Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You’re home late,” Georgina called from her bed, flicking through her tablet. “Or early. Depends if you were aiming for scandal.”
Bea dropped her bag by the door. “Nothing scandalous. Just…delayed.”
She didn’t look up. “Gage?”
Bea shrugged. “Sort of. He followed me back. I drove his other car.”
That got her attention. Georgina sat up, tablet forgotten. “Which one? The Ferrari or the Porsche?”
“The Porsche,” Bea said. “It’s downstairs. I’m…borrowing it.”
Georgina let out a low whistle. “That’s not lending someone a book, Bea. That’s a statement.”
Her cheeks warmed. “He wanted me to have something safe.”
Georgina hummed, but the sound was edged, a blade wrapped in silk. “Mmm. Sure. Safe on the road. What about safe from him?” She studied Bea for a beat, then leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make it clear she wasn’t joking. “You’re in deep, you know that, right?”
Bea frowned. “It’s just a car.” But the words felt flimsy the second she said them.
“Nothing with Gage King is just anything.”
Bea didn’t have a response to that.
Then, realizing, Georgina perked up. “Wait. You passed?”
Bea nodded. “Finally.”
Georgina grinned. “Well, thank God for that. Some of those Ubers you were coming home in were embarrassing.”
Bea laughed. “Okay. Enough about me. You promised me Hunter gossip.”
“Oh, we’re doing this properly then.” Georgina tossed the tablet aside and patted the bed. “Come on.”
Bea climbed onto the other side, curling into the absurdly plush duvet.
Georgina’s room was glowing the way it always did—soft candlelight, linen and velvet, glass of rosé on the nightstand, half-eaten pastry on a gold tray.
It felt like falling into a magazine spread titled Effortlessly Perfect Women of St. Ives.
“So,” Bea prompted, propping her chin on her hand. “Hunter.”
Georgie groaned, collapsing back onto the pillows.
“The worst part is he’s perfect. Tall. Gorgeous.
Actually funny. Makes reservations without checking if I’m free because he assumes, correctly, that I’ll clear my schedule.
House in The Lakes. Already dropping hints about summer weekends out there. It’s a nightmare.”
Bea blinked. “Sounds…tolerable?”
Georgina sighed, stretching luxuriously against the pillows. “It’s dangerous. Eighteen months left, and then the clock starts ticking.” She waved a hand. “The countdown begins. Tick tock.”
Bea smiled softly. She’d heard this before, but it still felt foreign. “Are you sure that’s what’s going to happen?”
Georgina shrugged, like it was obvious. “Of course. After college, you marry well, build something amazing. That’s the whole point.” She exhaled, unbothered, perfectly at ease. “I just want to enjoy this figuring-it-out part as long as possible. Keep my options open.”
She said it so easily. Like marriage wasn’t a question mark or a distant goal, but an inevitability.
Not just expected. Wanted.
Bea glanced down, twisting the edge of the duvet between her fingers. Back home, marriage was something people joked about in university, a distant concept reserved for someday. Here, everyone was already mapping it out.
It was a milestone. And a prize.
“Hunter is exactly the type who’d propose on graduation night and expect me to spend the summer touring wedding venues,” Georgie continued. “He’s practically monogramming my initials already.”
“So why keep seeing him?”
“Because he’s fun. And hot. And I like the way he orders wine.” She smirked. “And because I’m better at this than he is. He thinks he’s managing me. He isn’t.”
Bea tilted her head. “Doesn’t it get exhausting? The managing?”
“Bea. This entire country is exhausting. The men were bred to acquire things. They don’t do casual. Not with cars. Not with property. And definitely not with women.” Georgie gave her a look. “So you have to make sure you’re choosing. Not just getting chosen.”
Bea considered that. “No pressure or anything.”
Georgina laughed. Then, more thoughtful now, “You know, there’s no such thing as a powerless woman in this country. Only the ones who don’t know how to use it.”
“Is that what you want?” Bea wondered. “Power?”
Her lips curved. “It’s not about what I want.
It’s about what already is.” She tipped her head, voice smooth but honed with something sharper.
“This country depends on women to marry, to have children, to give men something to fight for.” Her bright blue eyes met Bea’s.
“In a world like that, who do you think really holds the advantage?”
Georgie let her sit with that, let the weight of it press down.
Bea ran her fingers over the duvet, tracing invisible patterns. Georgina didn’t just exist within the system. She shaped it. She saw the game for what it was, played it deftly, and made sure the rules always bent in her favor.
Silence permeated, pulsing with meaning—heavy and, for Bea, slowly crystallizing.
Just as the moment threatened to linger too long, Georgina’s expression went from lofty, to wicked. “Anyway. Have you finally admitted you want him yet?”
Bea gnawed the inside of her cheek. “You mean Gage?” She managed a laugh. “I’m with him. Obviously, I want him.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Bea schooled her expression to neutral. She smoothed the duvet a little too precisely.
“You’re squirming,” Georgie observed.
“I’m not—”
“You totally are.” Georgina practically vibrated with glee, like she’d been gifted an all-access pass to the mess that was Bea’s self-control.
Of course she wanted him. Wanted him in ways that had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with the way he looked at her, how he touched her. Apparently now even the simple drag of his throat when he took a sip of water was enough to make her delirious with desire for him.
Georgina reached over for her wineglass and took a slow sip, watching Bea like a particularly fascinating science experiment. “How’s he handling it?”
Bea dithered. “He’s…fine.”
She snorted. “Yeah right. You really think my cousin is just fine with this? With you?”
