way his eyes darken, it sends a bolt of electricity straight through my spine.

Today, there’s no shadow in his eyes, no weight of grief or regret pulling him down. Today, he’s free. And it’s all for me—and for the tiny life growing inside me.

Caelon’s four brothers, stand beside him like some genetically blessed wall of protection. Owen, fidgets at his father’s side, his wide eyes bouncing between me and his dad, clearly struggling to contain his excitement. Behind them, in the front row, Vivienne and Alexander Beckett sit with pride etched into every line of their faces. Vivienne is already dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

On the opposite side, I catch a glimpse of my mother, and my brother, who gives me the smallest nod of approval, though his arms are still crossed, ever the overprotective sibling.

The music pulls me forward, my father’s arm steady at my side. But everyone else fades into the periphery. Right now, it’s just me and Caelon—every second of our journey playing out in the space between us. The battles we’ve fought, the pain we’ve overcome, and the love that somehow pulled us through it all. And here we are, standing on the other side of it, ready to start the next chapter.

My father kisses my cheek briskly, then places my hand in Caelon’s. The second I’m within reach, Caelon cups my face in his huge hands and plants a possessive, claiming kiss on my lips. A soft moan of appreciation hums between us, and I swear I can feel him smile against my mouth.

‘You’re supposed to wait until you’re told to kiss the bride!’ the officiant says with a teasing laugh, her voice carrying over the chuckles from the guests.

Caelon pulls back, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Couldn’t help myself,’ he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek.

I blush, biting my lip as the officiant, still smiling, shakes her head. ‘Well, I guess we’re ahead of schedule now,’ she quips, regaining control of the ceremony.The officiant proceeds with the ceremony but all I can hear is the rush of my heartbeat, matching the soft rhythm of the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. The sun-drenched terrace, the hundreds of roses, the soft strains of 'Love Story’ still lingering in the air—it all fades into the background, eclipsed by the intensity of the man standing before me.

Caelon’s eyes stay locked on mine, dark and steady, filled with everything we’ve been through—the broken pieces we’ve mended together, the storms we’ve weathered, the love we’ve fought so hard to protect. His hand tightens around mine, grounding me, the warmth of his skin seeping through the silk of my dress as if to remind me that this isn’t a dream.

I can barely focus on the words of the ceremony, but I don’t need to. Every vow spoken between us is etched into our souls, deeper than words could ever express. There’s no question, no hesitation—only certainty, only us.

I glance down at the band Caelon slips onto my finger, the platinum catching the light in a flash of brilliance. It’s solid, eternal, like the promises we’ve made to each other. He murmurs something too low for anyone else to hear, his lips barely moving, but I know what he’s saying. It’s in the way his eyes soften, the rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

‘Forever.’

I don’t need to say it back. He already knows. He’s always known.

When it’s my turn to slide the ring onto his finger, my hands are steady, even as my heart pounds. There’s something so deeply satisfying in the act of it—in claiming this man, the one I thought I could never tame, and realising he’s been mine all along.

The officiant’s voice washes over us, but the words don’t really land until she says the only ones that truly matter.

‘You may now kiss the bride.’

Caelon’s hand reaches for my cheek, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin as though he’s savouring this moment, memorising it. And then, without breaking his gaze, he closes the distance between us, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that is every bit as consuming and fierce as the man himself. There’s no hesitation, no slow buildup—just an undeniable force that pulls us together, like gravity, inevitable and powerful.

The crowd behind us erupts into cheers, but all I feel is the warmth of Caelon’s mouth, the surety of his touch. I melt into him, letting myself fall deeper into the moment, into the love that has brought us here.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless. I blink up at him, and there’s that smile again, the one that breaks through all the shadows, the one that is just for me.

‘Hello, husband,’ I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. ‘Hello, wife.’

The word sends a shiver down my spine—wife.

His wife.

My future, my everything, standing before me with the world at our feet. As we turn to face our family and friends, hand in hand, I know that this is just the beginning of our story.