Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Selene had called before they’d even cleared customs: it was family dinner night, and it was nonnegotiable.
Rafael had been pulled into an emergency meeting related to an issue with the Malaysia deal, so Bea went ahead. The Griffin house was almost as familiar now as her own. Theia wasn’t a fan of the winter, even if it was mild by Toronto standards, so the temperature inside was balmy.
The first hour passed in bursts of laughter. Bea unpacked her trinkets with unapologetic delight, recounting how she’d bullied Rafael into haggling down a string of harbor beads on principle, fully aware he was negotiating over less than the price of an espresso.
Bea reached into her tote and set a weighty bottle of extra virgin olive oil on the table. “We had it blended at a small estate in Crete,” she said. “This one’s grassy at first with a peppery kick at the end.”
Leon turned the bottle in his hands, already approving. “We’re opening it tonight. Thank you.”
“Oh, and I solved our other problem.”
Selene blinked. “What problem?”
“What we’re wearing to the Griffin Charity Run.”
Leon’s brows lifted.
Bea pulled two t-shirts from her bag, still sealed in thin plastic, and laid them flat on the table like presentation materials.
The smaller purple one read: OLIVE YOU.
The larger blue one read: OLIVE YOU MORE.
Selene burst out laughing.
Leon examined them like a new project proposal. “If we’re committing to this, we’re committing properly. What are you wearing?”
She reached down again. Khaki. Pink.
OLIVE MY WIFE.
OLIVE MY HUSBAND.
Selene clapped, delighted.
Leon inspected the four shirts T-spread across his table, then looked back at Bea. “Did you get hats?”
Bea grinned. “Theios, I got you. They’re in Rafael’s suitcase. Mine wouldn’t zip.”
Selene carefully set the shirts aside as Leon reached for the oil again.
“Let’s see if Crete lives up to the branding.” He cracked the top, sniffed, green eyes brightening slightly. He drizzled a ribbon over warm bread that had just been brought in, and passed one to Selene first.
She tasted. “Oh.”
Leon passed a second to Bea. He tore off his own piece. “That’s very good.”
Selene watched Bea for a moment longer than usual before she reached for her hand. “Kopela mou,” she said, glancing at Leon. “Would you ever want to call us Mama and Dad? Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”
Bea froze. She hadn’t even realized she’d been waiting for this. Her vision swam.
“Your parents are far,” Selene added. “And it’s been twenty years since we had a daughter under this roof.” Her voice cracked at the end.
“I’d love that,” Bea whispered, gripping her bread.
Leon cleared his throat, but the gravel didn’t quite hide it. “Then it’s settled. You’re ours now, too.”
Selene squeezed Bea’s hand, sniffing discreetly. “We need fruit,” she said briskly, collecting herself.
“And wine.” Leon rose. “This oil deserves proper company.”
As Selene passed behind Bea, her fingers brushed the halter strap tied behind her neck. “This is new.”
“It’s so comfortable.” An impulse buy from a Santorini stairwell. “I should’ve bought two.”
“It’s very flattering,” Selene observed, reaching for the knife. “And it shows off your back. It looks much stronger than before you left.”
Bea made a choking sound that could only be described as profoundly compromising. Her fingers fumbled for her phone under the linen.
BEA: Your mama said my back looks stronger
BEA: RAFAEL
BEA: We both know what made it that way
BEA: SHE SHOULD NOT KNOW
Selene returned offering apples and kiwi, and Bea nodded mutely to both. Leon had uncorked a bottle of red and was giving it a moment to breathe.
Her phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed again. Probably Rafael being no help.
Group Chat: Basketball War Crimes
RAFAEL: Wrong thread, baby.
CLAIRE: I’M SCREAMING
CLAIRE: WHY IS YOUR BACK STRONGER
LAURENT: I have a theory.
LAURENT: Do we credit the training regimen or the trainer?
Bea smothered the phone beneath her leg. She realized she hadn’t actually replied to Selene.
“There were a lot of stairs,” she blurted.
Selene paused mid-slice. “Stairs are what improved your back?”
She concentrated on breathing. “Mm.”
Then from the doorway, his baritone. “It wasn’t the stairs.”
Rafael crossed the threshold with the calm confidence of a man who knew exactly what he’d done.
Leon poured, mouth twitching. “You’re looking stronger too, son.”
“Honeymoons are athletic,” Rafael said, dropping into the seat beside her and draping an arm around her shoulders.
Selene lifted her glass. “To newlyweds.”
Bea dissolved into laughter, but could not for the life of her make eye contact.
There were only two reasons Bea had agreed to this café at eight thirty in the morning in winter.
One was the twenty-three-dollar truffle butter croissant.
The other was Georgina Ashcroft, who was in Northgate for twelve hours between a sunrise photoshoot and a midday flight to Madrid.
Lillian had taken two tram lines for this. Everyone had earned carbs.
The wind knifed straight down the boulevard, turning designer coats into capes and mascara into a gamble. Bea ducked inside, nose thawing as the door shut out traffic and cold.
Espresso hissed. Milk frothed. Wood polish and sugar hung in the air. Bea placed her order, then joined her friends in the booth by the palm fronds.
Georgina rose, every blonde strand in place despite the illusion of spontaneity, makeup still flawless from whatever lens had just adored her. “You look…wholesome.”
Bea pulled back, unwinding her scarf. “You sound surprised.”
“That Rafael Griffin’s wife came back from a month alone at sea looking rested?” Georgina grinned as they sat. “Of course. I expected ruined. Minimum, limping.”
“We weren’t alone every night.”
Lillian’s water was halfway to her mouth.
