Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Curled sideways on the couch, Bea’s eyes drifted toward the half-open balcony door.
A cool breeze slipped in, blowing placidly through the room, rustling the stack of study guides she’d abandoned on the coffee table.
Norah Jones drifted from a small speaker beside her phone, a little bit nostalgic, a touch bittersweet, and somehow perfectly matching her mood.
She reached for her mug of warm water and took a slow sip, but found it had cooled.
She should eat something, but she couldn’t be bothered to walk out for a meal.
Her fridge was stocked with things she’d barely touched this week—fruit, Greek yogurt, some overpriced oat milk she’d bought after seeing half her classmates drink it.
She frowned. When did I start drinking oat milk?
It was little things like that. Subtle shifts. Changes she didn’t register until they had already settled into her routine, indistinguishable from habit. The creep of assimilation.
Her phone buzzed—Claire.
Straightening, Bea answered.
Claire’s face filled the screen, hair messy, wearing old plaid flannel, a mug of coffee cradled in both hands. Morning light glowed softly behind her.
“You look like death,” Claire said immediately. “That’s a good sign. Means you survived.”
“Somehow,” Bea mumbled, tugging her U of T hoodie tighter. “St. Ives exams are a blood sport.”
“Still holding up against the future oligarchs?”
“In my defense, they probably grew up solving case studies instead of watching cartoons.” She combed a hand through her straight, black hair. “How’s work?”
“I spilled a tray of water on a table of lawyers yesterday, so y’know, normal.”
Bea snorted into her sleeve. “I don’t know how you keep your job.”
“It must be my sparkling personality,” Claire said dryly. “Did you finally land a tutoring gig?”
“Yeah, first session is tomorrow. Trial run with a boy named Nico. High-school sophomore. Apparently he’s a bit of a headache.”
“Must be a trust-fund kid.”
“I think they’re more normal-rich, not Gage-King-level rich.”
Claire raised a brow. “Any updates on that front?”
Bea bit the inside of her cheek. “Nothing besides what I’ve already told you.”
She didn’t add that she’d pulled her phone out more than once, thumb hovering, wondering if a text would be a mistake or a relief. So far, restraint was winning. Barely.
“Something’s going to happen soon. I can feel it,” Claire said, her dark eyes gleaming.
Bea shook her head. “Glad my love life is such quality entertainment.”
“You’re turning twenty-two and you’ve barely been kissed. This is long overdue.”
“I know. It’s not like I planned to be this way,” Bea grumbled. “I wish I had more experience with men. It’d probably help.”
“No way. The beautiful virgin vibe is your whole thing.”
She barked a laugh. “I wish you were here.”
“But how could I leave The Junction Spoon?” Claire said, mock seriously. “Waitresses like me are a rare breed.”
“You could tutor,” Bea offered. “I still have to prove I’m smarter than the high-school kid, but if I do, the pay’s incredible.”
“What are you charging? A thousand an hour?”
“I wish.” Bea giggled. “But the money will help. I’m thinking about getting that wardrobe subscription you kept telling me about before I left.”
Claire choked on her coffee. “Are you serious? Bey, I begged you to do that months ago.”
“I know. I’m out of excuses. I can’t keep showing up in the same three sweaters. Everyone here looks like they just stepped off a runway.”
Claire bumped her mug against the screen. “Oh, look who’s come around. It’s almost like I know things.”
“Yeah, yeah. You were right.”
“I’m gonna need that in writing.”
Bea stuck her tongue out. “I’ll post it to you.”
Claire leaned back, mug pressed against her cheek. “We should go get some butter tarts. Right now. Like just…ditch everything and go.”
She groaned. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because it’s that time of the month, and I am craving.”
Bea slumped deeper into the couch. “Eat some for me.”
Claire rested her chin in her hands. “It’s weird without you, you know?”
Bea stilled. Claire wasn’t one to get sentimental unless she really meant it. “I told you to apply…” Bea kept her voice light. “You could’ve been here too.”
Claire’s mouth flattened, eyes tracking something just out of frame. “Yeah…I know.”
She didn’t say more.
Bea didn’t push.
But she felt the significance behind those three words. Like maybe Claire had thought about it more than she let on.
