Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“…and your Auntie Linda is still claiming she only danced on the table once,” Papa was saying through the video call.
Bea stretched out along the sun-warmed cushions on the terrace, tucking one bare foot beneath the other. The Aegean glittered in sharp shards of blinding light.
Behind her, the sliding doors to their Bodrum hotel suite stood open, gauzy curtains breathing in and out with the sea breeze. On the small table to her right sat the welcome fruit tray the hotel had sent up: white peaches, cherries, honey-split figs, pistachios.
“Papa, it absolutely happened twice.” Bea picked up a fig, the purple skin soft beneath her fingers, and bit into the cool sweetness. “I saw the replay. Georgie has video, because she was on the table, too.”
“Outrageous,” Papa declared. Then, lowering his voice, “Make sure you send us copies.”
Bea laughed, tilting the phone slightly to cut the glare bouncing off the sea. After three weeks of honeymoon bliss, Bea was very happy, alarmingly tanned, and if she were honest, slightly exhausted.
Some of that was the travel. Most of it was her husband.
They’d dropped anchor in ports she’d never heard of, swam in water so clear she could see individual corals. They’d return to reality in one more week, but she’d already gone too long without calling her parents.
“And Halmoni?” she asked. “Has she forgiven Rafael yet for the shirt buttons?”
“Your halmoni told the church ladies he is ‘a tall tree with good roots.’ That’s high praise,” Papa reported. “She wants you to confirm whether he sleeps on his stomach.”
Bea grinned and shifted the cushion behind her back.
“You can assure her he doesn’t.” She’d known that already, of course.
Rafael would have to release her to manage that and he was a dedicated spooner.
And since she’d only just become a wife, as far as Halmoni was concerned this was brand-new information to both of them.
“Speaking of your husband, where is he?” Umma appeared beside Papa, and set down a toasted slice of bread with crushed tomato and olive oil, and a steaming coffee. He held her hand briefly in thanks.
Bea glanced toward the terrace edge. She couldn’t see them from where she sat, but she knew there were rows of white yachts rocking lazily in the marina below. “He went to check out Lucian Stratton’s new yacht.”
“Good man, Stratton,” Papa said, gulping his coffee. He’d met Lucian twice, once before Bea and Rafael were even official, at an evening with Rafael’s father. Those men could carry a conversation about boats until the tides changed.
“We’re having dinner with him and his wife Natalie later,” Bea told them.
She’d first heard whispers about Natalie as though the woman were the center of St. Ives folklore: gorgeous, rich, wild, and gone for good.
Marrying one of the UR’s shipping magnates had been an unexpected plot twist. “They’re expecting their first baby, though, so she naps in the afternoons. ”
“The artist, yes?” Umma asked, sitting down with her bowl of gyeran bap, which was basically leftover rice and a fried egg topped with soy sauce and sesame seeds. Bea’s mouth watered. That was the breakfast of champions.
“Artist and art curator.” Bea noticed a sudden shadow pass behind the dining room curtain. “Is that one of your bodyguards outside?”
Umma sighed. “Yes.”
“Have any reporters bothered you?”
“Not really, and even if they tried, no one could get close enough to actually speak to us,” Umma reported wryly.
“Rafael hired enough men that if anyone remotely unfamiliar starts down the street, they’re stopped.
Our neighbor’s cousin from Quebec tried to stroll over yesterday and was questioned halfway up the block. ”
Bea let out a quiet breath of gratitude for the boundaries the United Republic had enforced for decades. The foreign press learned long ago that probing too far into its citizens’ private lives came with consequences, and that radius of protection spilled over to immediate family who lived abroad.
“I hope it stays that way,” Bea said.
“Me too.” Umma caught some runny egg yolk with her spoon.
“I appreciate having security is the lesser evil,” Papa said, sipping his coffee. “But life’s strange when there are men following you to the grocery store.”
Her chest tugged at that. A little bit of guilt. “Sorry, Papa, Umma. Just bear with it a little longer.”
“Don’t apologize, mija.” Papa crunched the final bit of his toast. “It’s not all bad. I got a couple of them to help me move the shed. They lifted it like it was cardboard.”
“Your papa likes them more than he admits,” Umma said, touching his arm affectionately.
Papa huffed but didn’t deny it.
“You could always move to the UR,” Bea offered. “Paparazzi leave people alone there. The rules are much stricter.”
Both of her parents shook their heads.
“Maybe someday,” Umma said gently. “But not yet. We won’t be chased out of our home by a handful of curious strangers.”
Bea sighed, disappointed, even though she had known that would be the answer.
“Rafael must be waiting for you. We’ll let you go, my baby,” Umma said. “Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.”
“Call again soon,” Papa added.
“I will. I love you.”
The line clicked off. Bea stared at the phone, picking at the stem of a cherry from the fruit tray, then tapped another name.
It rang.
And rang.
Still ringing.
“Pick up,” she muttered.
The sixth ring finally did it.
Claire appeared with a chaotic bun and the expression of someone who had slept badly but found it funny. “Beya Slaya,” she drawled. “How’s the honeymoon?”
