Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
The pads of Rafael’s fingers moved on the bare skin of one shoulder, a private reminder in the middle of a public room.
He wore a soft grey sweater, sleeves pushed up, the fabric clinging in a way that showcased everything she knew was underneath.
Bea’s gaze kept catching on him, and each time it did, she felt a wicked satisfaction at her lot in life.
He whispered into her ear, “You’re begging me with your eyes again.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it,” he assured her. “Just like I like this dress.”
Bea had chosen a silk dress in warm cream and cinnamon stripes, gathered at the hip, the slit flashing a line of thigh when she moved.
Add asymmetrical sleeve lengths and it was the type of outfit she’d chosen for herself as much as the man who looked at her like she was a gift he fully intended on unwrapping later.
“Birthday buddy!” Maya, her friend from U of T, was approaching, arms already open.
“Maya,” Bea said, returning the hug. “Sorry we’re late.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” Maya declared. “Me, you, Kate—she found out, don’t make that face—Jenna and Priya. We’re turning twenty-five, Bey. That’s a quarter century. It’s like a reunion and a checkpoint at the same time.”
Bea grinned. “I’m always up for milestones that involve fine dining.”
Maya kept going at full speed. “Claire just went to lecture the staff about refrigerating the cake properly. Hi, Rafael.”
“Nice to see you again, Maya.”
Maya peeked behind them and gave a little wave at their tag-along. “You must be Laurent.”
“You must be the lovely conspirator who added me to the guest list last minute,” Laurent said, charm arriving with that lazy French ease.
Maya responded with the exact giggle he was probably aiming for. “Of course. You’re Rafael’s friend, which makes you Bea’s friend, which makes you my friend.”
“The perfect logic chain.” Bea smiled.
Laurent’s attention shifted past her. Claire had reappeared, texting frantically into her phone. She looked up and found them standing at the entrance. For a beat, her expression blanked.
Then her gaze landed on Bea. “Beya Slaya! You made it.”
“Claire Bear.” Bea hugged her hard. “You think I’d miss my own five-way birthday party?”
“Rafael,” Claire said, reaching up to hug him. “Still enormous. Love that for Bea.”
“She seems to like it,” he said mildly. Bea’s stomach did that fluttery dip it always did, as if her body hadn’t received the memo that they were married now and she should be normal when he did simple things like speaking.
Then her gaze swerved behind them. “Laurent.”
“Surprise,” Laurent replied, quiet amusement threaded through the word.
Claire hesitated, as if unsure quite how to greet him. Laurent spared her the decision, offering his hand. The formal way they shook was almost comical.
Maya clapped her hands as the servers arrived, balancing wide platters toward their section. “The food’s here. Let’s move, I’m starving.”
They followed her into the private area, two long tables already buzzing with noise, handbags slung over chairbacks, coats tossed in a heap, someone announcing far too loudly that adulthood should come with a refund policy.
Jenna was holding a cocktail that smoked faintly at the rim. “This cost twenty-eight dollars,” she said, practically delighted. “And for the first time in my life I didn’t have to check my bank account first.”
Priya raised her glass. “To being employed.”
Hannah and Felicity whooped: one had recently been hired at a law firm, the other had finally gotten a permanent nursing position at the local hospital.
“To being underpaid,” Kate MacAllister added, clinking. The Algorithm, Claire always joked, because Kate never missed a cue, and was always dressed like the room was a stage she knew by heart.
There was something uniquely durable about friendships formed when you had nothing but time, feelings, and a hunger to be understood. The people who’d witnessed the rawest draft of you. Years could pass, cities could change, and still the old ease came back the second you were together.
As the courses were served, conversation bounced the way it used to in hallways of lockers and lecture theatres. They complained about corporate onboarding, laughed too loudly about professors they’d once feared, spiraled briefly into nostalgia about the musky smell of the gym.
Rafael’s hand stayed on her knee, a constant point of contact that kept everything on her skin humming.
The mains arrived, and Rafael didn’t hesitate. He drew her plate closer, slicing cleanly through the steak before setting half of it onto her dish. Then he reached for her fish, switching the plates just long enough to take half for himself.
His mouth brushed her ear. “Eat.”
Bea glanced down at the rearranged servings. “You love steak.”
Rafael adjusted his knife and fork. “You love both.”
Bea kissed the edge of his jaw.
The last mains were collected, and the waiter promised dessert wouldn’t be long.
