Bind Me (Crown or Fire #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Beatriz Cruz had every intention of being good.

Then Rafael Griffin walked into her kitchen, and self-control filed for resignation, effective immediately.

Her fiancé came bearing croissants and coffee and that aggravating restraint he’d adopted since they’d agreed to abstain until the wedding. He set the paper bag on the counter with exaggerated care, then reached past her for a glass of water, his triceps brushing against her arm.

It was lingering, not to mention unnecessary. And absolutely deliberate.

Bea’s mouth made an executive decision. She reached for his nape, pulled him toward her, rose up onto her toes, and kissed him.

His chest expanded under her palm, the tension there unmistakable.

The knowledge that he was holding himself back took hold, bright with thrill and edged with warning.

Strong fingers slid into her hair, firm at her scalp.

His other arm came down beside her, boxing her neatly against the counter as if the kitchen had been designed for this exact misjudgment.

It might have begun with her, but Rafael took control the moment their mouths met, turning her impulse into something far more consuming. His body pressed close enough that she felt what he wanted. The answering ache low in her body was insistent.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard, his grip still threaded through her hair like he wasn’t ready to let go. Her dress was damp where his body had pinned her.

“That,” she managed, “must be against the rules.”

His green eyes lit with trouble. “You sure you want me to follow the rules?”

Her knees nearly dissolved. “That’s what we agreed.”

“Then stop looking at me like you’re asking for something else.” His forehead hovered close. Like if she asked, he’d break the rule for her. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Every cell answered ‘yes’ in full-volume harmony. Her mouth, which had switched sides again, answered, “No.”

Three days down, sixty-seven to go. Who’d suggested this madness?

Oh, right. She had.

Because, to her own consternation, she contained a deeply inconvenient streak of old-fashioned romanticism. The kind that wanted the wedding night to mean something extra. The kind that held out for symbolism. It sounded beautiful…right up until it wasn’t.

“How do you want to handle the engagement announcement?” he asked, his hand sliding down to cup her cheek, broad and warm, and she leaned into it.

“Do we really have to do one?”

“We never have to do anything,” he said. “But silence invites fiction.”

Her expression pinched. “I know but…I’d still rather not voluntarily be internet fodder.”

“Okay,” he murmured, and kissed the middle of her forehead, then started trailing kisses down her nose in quest for her mouth. Her resolve wavered in real time. “You don’t owe strangers access. I’ll get a team together.”

Bea’s phone buzzed. She snatched it up before the kitchen became the setting of a memory Lillian, in the room next door, would spend the rest of her life repressing.

Group Chat: Therapy Club

GEORGINA: Bea Cruz please confirm that you’re actually marrying Rafael Griffin and this isn’t a folie à deux.

She typed while Rafael watched.

BEA: Confirmed. Last Sat of April.

BEA: I hope you all like matching dresses.

GEORGINA: As long as Naomi’s family is designing

NAOMI: Obviously. With ten weeks it’s either us or off the rack

NAOMI: And you know which one it won’t be

ISABEL: Sure you’re not pregnant, btw?

Heat climbed Bea’s cheeks.

BEA: NO.

NAOMI: How’s the no-sleepover rule going?

LILLIAN: He shows up every morning at ours with breakfast.

Her ever-considerate friend and housemate was texting from her room because she always gave them at least half an hour in the kitchen alone.

BEA: If he keeps doing this after the wedding, I’m leaving a testimonial on the GV website.

BEA: Five stars, would wed again

“Five stars?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“We have to get married first,” she teased sweetly, before locking her phone and placing it down.

His smile didn’t last.

Rafael stepped back. Once. Twice. Until his spine hit the opposite counter.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a small knot forming between her brows as she felt the sudden change in temperature.

“We need to talk.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze without softening.

“Okay…”

“When you marry me,” he said, shifting his weight back onto his heels, as though digging in, “it means more here than it would anywhere else.”

Bea tilted her head.

“Marriage isn’t just a contract,” he continued. “It’s a transfer of authority.”

That word. It triggered something, old beliefs clashing with new ones, both of them making equal sense and none at all. The familiar drip of anxiety started through her veins. “Authority over what?”

“Over us.” Then, quieter, “Over you.”

Her brain stalled like a file corrupted midsentence. She actually shook her head once, as if that might reboot it. “I’m sorry?”

“You already understand Tier Four,” he said. “Rights over travel, medical, and legal matters. But that’s not the full scope once we’re married.”

