Standing in front of a half renovated detached monstrosity on a freezing cold Tuesday morning in November was not what I’d envisaged nearly three months ago when I’d been eyeing up houses to buy online. I’d expected a town house with a small, easily maintained garden, not something with an overgrown jungle where I could possibly find an odd village or two hiding away and minding their own business as they grew in size thanks to the orchard that had also taken over the fence at the bottom of the garden.

“So, this is it?” Ava stood next to me with her hands in her pockets. She was wearing a beanie hat pulled low on her head and a large scarf that covered most of her chin. She was my youngest sibling, the most spoilt and the smallest. I knew she still got asked for ID in bars, yet she wasn’t afraid to have stand up rows using a lot of expletives with foremen on building sites. She scared most people.

This was possibly the most stupid idea I’d had to date.

Victoria didn’t know I was here, looking at buying her childhood home. If she knew, she’d probably put me straight into stalker territory and send my house key back to me via a bodyguard with the message to stay the fuck away. I didn’t know why I was here, well, I did, but I wasn’t ready to admit to all of it.

“This is it. I don’t need your summary of my personal life, just your view on the renovation: what it will cost and what will be the potential sale value afterwards,” I said, not looking at her. Instead, my eyes were on the solid wood front door with its stained-glass window. I’d been round twice since sneaking in with Victoria, both times with an agent who tried to sell the property with its period features and huge square footage. But what had persuaded me to come back with the keys were Victoria’s stories. Even now, a couple of months after we’d broken in, she would tell me where certain items in her apartment had been at the house and the tale behind them.

We didn’t spend every night together; both of us were busy and other commitments were regular occurrences in our diaries, but there had yet to be a night where I had opted to stay on my own rather than with her. It was effortless: we clicked.

So I was looking at her childhood home and wondering what the fuck I was doing.

“You’re getting my summary of your personal life, Maxwell,” Ava said, pushing me towards the door. “And then I’ll tell you about this house and what I could do to it for you to either live in or sell on. I’ve always said you should start investing in flipping houses. Maybe not with your first one having such a big price tag though.”

I unlocked the doors and we stepped into a dusty entrance way. Most of the walls lacked plaster, there were no light fixings and some floorboards were missing.

“You really like Victoria and you don’t want her to move away. If you buy this house, you’re hoping she’ll choose to stay, which is the wrong reason,” Ava said, starting to poke around at walls before she moved to lift a floorboard using some strange tool she had in her coat pocket.

“I’m not going to tell her if I do. If she decides to stay, I’ll tell her then. If she goes, I’ll probably sell it once it’s finished.” I looked at the banister and thought about her sliding down it. Given half the chance she’d probably do it again.

Ava stood up straight and looked at me in a semi-intimidating manner, which given there was over a foot difference in our height was quite comical. “Maxwell, the control freak and planner, is letting a woman dictate decisions about his future. That’s a new one for all of us.”

It was for me too. I woke up either with Victoria tucked around me or thinking about her being tucked around me. If she wasn’t with me in the morning, I’d send her a message, or there’d be one from her. She had become the protein in my diet and I was aware that I was starting to put myself out on a very insecure and flammable line. “I like her. But maybe that’s because she’s more than likely moving away so it can’t get serious.”

Ava shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. I’m here to drink whisky with you if she breaks your heart or babysit for you if you end up breeding. As long as you name your firstborn girl after me.”

“I’m not having children,” I said, now looking around the gutted kitchen. The old units had pretty much all been torn out with just some fucking awful green tiles left.

Ava shook her head. “Just because your mum had postnatal depression doesn’t mean that the woman you marry or live with will have the same. And you are not our father. Out of everyone, it’s you who knows when we’re down or sad. There’s no way you wouldn’t support someone you loved.”

My little sister had lived in almost awe of me since she was old enough to know who I was. I’d fed her as a baby, changed her, walked her to school, helped her with her homework, and because of the nine-year age difference had been more like an uncle than a big brother. Now, she was bigger and more confident, bossing men twice her size about and this was the first time she’d ever told me what she thought about me.

“It’s more complicated than that,” I said.

“Bullshit! You don’t need to overcook the crap with me, Max. You’ve always been scared you’re like Dad with everything, not just work. Don’t do yourself out of being happy because of a little fear. Now, if you bought this, what would you think about knocking the fuck out of that wall and opening this up so you had an open plan kitchen-slash-diner? You could put a breakfast bar in and have an island in the middle, leaving you room for a fucking humongous dining table there.” She pointed through the wall to the back of the house. “And still an area for a corner sofa and TV. If you wanted to go whole hog, I’d extend out into the garden—fuck knows there’s enough space—and have Velux windows, bi-fold doors. Get wooden flooring down and a feature wall there. Actually, fuck that, I’d stick in a wood burning stove. Right, other rooms.”