Bea sat upright so fast the cushion slid. “Are you kidding? That’s how you greet me?”
Claire blinked.
“I have been trying to reach you for two weeks,” Bea reprimanded, swinging her legs off the lounge. “Two. Weeks. Are you alive? Have you joined a cult? Do you need rescuing?”
Claire rubbed her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s been weird.”
She folded her arms. The attempt at anger lasted about three seconds. “The breakup?”
Claire’s mouth twisted sideways. “Yeah.”
Bea stood and began pacing. “You dropped two emotional nuclear bombs on me and then disappeared after the wedding.”
Claire winced. “I know.”
Bea pulled at the ends of her hair. “Start talking.”
“What should I start with?”
“Marco.”
Claire’s lips folded inward. Then she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
Bea stared at the screen like someone had just slapped her with a wet fish. “You didn’t…sleep with Marco? In over a year?”
Claire nodded without uncovering her face.
“Oh.” Her brain scrambled to rearrange everything she’d assumed about Claire and Marco. “That’s…I mean…it’s totally fine, if you didn’t want to.”
“You can say it.” She lowered her hand finally. “It wasn’t normal.”
“In some circles it’s normal,” Bea maintained, dropping back onto the lounge. “Like for our Christian Korean friends.”
“Mmm. Because I’m so religious.” Claire’s tone was sardonic.
“Okay fine probably not because of that,” Bea acknowledged. “You didn’t love him?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Bea hesitated. “Or was it…Claire Bear, was it about your parents?”
She took a long, shaky breath. Her voice was small. “I think so.”
Claire’s parents had had her late, after three sons and two careers that already filled their lives. She’d once shared that she’d been conceived even though her umma was on the Pill. She was loved. Technically. Just never quite the center of anyone’s plans.
And that had left her with a fear she’d never shaken: how easily a moment of intimacy could become a life no one meant to create.
“I…get anxious,” Claire whispered. “I’d want to, and we’d get close, and then the panic would hit. I’d freeze up and push him away.”
“Claire Bear.”
“It happened so many times he finally got angry and called me…a cock tease,” Claire admitted. “So I started taking anxiety medication to see if it helped.”
“Did it?”
She shook her head. “My body doesn’t tolerate them well. It reduces the anxiety, but the side effects are worse. One time I just…collapsed.”
Collapsed.
Claire had been collapsing somewhere in Toronto while Bea had been off falling in love. Getting married. Sailing around the Mediterranean like life was a postcard.
Her best friend had been alone with this.
I should have noticed.
Bea pressed her palm to her mouth, chest squeezing painfully, wishing she could reach through the screen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What could you have done?” Claire’s voice broke a little at the end. “You weren’t here. You had London, the breakup, and then Rafael.”
I should have asked.
“But I could have just been there for you. Or at least listened.”
Claire sniffed, pressing her sleeve to her eyes.
“It would have been better with you here,” she confessed.
She cleared her throat once. A second time.
Then she forced a small smile. “But that’s going to change.
Rafael obviously won’t let you move back now, so you’re going to have to get used to me being in the UR. ”
That was clearly the end of the crying. Bea knew better than to press for now. She dabbed at her nose with a napkin, then crushed it in her fist.
“When are you coming?” she asked, reaching blindly for a peach. “Please tell me it’s soon.”
“I mean, I’ve already passed the interviews and assessments.”
“Even the personality one?” Bea joked.
“Shocking, I know. I must have been mildly sedated that day.”
She bit into it, juice dripping down her chin. “So it’s just the health tests left?”
Claire nodded, reaching for her hair brush. “Then I wait for the visa.”
“Okay, well I’ve already scoped all the best croissant spots and I’ll take you to every single one,” Bea promised. “Have you quit your job yet?”
“No way, not until everything’s confirmed. Do you know how hard it was to get into that graduate program?”
“Fair.”
“That being said, it’ll be nice not risking bumping into Marco every damn time the elevator doors open,” Claire muttered as she tied her hair back. “Remind me not to date another guy from the office, please.”
“Is he why you applied?”
“Not the only reason, but when things started going sideways, it accelerated my decision.” Claire’s mascara wand paused midair. “Does that sound…cowardly?”
“No way,” Bea said, chewing. “You’re not running away from him. You’re running toward something better.”
Claire snorted. “Nice try, Beya Slaya.”
Bea smiled, licked her sticky fingers. “So how long before you touch Westhaven soil again?”
“If everything goes normally, I’ll be in the Republic by Christmas.”
Perfect. Claire in the UR meant Bea could finally do the basic job description of best friend properly again.
Bea broke into a grin. “We are going to have so much fun.”
“I’m counting on it.” Claire rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Speaking of fun, I should get ready for work.”
Bea’s phone buzzed in her hand. Messages appeared in quick succession.
Claire squinted through the screen. “Are you blushing?”
RAFAEL: Walking back now baby
RAFAEL: We’ve still got half an hour before dinner
RAFAEL: I want you naked when I walk in
Claire’s mouth twitched. “Right. I’ll let you get to work.”