Maybe she hadn’t applied because, deep down, she hadn’t believed she could belong here. And now that Bea was here, she was starting to wonder if she’d been wrong.
“One day,” Claire declared finally, taking a sip of her coffee. “Maybe I will.”
A door that had been shut without a second thought was cracking open again.
“Really? You’re considering it now?” Bea smirked. “I don’t know if this country is ready for that.”
Claire let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, well. Maybe the UR needs a little shaking up.”
Another call popped up on her screen before they could explore it.
“Umma’s calling. If I don’t pick up, she’s gonna send a search party.”
“Tell her I say hi. And good luck tomorrow, Beya Slaya.”
“Thanks. Try not to spill anything today.”
“That’s a tall order but I’ll give it a shot.”
Bea arrived at the imposing red-brick townhouse ten minutes early.
She was presently in an upscale suburb that was within walking distance of Northgate.
Naomi had sent her a text a week ago about a family in her mother’s social club who was desperate for a tutor.
The pay bordered on suspiciously generous, so either she was a last resort, or it was kind of a bribe.
Either way, after a couple of phone conversations, she landed a trial lesson.
The housekeeper was already waiting, crisp and professional, her face betraying no emotion beyond polite efficiency.
“This way, miss,” she said, leading Bea through the quiet halls.
They passed a formal sitting room trimmed in soft gold and beige, the kind meant for guests who knew better than to touch anything.
The kitchen gleamed like a showroom: marble counters, double stovetop, a row of copper pans that probably hadn’t been used by anyone but a private chef.
In the music room, a Steinway stood in one corner, a vintage Ludwig kit in the other, like it was normal to own both.
Bea didn’t slow. She barely looked. Places like this stopped surprising her weeks ago.
Her mind was on the task ahead. On the almost-sixteen-year-old who was no doubt less than ecstatic about her presence.
This wasn’t her first rodeo. Attitude was part of the welcome package.
And obnoxious was usually just camouflage for another issue, which she’d need to uncover as quickly as possible.
The housekeeper led her down the hall and pushed open a door, stepping aside to let her in.
Bea found him basically where she expected: sprawled out in a leather chair, eyes glued to a wall-sized screen pulsing with neon-blue explosions. The glow of the game flickered across his face, jaw sharp with a hint of residual baby fat.
The scent of energy drinks, expensive cologne, and abstract teenage defiance filled the air.
He didn’t even glance at her. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
Here we go.
Bea exhaled, stepping inside.
“You’re late,” he said lazily.
Bea checked her watch. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, well, I already started. So technically, you’re behind.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to catch me up,” she said evenly, setting her bag down.
He didn’t pause the game. Didn’t acknowledge the invitation.
He was comfortable. He thought he could get away with this.
“Nico.” Her tone was flat.
Finally, he looked at her. His fingers never paused on the controller. But when their eyes met, Bea understood. He was testing her. Dark brown eyes tried to ascertain what kind of opponent she was going to be.
Alright, kid. Let’s play.
“I’m Bea, your tutor,” she said, crisp. “Now put it down. We’re starting.”
“I’m in the middle of a—”
Bea stepped forward and pressed the power button.
The screen went black.
Silence.
For long seconds, it was like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
Then, dangerously slowly, his head turned toward her. “Are you insane?”
“Probably.” She pulled out a chair, sitting across from him. “Lucky for you, I’m also the only person standing between you and a one-way ticket to boarding school in Switzerland. You know, the kind with uniforms, no gaming, and no girls?”
Something ghosted across his face. Not just annoyance, but closer to hesitation. A microexpression. A tell.
Bea caught it.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing, shoulders loose. “I don’t need a tutor.”
“You do if you want to stay at your school.” She tilted her head. “But I can leave and tell your mother you’re unteachable, if you’d prefer.”
She waited.
And then, like she had just mildly inconvenienced him instead of calling his entire bluff, he sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Bea smiled to herself.
That’s what I thought.
“Your problem isn’t that you’re dumb,” Bea said twenty minutes later. “It’s that you’re lazy.”
Nico leaned back, twirling his pen, the picture of effortless arrogance—too rich, too bored, too used to not being called out.
“I’m not lazy. I’m just…selective with my energy.”
“Right. You selectively fail math, biology, and history?”
“Math’s a scam,” he accused.