I followed her back into the hall as she tapped wooden panels, examined doors and swore a lot.

“This would be a great snug. Put a desk in here and bookcases, some comfy chairs and make the most of that fireplace. A big decorative mirror on that wall there. Fuck, I’d love this room.” She continued upstairs, describing in graphic detail what she’d do to the bathroom, how she’d create a wet room downstairs and add two en suites. The cellars were something else. Two hours later when we were locking the front door I felt as if I’d just spent five hours in a mediation.

“So, what’s your overall verdict?”

“I think you need to buy me breakfast,” Ava said. “I can give you some rough costings too. And I can also tell you if you don’t buy it, I will.”

The Star and Garter pub nearby did all day breakfasts and posh versions of classic London dishes, most of which I’d never tried. Jellied eels weren’t my idea of a tasty snack, no matter how persuasive the waiter tried to be.

Ava downed her coffee before it had even had a chance to experience cool air. “I think you’ve made your mind up already,” she said. “So part of what you want to talk about is null and void. The house is up for a steal, plus they have done some of the heavy work already with the rewiring and modernising the plumbing and heating systems. The roof needs replacing and the floorboards need a good looking over, but aside from that it’s structurally sound. The remaining fixes are primarily cosmetic.” She gave me a figure that didn’t blow me away and added another few numbers for the interior decoration. “But that will need to be a conversation with Victoria.”

“I’m not telling her. Once we’ve completed on the property, it’s over to you and your team. You do what needs doing,” I said, making the stupid mistake of checking my phone to see twenty-seven emails waiting for me.

“Max, if anyone else designed mum’s kitchen, what would her response have been?”

I looked away from my phone. “She’d have skewered them and put them in the oven with a bit of sage.”

“Correct.”

“So what you’re saying is that Victoria needs to have an input?”

“Well done. First prize for being astute.”

The blank look I wore was probably the first since Marie had explained the menstrual cycle to me in defence of why Claire was being such a moody ass. As it turned out, it had nothing to do with Claire’s menstrual cycle and everything to do with her being generally moody. Not much had changed.

“Maxwell, be smart. Finance this renovation for me. I can ask Victoria’s opinion on things like bathrooms and the kitchen and the garden and then you’re not outright lying to her,” Ava said, gesturing wildly to the waiter for more coffee. I got the feeling that my little sister drank her bodyweight in caffeine on a daily basis.

“Even the windows. They need to be something more in keeping with the style of the house and the period when it was built.”

“Slow down,” I said. “Let me think about this.”

“Has Victoria mentioned buying it herself?”

My phone vibrated with a call. I ignored it. “She thought about it, but because she doesn’t know if she’ll get a job in London or America after her PhD, she didn’t want to commit.”

“Then she won’t be mad if I’m taking it on as a restoration project?”

“No, but I’ll tell her. So temper down your enthusiasm.”

“How quick can you get it bought?”

“Fairly. It’s a cash buy.” We’d been lucky financially to have trust funds from our parents that had grown with careful investments and savings from our drawings as partners in the company. But our money was old money: we didn’t flash it around or brag, and big spends such as houses and cars were considered, not impulsive.

This wasn’t impulsive. I’d thought about it while Vanessa curled around my side, her head on my chest, hair spread everywhere. I’d thought about it while she’d made breakfast and I’d ranted about the incompetence of the opposing lawyers in a current case. I’d thought about it while I had been buried balls deep inside her, feeling her muscles clench around my cock as she came.

Knowing why I was buying her childhood home was not neuroscience. The woman had me wrapped around whatever piece of her anatomy she wanted and I’d done what I’d always sworn not to.

“Tell her today,” Ava said. “Get the ball rolling.”

Air that was definitely wintery bit at our skin as we sat by the river, the familiar skyline towering over us and a sheet of stars above. Because I was cautious, and probably on the scared side of confident—although I’d never admit that to anyone—I’d left it until the sale on the sale had completed and the deeds were in my name before telling Victoria what I’d done. Ava had delegated her other projects to various employees that seemed to be joining her at a rate faster than which rabbits bred and had started on the house that morning. The roof, plastering and floors were first, followed by ripping out a couple of walls and adding some more.

“I love mulled wine,” Victoria said, her hands cupping a mug of the stuff through fingerless mittens. “It’s my favourite thing about winter.”

