Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bea’s apartment was warm. Outside, the winter air fogged the windows faintly at the corners. Inside, wherever she and Gage were, there was heat. If Georgina were home, they’d be in her room by now, door shut. Otherwise, it was just them, here, in the quiet, alone.
She could still feel the ghost of his kiss on her lips, the imprint of his hands on her hips.
This was becoming routine. Familiar in a way that was dangerous. Dinners that turned into late-night drives, drives that ended here. And every time, they walked the same impossible line.
They hadn’t crossed the line. But they kept creeping toward it. Too close.
Since she’d never had a boyfriend, it had never been an issue before. And then since Gage, she hadn’t let herself think about it. But the truth was getting harder to ignore. Sooner or later, she was going to have to face it. Face him.
Gage sat at the edge of the couch, one arm resting along the back, his long legs stretched in front of him. Her eyes skimmed over him—broad shoulders, loose tie, the easy sprawl of his body—and her mouth went dry.
She knew he could see her building toward something. He was waiting for her to get to it.
Finally, she turned, exhaling. No more avoiding it. “Gage…I don’t know if this is going to work.”
He didn’t move. “And why’s that?”
How to put it.
Because this—what was happening between them—was heading in one direction. She wasn’t naive; she knew what a man like Gage expected from a relationship. He was older, experienced, and probably used to women who didn’t hesitate. Women who knew what they were doing.
She wasn’t one of them, and that terrified her.
Naturally he would want more. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep up before he realized she wasn’t ready to give it to him.
And then what? Would he walk away? Resent her for making him wait? Or worse: would he wait and then realize she wasn’t worth it?
But she said only, “Because I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you usually date.”
His thick brows lifted slightly. “And what kind of girl do I usually date?”
Bea swallowed. Why is this so hard to say?
But it mattered, so she pushed forward. “The kind who already knows what you expect.”
A beat of silence.
“What exactly do you think my expectations are?”
They both knew the answer.
“You know,” she muttered so, so quietly.
“Maybe.” His voice was infuriatingly smooth. “But I’d rather hear you say it than assume.”
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Please don’t make me say it.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” He reached out, fingers curling around her wrists as he pulled her hands gently away from her face. “Then I’ll take care of it.”
Bea let out a short laugh. “Typical of you to think it’s something you can fix.”
“Sweetheart, stop stalling and start explaining. Why do you think this won’t work…” He trailed off, his expression turning knowing.
Her face flamed. He understood. Somehow, that made it worse.
“I see,” he said, his tone even.
She was mortified. Afraid that he did, in fact, see.
Gage’s eyes softened. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Bea shook her head before he’d even finished the question.
His expression changed ever so subtly, but she knew he was pushing back a smile.
Good. If he had smiled at that moment, she might have buried herself under a stack of Georgina’s fashion magazines. It would take weeks to find her.
“I’m going to ask anyway”—he leaned in—“and you’re going to answer me, whether it’s with words or with the color of your face.” Those sapphires gleamed. “Are you a virgin, Bea?”
She counted three breaths. That’s how long it took her to respond.
Then she gave a slow nod.
The arm draped loosely along the back of the couch didn’t move, but she saw the tendons in his wrist flex. It was barely anything. The only sign her words had landed.
“And you think I expect to be the one to…take care of that?”
“Don’t you?” she asked wryly.
His smirk was slow, dark. “You know I do.”
She groaned, but it was laced with laughter.
“Help me understand.”
She should have known he would be like this. Steady, patient, willing to listen. And yet, the words still lodged in her throat.
“To me, sex is for love,” she said finally. “I know you don’t love me. And I don’t think you’re going to want to wait for me to love you before we have it.”
Gage studied her then, no doubt catching the flickers of uncertainty and vulnerability she tried to hide.
Bea shifted awkwardly. She might as well tell him everything. “I just want you to know I’m not ashamed of this.”
The words came out firmer than she expected. It was hers. Something she’d kept, something she wanted to mean something. She wouldn’t apologize for it.
Georgina and the girls were right about one thing. At both U of T and St. Ives, people slept together for different reasons. Fun, exploration, attraction. Besides Claire, it didn’t seem like other women subscribed to her requirement for sex.
It wasn’t that she judged anyone else for it. It just wasn’t for her.