Chairs scraped back, glasses lifted, the night tipping into its looser half. Someone was already chanting for shots. Laughter spiked. The men clustered off to one side, and the women tightened into their own circle without even thinking.
Priya leaned across the table. “Can we talk about the interview?”
Jenna dropped her fork. “Yes, let’s.”
“I watched it three times,” Maya admitted. “The moment he said ‘that’s how interviews happen’ I nearly fell off my couch.”
Felicity groaned. “I used to think Oliver Fox was intimidating. Now every time I see his face I hear clown music.”
Priya shook her head slowly. “The documents were insane. He’d been doing it for ten years before you, Bey. I kept thinking…how did nobody stop him?”
Hannah exhaled. “You were so calm. If I was you I would have just passed out.”
She’d been close a couple of times.
Claire angled her glass at Bea. “Beya Slaya isn’t a nickname. It’s a warning to all evildoers.”
“I did it once and only out of necessity.”
The flood of interview requests had finally begun to dry up. Rafael’s team was holding the line firmly: No, thank you.
Never again.
Bea knew, on paper, she had done well. People told her so constantly. And Oliver Fox had publicly detonated himself, which was the entire point. But being on camera had felt exactly the way she always suspected it would. She hated every second of it.
Jenna tipped her glass, cheeks flushed from wine. “Okay. New topic then.”
Claire snorted. “Here we go.”
“What’s it like being married to a man who could buy this restaurant?”
Bea laughed. This topic she liked much better. “It’s like being married to someone I can’t believe I get to have. Trust me, his net worth is not what makes him overwhelming.”
“Ma’am, this is a family establishment,” Claire mock-chided.
Priya grabbed an edamame bean from a stray bowl still sitting on the edge of the table and popped it into her mouth. “Details,” she demanded. “Especially the UR part. You didn’t get to the juicy stuff in the interview. Is marriage different there?”
“You could say that.”
“How?” came universally from the circle, curious to the point of menace.
“It’s more…structured.” Bea went with that. And then she ruined it by grinning and adding, “Everything goes through Rafael.”
“What do you mean everything?” Hannah pressed.
“My life. Our life,” Bea said, taking a sip of rosé. “In the eyes of the government, he pretty much has complete authority.”
The air changed, one word at a time.
“Are you serious?” Maya whispered.
“They don’t advertise it,” Bea said, suppressing a smile. “And it definitely wasn’t on the St. Ives brochure. I checked.”
“So it’s like…” Felicity lowered her voice, “…he owns you?”
“Do you have to ask his permission to go places?” Kate cut in.
“Only internationally. He filed pre-approval for me, so I can travel freely.”
Maya made a strangled noise. “That is unhinged.”
“It’s so hot,” Jenna said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, horrifying.”
Claire sipped her sparkling water. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like legal jurisdiction.”
Bea stuck her tongue out at her.
“Isn’t it scary, though?” Priya asked.
“At first,” she admitted. “But the obligations run in both directions. And he’s more than earned my trust.”
Maya studied her. “Looks like it. You don’t seem scared.”
“Of Rafael? Never.”
“It’s just surprising,” Kate inserted, like a teacher correcting a disappointing student. “You were always so independent. You didn’t even date in high school.”
“It’s been a minute since high school,” Bea said dryly. “People grow.”
“I don’t know, Bea,” Kate said with a shrug. “It feels a little like you’re romanticizing patriarchy.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Sweet mercy, someone hide the comments section.”
“You think I’m…oppressed?”
“It sounds like you’re caught in systemic misogyny,” Kate said.
Maya threw both arms up in an X. “No. No politics at the birthday party.”
“It’s okay. I’m not bothered,” Bea said, and realized she meant it. A few years ago she might’ve parroted that same language like scripture. Or stumbled to apologize and justify herself.
Tonight she didn’t feel the need to do either.
Kate’s mouth tightened. “So you’re fine with literally being owned by your husband.”
“By Rafael Griffin?” Bea met her gaze. “Enthusiastically.”
Jenna let out a strangled laugh. “Bea.”
“Maybe I’d feel different if it happened to me. But it didn’t.”
Her gaze drifted across the room again. Rafael stood with the others, beer tipped to his mouth as he listened to her old friend Logan. Even relaxed, his body was angled slightly toward her, the habit of a man who always ensured she was in his line of sight.
As if her attention summoned him, his green eyes lifted and found hers. That slow, wicked half-smile curved his lips, entirely for her. A soft, victorious little smile touched Bea’s mouth in answer.
Bea turned back to the women. “I chose him.”