Her tongue stuck slightly to her teeth. “How much more are we talking?”

“All future property will be in my name. Anything major and financial. Your employer answers to me.”

A breath that sounded more like a laugh came out. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Her brain supplied a useless image of a grey warning box, blinking politely while everything beneath it vanished. “And you waited until after you put a ring on my finger to mention this?”

His expression didn’t change. “I wanted you to say ‘yes’ to me. Not ‘no’ to the law.”

“So you decided what I was allowed to meet first.”

Rafael’s fingers curled into the counter’s edge, then deliberately loosened. “I decided to give you time to trust what matters more than any law. Me.”

Bea kept her chin lifted, meeting him head-on, her voice steady. “If I’m marrying you, I deserve to know what I’m agreeing to.”

His brow lifted. “If?” he repeated, low. “You think I’m going to watch you walk away now, little Bea?”

The words landed softly, but the room changed around them.

She ignored the warning in his tone, folding her arms across her belly. “You’re telling me I would legally belong to you.”

He nodded once. “Our children would, too.”

“Anything else?” Her tone stayed steady even as something splintered inside her.

“Yes. But you’re not ready to hear it.”

She could clobber him. On his offensively symmetrical face.

It must have registered, because he said, with the faintest edge of defensiveness, “It’s not my law. It’s the country’s.”

“Then we’ll get married in another country,” she said, grasping for an exit. “Canada.”

Neutral ground. A ceremony without teeth.

“No.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

“Because I’m a man of the UR.” He stepped closer. “My wife and children will live under UR law.”

“We can still live here.” Bea gestured around the kitchen. “Just marry elsewhere.”

“No.”

“That’s not an argument, Rafael.”

He crossed his arms. “I need the law on my side.”

“For what?”

“To turn threats against you into crimes against my family and the state.”

The weight of Westhaven’s rules crowded in from every angle, but despite her anger, she understood something else too: Rafael would arm himself with every power available to keep her safe.

“You don’t leave room for regret,” she said quietly, thinking of the sister he’d lost. “I know. But you can protect me without it.”

Rafael shook his head stubbornly. “It’s not enough. If you had a child with another man, even by force, he could contest me. And he’d have a higher claim to you.”

Bea recoiled half an inch, skin prickling. “You’re talking in wild hypotheticals.”

“In a country dominated by men, they’re only hypothetical because laws like this exist.”

He meant it. Completely. Bea opened her mouth and found nothing there. Logic had abandoned her. Hunger had not, and she had the most ridiculous urge to tear into the unopened bag of croissants.

Rafael closed the distance. She stiffened, but his large hands lifted her onto the counter anyway. He settled his frame between her knees, arms braced on either side of her. It was almost the same position as earlier, only this time the heat she felt was frustration.

“Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“What’s the point when you’ve already decided where this conversation is allowed to end?” she said sharply.

“It doesn’t change us.”

“It doesn’t change you,” she shot back. “But if we get married—”

“Stop saying if.” His eyes had turned the darkest shade of green she’d ever seen them.

“You don’t own me yet, Rafael Griffin.”

The air deadlocked between them, the kind of silence where neither blinked first. His jaw clenched, his grip flared slightly on her hips.

Eventually, Bea spoke. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed?”

“They wouldn’t be. Because I’m a man.”

The words landed like a door clicking shut. “Forget it.” She twisted, trying to get down and away from him.

He caught her wrist. “We’re not done talking.”

“Let go.”

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

The words burst out. “How about that you’d have complete control over me?”

“Have I ever stopped you from being yourself?”

Her answer took a beat to arrive. “No.”

His grip stayed firm on her wrist, but the thumb tracing over her pulse was gentle. “Have I ever gotten in the way of your work?”

Memory surfaced. His displeasure. Resistance. “That time with Jaxon—”

He waited.

Fine. Not obstruction. “No.”

“Then what changes?” Rafael challenged. “I’m the same man I was ten minutes ago.”

Her voice thinned despite her effort. “What happens when we disagree?”

“Then we fight.”

“And you’d win,” she said flatly. “Because you can overrule me, and I can’t leave.”

“Of course you can leave,” he said. His grip tightened. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come for you.”

Bea exhaled. “Every time I think this place is home, I’m reminded it’s a cage.”

“Not a cage, little Bea. A fortress.” His voice dropped to the octave that always found her spine. “Let me be that. For you.”

Her throat worked. “What if I can’t?”

Rafael leaned in until his mouth brushed her temple like a vow. “You can, if you’ll let yourself.”