“Only the nights he cleared the crew.”
Lils inhaled at the wrong time and coughed into her sleeve. “He what?”
Bea leaned over to thump her between the shoulder blades. Best not to let that line of questioning gain traction. “How’s Penny?”
“She’s lovely,” Lillian said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Just not an ideal housemate.”
“Examples, Lils,” Georgie demanded, tapping the table with her vibrant red nails.
“Okay so, this morning she came home at four and reheated a fish curry on the stove so long it set off the fire alarm,” Lillian said with a sigh. “And last week she hosted impromptu yoga in our living room. With loose glitter.”
“Why glitter?"
“I have no idea.” Lillian shook her head. “There were three of them. Adam vacuumed around them.”
“That man would stay calm during an exorcism,” Georgie said.
“I’m considering booking one,” Lillian replied, deadpan.
“Maybe you can move in with Claire,” Bea said, already leaning forward like she was pitching an acquisition.
“She’s moving to the UR?” Georgie asked.
“Marco’s out. Westhaven’s in.” Bea’s grin went feral. “Once her visa’s issued, she’ll resign and start job-hunting in Northgate. Christmas target.”
“That explains the wedding week mystery,” Lillian murmured, as though replaying said week. “I thought she was being vague on Marco.”
“If she’d stayed with us, you of all people could’ve extracted the full breakup transcript,” Bea said. “But Rafael was covering hotels, so she chose buffet breakfasts over group therapy.”
Georgie lifted her cup. “Strategic.”
“Extremely,” Lillian agreed. “I, too, have been swayed by unlimited hollandaise.”
Bea tapped her fingers against the table instead. “She’s actually coming,” she said, softer now. “Not just visiting. Staying. The Republic is not prepared.”
Lillian smiled. “Especially if she packs the laser measurer.”
They laughed, crumbs flying everywhere.
“I’m so happy for you, Bey,” Lillian added. “And Northgate needs the rebalance. Naomi’s booked solid, and Georgie’s going international.”
“It’s three interviews and a photoshoot,” Georgie retorted. “Relax. I’m not abandoning Westhaven. Also you forgot to mention Isabel’s exploring Veldil for a month doing location research for Lumen’s new military series.”
“Would the UR really let them film on the actual island the men do their service on?” Lils asked.
Bea shrugged. “When your family owns the second-biggest streaming platform, doors tend to open.”
“Plenty of six-packs to carry the trailer,” Georgie said, smiling her thanks as the server arrived with their orders. “It’d totally top the charts. Right before it’s labeled adjacent to toxic masculinity.”
Huh. Binge the abs in private. Share the outrage in public. Repeat. Bea had grown up inside that loop without making the connection.
She bit into her croissant, hearing that first promising crackle, truffle butter exploding into her mouth. Her eyes closed in near ecstasy. Twenty-three dollars yet somehow worth it.
But…Fig’s Fable would have charged eight.
“Lils, what are the specials this week at Fig’s?” she asked.
“Dark chocolate tahini brioche swirl, and a cardamom pear crumble tart,” Lillian said, as if she’d memorized the chalkboard. Which she had.
Bea groaned. “The one downside to living in that beach house is not being across the road from a bakery.”
“The tragedy,” Georgie said dryly. “A billionaire’s wife, forced to drive her AMG just to get bread.”
Bea shot her a look. “It’s different when you can walk there.”
Yep, she heard herself.
Someone get me a tiny violin. My mansion lacks pedestrian access to croissants.
Lillian giggled. “How’s the house, Bey?”
“Coming together. Four more rooms are finished. Rafael’s gym is done.”
“Does he really need a home gym though?” Georgie asked, cutting her pastry with a knife and fork as if she were at a gala. “He has Havoc, and the one in his office.”
“I’m not about to discourage him when I’m the main beneficiary of the results.”
“Mrs. Griffin,” Georgina purred. “Listen to smug little you. Do tell us more about the benefits you experienced on your honeymoon.”
Bea pressed her lips together, which only made it worse. Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “No way, TMI. Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat. “Tita Tess worked a miracle with the suppliers.”
Lillian swirled her straw. “How? Bribery? Intimidation?”
“Let’s just say she once made a GV supplier fly in from Singapore to explain, in person, why their linen sample resembled ‘a divorcee’s bedsheet.’”
Georgina tipped her head back and laughed. “Iconic. Can I borrow her? My place is giving old-me vibes.”
“Old you?” Lillian asked, cradling her hot chocolate. “The ‘you’ that stayed with Hunter too long?”
Georgina’s smile curved, wry and sharp. “You’re getting sassy, Lils.”
“But is she wrong?” Bea nudged, brushing crumbs from the table.
Georgina inhaled. Her fingers tapped her glass once, twice. “I guess not.”
“So why did you stay with him that long?” Bea kept her tone gentle.
Georgie tore open a sugar packet, spilling crystals onto the saucer. “Because I kept thinking the feeling would catch up. That love would turn into certainty.” She looked up. Her eyes were very blue and unusually blank. “But it didn’t.”
A clatter of cutlery at a nearby table punctuated the pause.
“Was it the marriage laws?” Lils asked softly.
“Naomi did it. Bea’s done it.” She shook her head. “It’s not the law that scares me. It’s the idea of being owned by someone I wasn’t afraid to lose.”
Bea set her pastry down. Lillian reached across and found Georgie’s hand.
“Three years,” Georgina said, almost absently. “And when he ended it, all I felt was relief.” She stared into the condensation on her glass. “Does that make me heartless?”
“You’re not heartless, Georgie,” Bea murmured. “You just didn’t want him enough.”