Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Bea was nothing if not a glass-half-full kind of girl.
Georgina would be back from Europe on Saturday, returning to their shared on-campus apartment in Mayfield Hall. Classes at St. Ives resumed Monday.
That gave Bea six nights with Gage. She wasn’t going to waste them pouting.
A rhythm had settled between them, one that hadn’t needed discussion. It almost felt like a life, or the rehearsal for one.
Bea wandered into the kitchen first, hair still damp, the scent of green tea curling into the air, steeping as she read over her notes.
Gage would come out from the bedroom around twenty minutes later, dressed, tie slung around his neck, jacket folded over his arm.
He always glanced at her mug and then at her plate, checking that she’d eaten something.
“You need more protein,” he murmured one morning, dropping a soft-boiled egg beside her toast before tightening his tie. “Steak tonight. Sweet potatoes. Kale.”
“Are you meal-shaming me, King?”
“Sweetheart,” he said dryly, “you’re anemic.”
She wrinkled her nose, recalling that Gage was her official medical contact now, and that he and her doctor had become allies in the campaign to monitor her iron levels.
He normally drove to his office, but when she’d suggested they could walk, just as she’d been doing from the pool house, he’d agreed without comment.
So every morning, they left together. Gage in tailored suits, Bea in work dresses and flats, carrying her heels in her bag.
His guards trailed a few paces behind, discreet but always present.
He walked her just outside the Monaghan the kind that told you something good was happening in the kitchen.
“She really did it,” Georgina Ashcroft said, half in awe, half in disbelief. She stood in the middle of the apartment with her sunglasses still on top of her blond head and a full suitcase untouched by the door. “You cooked. Like, with fire.”
“With actual ingredients,” Bea said proudly, pulling a hot pan off the stovetop. The apartment smelled like Seoul street food on a summer night—sizzling beef, caramelized onions, and fermented chili paste bubbling low in the pan.
“Smells like heaven,” Lillian Clarke said dreamily, slipping out of her shoes by the door. She was tanned from her time back home in Melbourne, freckles more pronounced, long braid a bit frizzier from the humidity. “And…home, I think. Someone’s home.”
Georgina peeled off her oversized linen blazer. “Has anything ever been cooked on the stove since Gage moved out?”
“I’ve made rice balls,” Bea mused. “But it depends if you count frying pre-marinated bulgogi strips as cooking.”
“You’ve made scrambled eggs for me before,” Lillian offered. “From scratch.”
Bea laughed.
There was a knock, and Georgina hurried to open the door. Hunter entered, broad-shouldered, eternally tan. He gave Georgie a kiss on the lips, like he hadn’t literally just gone downstairs to grab something for her from his car.
“You’re our chef tonight?” Hunter’s smile was warm.
“Don’t be impressed until you taste it,” Bea replied humbly.
“I don’t even know how to use a rice cooker,” Hunter admitted. “Have you always been into cooking?”
“Not until I realized Gage cooks better than me,” she replied. “But actually, I’ve enjoyed learning.”
Another knock. Sharper this time. But before anyone could move, the code beeped and the door opened.
“Gage,” Georgina called, half laughing, “you know you could wait like a normal person?”
“You should really change your passcode,” he said mildly, stepping inside. “It’s still the same as when I was living here.” His gaze tracked the space before settling on Bea. Then he moved forward, setting a bag of drinks on the counter. “Smells good.”
“Hope it tastes good,” Bea said with a crooked smile.
“You did this all by yourself?”
“I learned from Umma. This summer.”
“Three dishes?”
“That’s all we had time for.” She added a dash of sesame oil, then slid him a glance. “Came back early for some reason.”
“Worth it.” He placed a hand on her back. “Also, I might be able to trust you in my kitchen now.”
Georgina leaned toward Lillian and stage-whispered, “This is why I came back early. The flirting.”
Lillian giggled and held out a hand. “Should we set the table?”
The kitchen turned chaotic in the best way. Hunter pulling out bowls, Gage reaching for chopsticks, Lillian arranging side dishes. Georgina tried to sneak a bite of beef and got smacked on the wrist by Bea. The rice cooker hissed and clicked off in the corner.
Plates passed around. Someone poured sparkling water; another opened a bottle of plum wine. Bea sat back and took it in—friends she’d made in the UR, the man she loved, gathered around a meal she’d made. Something warm curled in her chest.
Gage picked up a piece of beef with his chopsticks. “How was the last day of the internship?”
“They offered me a part-time job going forward.”
The table stirred with quiet cheers and knowing smiles.
“Told you it’d fall into place when the time was right.” Georgie smirked. Bea stuck her tongue out at her.
She passed Gage the seaweed, and for a moment, her mind slipped back a few hours.
The tension of that final presentation still lingered in her muscles, like a residue.
It hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been a disaster, either.
Afterward, Catherine had stopped by her desk, all silk and spikes.
“I’m glad you pushed through to the end,” she’d said, glancing down at Bea’s now-empty desk. “At first I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
Rafael’s words had echoed in her chest. It’s a recruitment program. For women who are both a weapon and a gift.
“At first, I thought I was just lucky to be here. But then I realized…the UR doesn’t do charity.” Bea had looked at Catherine then, eyes steady. “I’m here because they need someone like me here, don’t they?”
Catherine didn’t reply. Bea’s heart had pounded, but it was the good kind. Though she hadn’t exactly won, she hadn’t walked out small. For now, that was enough.
“Congrats, Bea,” Lillian said. “You earned it.”
Bea turned to her, a smile at her lips. “Thanks.”
Her eyes caught Lillian’s. Quiet, hopeful. Waiting her turn.
Bea wanted to tell her, You’ll get your shot. That there was room here for girls like them. Instead, she passed her the soy sauce. Lillian already knew.