“It’s also the reason why your phone works,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, well, my teacher hates me.”
“Maybe because you spend more time running your mouth than solving equations?”
Nico looked thrown, his eyes narrowed. “You really have no problem talking back to me, do you?”
“Do you pay me?”
“…no?”
“Then I don’t work for you. Which means I don’t care if you pout about it.”
And pout, he did.
But then, to her astonishment, the cocky mask slipped. For a blink, he appeared almost boyish. Like he had decided she was at least funny.
“Huh,” he mused. “Not bad, tutor lady.”
Bea tapped his textbook. “Since you’re stuck with me, let’s start with what you actually know.”
An hour later, Bea closed the book, rolling her shoulders.
“Alright,” she said, stretching. “We’ll work on time management next time.”
Nico rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. A small victory. He’d stopped sulking a while ago, begrudgingly realizing she wasn’t going to let him get away with coasting.
“You know you’re little, but you’re kind of scary,” he admitted.
Bea tried not to growl. Why was everyone in the UR so tall? She was at nose height with a high-school sophomore. Unacceptable.
“Imagine how scary I’d be if I were as tall as you,” she said dryly.
He laughed. Then, casually, he added, “You know, my godfather says women like you are the hardest to handle.”
“What?” she asked.
“Yeah. Says the trick with strong women is making them think they’re in control while you’re actually running the show.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Sounds manipulative.”
“Nah, he’s a legend. El Jefe. Man knows everything about women.”
El Jefe. Boss.
Because, of course, her barely passing tutoring student had a godfather who sounded like a cartel kingpin.
Bea stacked her books, giving Nico a long look. “Alright, last question before I go.”
Nico groaned. “No more math.”
“Not math,” she said. “Why are you actually failing?”
He scoffed. “I just told you, I’m selective with my energy.”
She crossed her arms, angling her head slightly. She wasn’t buying it. “You’re not stupid. You seem to care about staying in your school. So what’s the issue?”
He shrugged, but his expression was less assured than before. “Not everyone’s good at school.”
“That’s not it.”
On a groan, he dragged a hand through his mop of brown hair. “You really don’t let up, do you?”
“I do,” Bea said. “But only when people stop lying to me.”
A pause.
She waited.
“It’s complicated,” Nico muttered.
“I bet. Does complicated have a name?”
Nico squinted, suspicion brewing. “Where’d you get that from?”
“You.”
He appeared mildly annoyed.
Gotcha.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he accused.
“Sure I do,” she said, tone gentler. “And in my experience, it goes one of three ways—boy tries to impress girl by excelling, boy gets distracted and starts slipping, or boy doesn’t have girl’s attention, so he gives up completely.”
Nico sucked his teeth, looking away.
“You don’t have to tell me which one you are. Just figure out if failing is worth it,” Bea supplied. “Because ultimately, I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”
His body was rigid. But he’d heard her.
Bea let the silence stretch for a moment, then slid him a teasing grin. “Anyway, we can schedule a session on how to impress her after we get your grades up.”
His head snapped back. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t charge your mother for that one.” Her smile turned sly.
A beat.
Nico exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw like this was already too much effort. “Fine. Whatever. Since you clearly think you know everything. What’s your genius plan, then?”
“My genius plan?”
“You’re the one acting like you’ve cracked the code to women.”
Bea sighed, resigned to breaking this news to him. “Listen, if you actually like her? Stop trying to make her guess.”
He scrunched his nose. “What?”
“Girls don’t want to be confused by the guy they like,” she said simply. “It’s hard enough being sixteen.”
He looked personally offended. “That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah? And how’s your method working out for you?”
He glared.
Bea let the seconds tick. “Thought so.” She added, “Why don’t you try being nice? Ask about her day.”
Nico put his face in his hands. “Please stop.”
She leaned back, enjoying herself now. “Nah, I’m having fun.”
“This is literally the opposite of what El Jefe says, and that man is never wrong.”
“Well, maybe your godfather should sit in on our next session.” That’s when she stood and collected her things.
He was still scowling as she reached the door.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” she called over her shoulder.
“We have to do this twice a week?” Nico bellyached.
“Unless you prefer Switzerland.” She smiled sweetly. “See you next time?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Which, in teenager-speak, was basically an enthusiastic endorsement.