And if Gage was going to be with her, he needed to know.
“It’s probably old-fashioned, and with someone like you, in a place like this…” She twisted her fingers together. “I like you. I just don’t know if that’s enough.”
The silence that came was longer this time.
Bea wanted to evaporate.
Gage didn’t look uncomfortable at all. If anything, he looked basically unbothered. Which, irrationally, annoyed her.
She glared at him. “Say something.”
He exhaled slowly, dragging his knuckles along the sharp line of his jaw, thoughtful. “You really think this is a problem for me?”
He made it sound stupid when he said it like that.
“Isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, almost reluctant.
Gage said nothing for too long. It was excruciating. “Waiting isn’t a problem.”
Bea blinked, tension still coiled tight in her gut.
That seemed implausible. Implausible and suspicious. She wasn’t naive enough to think Gage King was happy to wait an indeterminate amount of time.
“No expectations?”
“I don’t expect,” he murmured. “I know what’s coming.”
Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
She had no idea what to do with that answer. She’d never met anyone who spoke about the future like it was written in ink.
She stared at him. He let her scan his eyes. All she saw was certainty. Deep. Unshakable. And somehow, reassuring.
“That’s…mildly terrifying.”
The corners of his mouth tipped upward slightly. “It should be.”
Bea hadn’t changed the destination. Only delayed the arrival.
And to look at him, Gage King had nothing but time.
A glance at the clock told her it was late, and she suddenly felt exhausted. As if the weight of everything they’d said was settling over her all at once.
Gage sensed it, standing smoothly. “Get some sleep.”
Bea let out a breath of laughter. “Since when do you care about sleep?”
“Since you look like you might collapse on me. We have the Winter Regatta tomorrow.”
She narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
At the door, he paused. “Bea.”
She looked up.
“I meant what I said.”
She swallowed. “I did, too.”
“And just so we’re clear…” His voice lowered. “You’re going to love me, sweetheart. And when you do…” His gaze dragged over her like a promise. “…there won’t be a single part of you I don’t know by heart.”
Her breath caught.
By the time she thought of a response, he was already gone.
Under the pale winter sun, the St. Ives Regatta glittered like something out of a dream.
The water, a deep, endless blue, stretched out from the manicured banks of the university’s private river, hemmed by sleek yachts bobbing at their moorings.
Every inch of shoreline had been claimed: sprawling white tents draped with maroon and gold banners, rows of canapés and champagne, and students dressed in their sharpest winter coats, scarves artfully looped, gloves matched to boots in ways that looked accidental but weren’t.
It was excessive. But everything here was.
Bea adjusted the buttons of her coat as they stepped onto the dock.
Cream wool, fitted just enough to feel elegant without trying too hard.
Beside her, Gage looked devastating. The charcoal overcoat made him appear even taller, broader.
She didn’t mean to look at him again. And again. But it was impossible not to.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in that way that felt casual. Possessive. “Like it?”
Her first response was mild panic, sure he’d caught her. But then she followed his gaze to the water, not her.
She smiled. “I love the water.”
“Good to know.”
Gage kept Bea close as they moved through the thick of the crowd, letting her soak in the chaos. Conversations flickered around them, about them.
“That’s Gage King.”
“He brought her, obviously.”
Bea’s cheeks warmed. Gage heard it. She knew he did.
“Let them talk,” he said, serenely. “They’re bored. We’re just keeping them entertained until something better comes along.”
“Is that how it works?”
His smirk was lazy. “Most days.”
It felt like the entire campus had turned out. Which meant that, for the first time, Bea saw it en masse. The ratio.
For every woman in a perfect wool coat, there were almost twice as many men watching. She knew the stats, but standing here in the sea of tailored suits, the reality of it landed.
They were moving toward the docks when Catherine Vale appeared in their path. She looked positively regal, every inch the heiress in her white coat and brown boots.
Bea felt Gage’s posture shift slightly beside her. Recognition.
“Catherine,” he greeted professionally, offering a brief nod. Polite. Familiar.
“Gage,” Catherine returned with a tranquil smile. “I was just thinking, I haven’t seen your parents in a while.”
“They’re traveling,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Back next month.”
“Of course,” Catherine mused, as if she already knew. “I’ll reach out when they return.”