“Mulled wine?” I chuckled. She was sitting between my legs, my arms were wrapped around her, trying to keep her warm in the December chill. “There must be other reasons to love winter. Christmas?”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Lewis and visiting Johns Hopkins,” she said. “And I like being wrapped up, although I’d give up my mulled wine for a real fire to sit by and read.”

She’d made arrangements to visit her mentor and friend in America for Christmas. She had no family to spend it with and Jacob was going skiing with his father and brother. I was heading to Ontario and my parents’ winery to spend Christmas in the house they had bought over there. We’d be on the same continent but still thousands of miles apart.

“Speaking of real fires.” It seemed like a good way to start the topic of my new purchase, and it was potentially the opening as to why they’d later find my body in the river. “I’ve just bought a house for Ava to renovate.”

“Really? You didn’t say you were planning on doing that. Not that you needed to tell me.”

I nuzzled between her scarf and coat and kissed the back of her neck. “You might not like this.”

She swung around and eyed me.

“Maxwell Callaghan. If I’m going to be mad, aren’t we best being in private for you know, afterwards?”

We were sitting outside a bar, on a large, wide wall. There were plenty of people passing by so she had a point. We argued, disagreed. I knew exactly what buttons to press to rile her but the aftermath was worth it. When she couldn’t get her words out she used her body instead.

“But if we’re in public you can’t kill me.”

“Tell me.”

She’d never demanded anything of me before, apart from ‘harder’ and ‘more’.

“It’s your old house.”

“Oh.”

She turned back around to watch the river, the crests of waves catching the light. I inhaled the scent of her hair, my body reacting like it usually did but I kept my hands around her waist, giving her time to think about what I’d done.

“I’m glad it was you who bought it,” she said quietly. “I worried that someone would buy it and not—not respect it. I know you’ll make it a good family house for someone to live in.”

“You don’t think it’s strange?”

She sighed, her body relaxing against mine. “Kind of. But you’re a businessman and it was going for a song. With Ava renovating it, you’ll make a good profit when it goes back on the market.”

My hands were clammy even in the cool temperature and I felt my stomach turn. “Ava wants to ask you for ideas on a few bits. You know the house well and she thinks that will be important,” I said, unsure as to how she would react. Victoria had been honest from the start about her goals and her ideals and dreams. Her passion and impulsiveness and honesty didn’t just draw me to her, they had kept me hanging around like a bee needing more of her sweet nectar.

She leaned back into me. “I think I’d enjoy that. Tell her to text me when it’s convenient to go round. I could dig out some old photos that were taken in the house and maybe put a scrapbook together so that the owners know of its history.”

“Do you ever not think about history?” I said. “I’m beginning to think your grandad brainwashed you.”

“Probably,” she said. “There’s something else I’m thinking about though.” She turned herself around and pushed her lips to mine, moving her scarf out of the way. “Can you taste mulled wine?”

“I need to check again,” I said, this time making the kiss deeper and tasting as much as I could of her. “Shall we go back to mine and we can see how long the taste lasts for?” I kissed her again, softly biting her bottom lip and hearing her moan. “And then I can see if the taste can be found elsewhere.”

“I like that idea. And Max?”

I stood up, pulling her with me. “What, Feisty?”

“I’m not mad about the house. Maybe a little sad it’s not me living there.”

The only words I knew I could say would’ve landed me in unchartered waters without a compass or paddle, so I kissed her again and then took her home, using every shortcut I knew.

We were about five minutes from my apartment—three if I could rush her any more—when I figured someone was behind us, someone who wanted to stay unnoticed. My first thought was that it was her brother who, despite my threats and advice of his lawyer, was still contacting Victoria, although it was becoming less frequent.

I stopped, turning her round swiftly and backtracked until we came to a narrow alleyway.

It had a gate at the end of it, so there was nowhere for our follower to go and aside from someone breathing noisily, the darkness kept everything else hidden. Using my phone’s torch—thank fuck for technology—I lit up the face of Peter Coffey.

He had recently moved into my seminar group, the Thursday night one, although that had finished now for the Christmas period. His coat was a thick and expensive down thing and the glasses he wore looked like the designer shit Seph wore when he didn’t need to.

I kept an arm around Victoria’s waist and stretched to my full six foot three. Somehow I was still finding time to visit the gym with Jackson; that and a bit of playing with my macros had meant I’d bulked out a bit more in the past few weeks and I knew I didn’t look like your average law professor.

“Why are you following us?”

“Are you okay, Peter?” Victoria said.

