Chapter 28 #2
But sex was for love. Everything she’d ever believed, everything she’d ever read, warned her that anything less led to heartbreak in the end. And they weren’t there yet.
Only, nothing had tested her conviction. Not like this.
She focused on the view. On her fork. On small things. She wasn’t sure if she was avoiding him or herself.
She felt his gaze, quiet and patient, reading through her one page at a time. Not skipping ahead. Because he already knew how the story ended.
“How’s Claire?” he asked.
She latched onto that. Conversation was easier than thinking. They talked, slipping into the easy rhythm they always had when she stopped overanalyzing.
After the plates were cleared, Gage excused himself for a call.
She needed air.
Bea stepped onto the balcony, exhaling into the crispness.
The sun was dipping lower now, the city stretched wide beneath her.
Across the street, nestled within the steel and glass of Northgate, she spotted a park.
She hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe she hadn’t been looking.
An ice rink at the center glowed under strings of twinkling lights.
People moved in slow, languid circles. Laughing.
Bundled against the cold. It looked peaceful.
Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation in the car.
Nothing I do for you, for us, is something to be ashamed of.
The words lingered, looping through her mind. Melting into the cracks she’d unconsciously been holding tight to since this whole thing began. He had a way of saying things so plainly, it almost felt like they had to be true, if only she were willing to believe him.
Her life had been built around the desire to be a daughter so good it made up for the fact she was the only one. Her parents had never demanded that from her—it was her gift to them. Because she loved them.
The Trojan horse she’d discovered her freshman year of college was that she wanted to do more, be more, not just for them. For herself. And that realization had come with a splinter of shame. Like her motives weren’t pure.
She felt guilty. For wanting more. For being here in the UR at all. For wanting someone like Gage, or wanting to believe he could really want someone like her.
She’d never said it out loud. But it was there.
Maybe she was the only one who thought there was something to be ashamed of.
Bea leaned forward on the railing, watching the gold light catch on the ice. Her mind skipped back even further. To that first conversation. Sex is for love. She’d expected him to push. Or at least try to persuade her. Instead, he was waiting. Just like he said he would.
She didn’t want him to wait anymore. Not really. That knot low in her stomach wasn’t nerves now. It was curiosity, and anticipation. The feeling of standing on the brink of something you’d never done before and realizing the only way through was to fall.
And trusting that he’d catch her.
Bea’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
GEORGINA: Bf just left. I’ll update you when you get home! xx
Home.
Bea let out a slow breath.
She lingered on the balcony a moment longer, finishing her drink. When she stepped back inside, Gage was downing a glass of water. She watched, eyes drawn to the lean sinews of his neck tightening, the faint bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I should probably go,” she said, picking up her bag.
His gaze lifted. “You in a hurry?”
“No, but…” She gestured vaguely. “Georgie’s home.”
She glanced at the door, as if that might make leaving easier. She didn’t really want to go. But given the way her thoughts were escalating, it felt safer than staying.
“Your cardigan’s still here.”
Bea blinked. “What?”
“You forgot it last week.” He set the glass down. “It’s in my closet.”
Her steps slowed. “Your closet?”
Gage tilted his head. “Go look.”
She hesitated, then nodded once and turned down the hall.
She’d seen his closet before. Only a glimpse. But this was different.
Entering his room. Where he slept. Where he undressed. Where he lived. It felt…intimate.
She flicked on the light.
Everything was as she expected it would be. Rows of tailored suits. Crisp shirts. Leather belts and polished shoes. Watches lined up in perfect order. The sharp, expensive smell of his cologne lingering faintly in the air.
And there, between his neatly folded sweaters, a small, light pink swath of fabric. She reached out, fingers brushing over the material. It was freshly washed. Placed there on purpose. Kept like it belonged to the space, and to him. Bea stared at it. Processing.
She felt him before she saw him. His reflection caught in the mirror—shoulder against the doorframe. “Find what you were looking for?” His voice was low.
Bea glanced back, tried for something light. “You could’ve just given it back.”
“Could’ve,” he echoed. But they both knew he wouldn’t have.
She looked down at the cardigan, smoothing her hand over it again. Soft. Familiar. She could take it. Pretend it meant nothing. Pretend she didn’t see what this was.
“You gonna leave it?” Gage asked. Quieter now. Closer. Like he already knew the answer, but wanted her to feel it.
Bea’s breath caught. She could feel him behind her. The heat of him, the weight of him. The unspoken challenge in the space between them.
Her fingers closed around the hem.
Just take it. Put it in your bag. Go.
But she didn’t.
Slowly, deliberately, she let it go. Left it exactly where he’d put it.
Gage didn’t have to say a word. Satisfaction settled into the room.
He moved behind her, unhurried, his hand sliding to her hip, fingers pressing enough to hold her there.
Their eyes met in the mirror. She caught the shift of his chest as he breathed, the subtle strain against his shirt making something inside her clench, hot and helpless, low in her stomach.
She felt him lean in, his mouth brushing the side of her neck. Slow. Possessive. Her pulse hammered.
Bea’s lips parted, body swayed. And when she turned her face toward him, it was all the invitation he needed.
He kissed her. Hard. One hand tangled in her sweater, the other skimming her neck, guiding her into him.
She was choosing to leave something behind. On purpose.
And soon, it wouldn’t just be her cardigan.