Bea opened her mouth. Closed it.
Because…no. Gage wasn’t fine. He was composed. He was controlled. But he was not fine.
She’d seen it. The way his shoulders locked when she touched him, however lightly. The pulse in his temple ticking when they said goodnight and she walked away. The way his gaze darkened after they kissed. She was pretty sure he knew how close she was to breaking.
But he wasn’t pushing. He was absorbing it. Taking it in, tucking it away, letting it simmer slow under that self-possessed exterior of his. Because that’s how he operated.
Gage King didn’t lose control. He just waited for the exact moment it was his.
Bea closed her eyes, the confession slipping out before she could stop it. “I’m scared of how much I want him.” When she opened her eyes, Georgina’s brows practically shot to her hairline.
“This has to be one of the things he loves about you. You’re so delightfully honest.”
Bea balked. “I didn’t mean to say that.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, as if she could shove the words back in. “I’m blaming the wine.”
Georgina grinned. “Well at least we know you’re both losing it.”
“It’s not a good thing, Georgie.” Bea sighed grievously. “I don’t love him yet.”
“That part probably drives him insane,” Georgina agreed.
“Do you think he’ll keep waiting?”
“No one’s ever accused Gage of impatience. When we were kids, I used to think he could out-silence a statue.” Georgie issued a laugh. “All things considered, and now the car too? I’d say your chances are good.”
Bea nodded, thankful for the reassurance. It was embarrassing how much of it she seemed to need. Was everyone this unbalanced in their first real relationship?
Georgina took another long sip, then set down her glass of rosé on the nightstand. “I gotta warn you though—the second you decide you’re ready? That patience of his is going to snap. And then you’ll see exactly what kind of man my cousin really is.”
GAGE
Gage drove his fist into the bag.
A clean, vicious hit. The sound cracked through the empty gym, sharp and precise. The bag rocked back, chain groaning overhead. He didn’t wait for it to settle before striking again. And again. Control layered over the frustration burning beneath his skin.
Discipline. Patience. Endurance.
He’d been raised on those words. Drilled into him by his father, by this place, by the quiet, brutal expectations of men like them. He might be heir to a crown, but it came at a cost. He had to be worthy of it. Earn it, every day. Hold the weight without ever letting the burden of it show.
He had tried to approach this thing with Bea with that philosophy. She’d told him sex was for love. He’d told her he could wait. And he could. But it was fraying him at the edges.
Another punch. Harder. His knuckles stung from the contact, a bright, sharp ache that barely touched the burn under his ribs. He welcomed it. Because if he wasn’t thinking about the bag, he was thinking about her.
The way her eyes lingered too long. How she leaned into him without realizing. How her breath hitched when he got too close. She wanted him. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if she loved him. She didn’t fully trust him yet. And that meant he had nothing.
Love wasn’t mere sentiment, not here. It was permission, and about three-fifths of a contract. Without it, he didn’t own a damn thing.
The next hit landed too hard. His wrist snapped back at a bad angle, sharp pain jolting through bone. He exhaled through his teeth, flexing his fingers, shaking it off. The pain was good. Kept him anchored.
Kept him from thinking about how much he wanted to put his hands on her in a completely different way.
“Well, shit.”
Gage slowed. Adjusted the bag with one hand, rolling out his wrist.
Nate West was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching like he’d been there long enough to enjoy the show. “You trying to kill the bag or just yourself?”
Gage wiped his face with a towel, rolling his shoulders back until the tension cracked down his spine. “Training.”
“For what? War?”
Ignoring him, Gage reached for his water.
Nate stayed exactly where he was. Watching. Waiting.
Gage took a slow sip. “I’m fine.”
Nate let out a quiet laugh, the kind that said try selling that to someone else.
A silence settled. Heavy. Weighted.
Then Nate pushed off the wall, stepping in close enough that Gage’s jaw ticked in warning.
“Since all our deals are going well, I’m assuming it’s Bea that’s got you this twisted up.”
Gage exhaled sharply, jaw flexing once.
“She’s already yours,” Nate assured him. Cool. Certain. “You know that.”
Gage unwrapped the tape from his knuckles with slow, exact movements. “Do I?”
Nate studied him for a beat. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be this careful.”
Gage’s gaze cut sharp and cold. “Careful?”
“Yeah.” Nate gave him a humorless smile. “You could have solved your particular problem ten ways by now. And here you are. Holding back. Killing yourself over it.”
That was the truth, wasn’t it? He could’ve persuaded. Seduced. But the one thing he wanted—really wanted—was still standing on the edge, deciding whether or not to jump.
And he couldn’t push her. Couldn’t risk it. Not with her.
Nate watched him. Then guessed, “She’s innocent. Or close enough. Yeah?”
Gage continued to roll out his wrist, stretching against the tension coiled in his muscles. No point confirming what they both knew.
“So let’s say she is. Now picture that. A girl who’s barely been touched…and her first is Gage King? You don’t think that scares the shit out of her?”
His jaw flexed.
“Because it should,” Nate went on. “She’s smart. And if she’s talked to any woman raised here, she knows exactly what happens the second she stops running.”
Crickets.
Then Nate clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to break the moment, not enough to shake him.
“So relax.” A shrewd smirk. “The deal’s already done. Just give the girl a minute to pull herself together.”
He gave one slow nod.
“Atta boy.” Nate glanced at his wrist. “Come on. You need a drink. And ice for that wrist.”
Gage stood. Rolled his shoulders back until everything inside him felt like steel again. Then he walked out, knowing she could never outrun him.