I wished I could have some protective detail put on her. She’d broken up a fight last week between two very drunk idiots and the thought of her short ass being hurt by anyone had given me a slight aneurysm and caused an argument. Which had led to me fucking her brains out while her hands were tied to my bed. A good time had been had by all, several good times if you were Victoria.

His eyes lit up as she spoke to him and then focused solely on her. “I just wanting to speak to you.”

I fucking bet he did. Carol had mentioned he was hanging around the law office a bit too much. “So if you wanted to speak to Victoria, why didn’t you call her instead of following us like a creeper?”

Now his eyes flickered from side to side and then to the floor. Knowing my woman, she’d have picked up on this and would now be feeling sorry for him.

“It’s okay, Peter. Max was just startled by someone following us. Is everything all right?” She put a hand on his arm and he fucking glowed, watching her bare fingers.

“Just wanted to check a deadline, but it’s okay. I shouldn’t have disturbed you, it being a Friday and you not being at work,” he stuttered. “Can you let me go? I have a… I have an, um, date.”

I shifted to the wall next to Victoria, keeping her pulled into me. Peter scuttled like a rabid rat and I waited until he was hopefully a good distance away before we headed off.

“Like fuck he has a date,” I said, more to myself than Victoria.

“He might,” she said, sliding her hand down to mine. “He’s just a bit fragile, I think. And he worries about his essays and referencing things right.”

Every muscle in me had tensed and I really hoped no fucker decided to surprise me right now. I’d had a similar instinct when I was younger and trying to look after Payton and Seph when we were in London one weekend and a strange man kept looking at them on the tube, only this time it was fierce and burning. It didn’t take a genius to work out that it was directly connected to the woman who was starting to consume me. “Vic, he’s finding excuses to come and see you. He finds you on a Friday evening and tells you it’s about deadlines? Why the fuck not just send you an email or look it up online?”

“He barely knows anyone, he’s transferred from probably his dream university and come here—cut him some slack. I know he’s a bit too reliant on me, but I’m ten years older than him and probably more. He’s looking for a friend.” Her hand still clasped mine although she sounded frustrated with me.

I avoided telling her that she shouldn’t be so friendly, determined to never be one of those men who told their woman what to do. “How often does he visit his friend?”

“Once every couple of days, maybe. He will pop in with a coffee or sweets for everyone.”

“Everyone or just you?”

“Well, he gives them to me and I share them so…”

I unlocked the door to my apartment block, still holding onto her hand. I debated how to phrase my next few words, aware of the firework show I could be lighting. “Victoria, I think he likes you and I think he reckons you like him back if you’re being nice to him and accepting his gifts.”

She laughed as we went upstairs. “Maxwell,” she said, pausing as I opened the door. Then her arms went around me and she pressed close. “Do you think you might be a bit jealous?”

I grabbed her ass. “I’m not jealous.”

She laughed, pushing me back so she could start to unzip my coat. “I think you are.”

“I’m worried.”

“Because you’re jealous!”

Her own coat was now on the floor of the entrance hall with her mittens and where her jeans and jumper would be shortly.

“I’m not jealous. Do you want me to show you what I do to people who call me jealous?”

Her pupils dilated and her centre pushed to mine, pressing her heat against my rapidly hardening cock.

“Will it hurt?’

“Only when I bite.”

I had her safely tucked into my bed a while later, looking sated and happy and not thinking about that fuckwit of a student. We were lying face to face, a position we liked to start off in and then move, because it wasn’t the most comfortable to sleep in. She was still naked, her smooth skin warm against mine, her tits pressed against my chest. They were my fucking obsession and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over it. She was slim and curvy, a ball of feistiness encapsulated in the most divine woman I’d ever met and I didn’t want to let her go.

But I would have to at some point. I was my father’s son and I couldn’t do a relationship, not a serious one that would conclude with marriage and babies. I imagined myself and Victoria on holiday by the beach with a couple of kids, me teaching one to swim in the sea while she collected shells with the other. Or more likely, she’d be in the sea with all of us, ducking us under and telling tales of sharks and mermaids because she was full of energy and life.

Even asleep she looked as if she was somewhere exciting, that even her dreams contained as much joy as she usually felt in her job and her love of people.

I smoothed her hair back from her face and she muttered something before her eyes flickered opened.

“Max,” she muttered, starting to turn over, still in my arms.

“Vic,” I said, tucking her ass into me, spooning her and holding her.

“Stop staring at me and go the fuck to sleep.”

I laughed quietly because that was my girl: astute even when asleep.