Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
RAFAEL
The tide was louder in winter. Rafael noticed it most in the early morning, when the house was quiet and the sea sounded like it was arguing with the shore.
By the time he’d finally closed the Malaysia issue for good and returned home, he’d found his wife sound asleep, hair across his pillow. Rafael had a strong aversion to nights that ended this way, and lately there had been too many of them.
She’d spent the entire day living inside his head, particularly after the messages halfway through the afternoon that had sent his blood pressure through the roof.
LITTLE BEA: Oliver reached out again.
RAFAEL: Ignore him.
LITTLE BEA: I already replied.
LITTLE BEA: I told him I’m considering the interview.
He’d stood there longer than he should have, debating whether waking her would be welcome or deeply unpopular. He’d slid into bed and drawn her against him. Bea tucked herself back into his chest automatically, still out.
Now he stood on the terrace outside their bedroom, legs beneath his running shorts taking the bite of the July wind. He watched the waves break against the sand, mug of coffee cooling in his hand. The sky was pale blue over the water, the smell of eucalyptus drifting from the hill beside the house.
The door slid open behind him.
“Good morning.” Bea’s voice, but neutral. Careful.
Rafael turned, sipped. “Morning.”
She was wrapped in a fluffy pink robe that fell past her knees, feet encased in Ugg boots, hair freshly brushed. She looked soft. Domestic. Disarming.
And currently the most infuriating woman in the United Republic of Westhaven.
She approached slowly, like someone stepping toward a dog that might bite. Rafael set his coffee down on the wide stone railing. He waited until she was within reach, closed the last step, and lifted her onto it. The small gasp she made improved his mood slightly.
“Time for that conversation.”
She nodded once. Her spine straightened like someone preparing for cross-examination.
Rafael took a step back. He searched for the fastest way to shut this down. “Oliver Fox came for you because of my family. Twenty years ago he needed an exclusive interview to save his primetime slot. He asked my parents for it after Valeria passed.”
Bea frowned. “And they didn’t give it to him.”
“No. The network replaced him within the year.”
“Do you think he blames them?” she asked, brushing her hair from her face where the wind kept lifting it.
“He’s been watching GV ever since. Waiting.”
Bea spoke like she was thinking out loud. “When I spoke to him before the wedding, I told him I watched his show.”
“Canadian, sweet, popular without inviting it, and a fan.” Rafael ticked each off on his fingers. He watched the realization dawn. “From his perspective, you’re the door.”
Bea’s face was expressive. Rafael watched her emotions travel across it in real time—disbelief first, then a quick flash of embarrassment, and finally outrage.
Good. She understood.
“So clearly the interview is off the table.”
Bea’s brows shot up. “Wait. Hear me out.”
“No.”
The word hit the air like a crack of lightning.
Bea pulled the tie of her robe tighter. “You said this was going to be a conversation. ‘No’ is literally the opposite of hearing me out.”
Rafael shoved the sleeves of his training jacket up his forearms, the motion abrupt. His body was already heating up. She was calm, which meant her argument was already loaded. “I’m saving us both time.”
She planted both hands on the rail. “That line is significantly more annoying coming from a husband than a boss.”
“When it comes to you, I’m both.”
Bea opened her mouth. Closed it again. He felt her ire rise like heat off asphalt. She was small, but something in her dark eyes said she was calculating whether she could throw him over the railing. “That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“You’re asking me to sit there while a man who tried to blackmail you puts you under studio lights and invites the world to dissect you.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she asked evenly. “That I would walk in unprepared?”
“I know you’d be prepared. You prepare for everything. But he’s been doing this longer and he’d be careful.”
Bea shook her head. “I researched. His numbers in the past couple of years have been collapsing. Viewership, sponsorships, social traction. He’s bleeding now.”
Of course she had. She was a regular Enola Holmes.
“He needs this interview,” she continued. “That’s why he risked coming to the UR in the first place. He’ll agree to any terms we set.”
“Between GV, Dao Strategic Forensics, and the Ministry, we can get most of what you want. Fox ends and we publish the evidence online.”
“It won’t get the views,” Bea said immediately. “I’m the carrot.”
She wanted to be bait.
Somewhere in Rafael’s lower back, a muscle seized in response as his mind skipped straight to the ending of that plan.
Bait was the part of the trap that got eaten.
“Since our engagement announcement, we’ve had two dozen interview offers a week. The world wants me to say something. Which means we’ll get way more attention that way and it’ll spread faster.”
True.
He didn’t say it.
“‘Silence invites fiction.’ Those were your words, remember?”
Rafael had the sudden urge to go back in time and gag his past self.
Bea’s hair whipped around her face, cheeks flushed from the cold air. “We let Fox think he’s bringing them my story. Instead we’ll give the world his.”
Her robe slipped open at the collar, silk visible underneath. A distraction he didn’t need while she was winning the disagreement with a spectacularly bad idea.
“So your proposal,” he said slowly, “is that I should hand my wife over as the lure for the entire world so a desperate man can have the spotlight.”
“Yes.” Bea nodded. “Exactly.”
The audacity might have been admirable if it weren’t directed at him. His pulse kicked hard enough to echo in his ears. “Fuck no.”
Her expression turned mulish. “I want your protection. Not your permission.”
The words hit something volatile in his chest. The answer rose instantly.
I forbid it.
He held it behind his teeth, barely.
“You’re drawing a distinction this country doesn’t recognize.” He stepped into her space, one hand braced on the stone on either side of her hips. Close enough for his body to remember exactly what it had been denied. “You know better than that, little wife.”
Her entire body went rigid. “So do you, large husband.”
The urge arrived fully formed. Pick her up. Carry her back inside. End the argument with his body instead of his mouth.
It would work. He nearly did it.
Instead, Rafael reached into his pocket.
Bea followed the movement. Her eyes widened. Then promptly narrowed.
Her forefinger poked directly into his sternum. “Oh my—Rafael Griffin if you try to invoke a Christmas coupon to override my argument, you’re sleeping in the pool house for a month.”
“This voucher book was legally issued.” He flipped to the page.
One Free Pass to Win an Argument
“Don’t,” she growled.
Rafael slowly looked up. Bea met his gaze without flinching. The terrace went quiet around them except for the rustle of trees and the thunder of the tide. Neither of them moved.
He didn’t need the damn voucher.
Bea wasn’t pleading. She wasn’t even arguing anymore. She was just watching him, waiting to see how he’d use the power in his hands.
“This isn’t your fight,” Rafael muttered. “Fox’s resentment is against the Griffins. You don’t need to get into the ring.”
Her plan was reckless, which she never was. Public, which she avoided like the plague.
It would also work. He knew it. And so did she. One of the occupational hazards of marrying a very clever woman.
Then she said the one thing he couldn’t argue with: “I’m a Griffin, too.”
The interview was happening.