Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The smell hit her first. Cinnamon and dark sugar. Some kind of burnt-butter glaze. Normally it would have her reaching for her wallet. Not today.
Bea froze just inside Fig’s Fable, phone clutched like it might explain the last month of her life.
And there, near the back, in a pink-and-red-striped maxi dress and white stilettos, every inch the political wife, sat Naomi Prescott. It explained the suited bodyguard by the door and the one a few paces behind her. Bea’s palms went damp.
Naomi saw her.
Bea wanted to bolt.
Instead, she walked over, hands fisting and unfisting at her sides. Naomi didn’t move, just watched her with an unreadable expression.
When she was a foot away, Naomi stood.
The silence stretched.
“I should’ve called,” Bea said quietly.
“You think?”
Half of Naomi’s curls were tied back, her makeup was subtle, and there were pearls in her ears. Bea, in contrast, looked like she’d just gotten off a transpacific red-eye. Which was accurate, both literally and emotionally.
Bea tried to find more words. Naomi beat her to it.
“You missed my wedding,” she said calmly.
Bea’s stomach dropped through the floor. “I know.” Her voice cracked. “Naomi, I’m sorry.”
“I had to replace you in the photos.”
“I put you in that position,” Bea said miserably.
“You know what that did to the symmetry?”
“I’m so, so—wait, the symmetry?”
Naomi’s brown eyes gleamed. “I mean, obviously I still looked phenomenal. But do you know how hard it was to find a brunette who fit your dress with the right cheekbones in under seventy-two hours?”
Bea made a strangled sound. “You’re joking?”
“Barely.” Then Naomi pulled her in, hard.
Bea’s throat burned. She hugged back.
“I was going to fly out to Toronto,” Naomi said near Bea’s ear. “Charles had to talk me out of it. Said if you needed space, we should give it to you. But I was ready to kill you.”
“I would’ve deserved it,” Bea whispered as they pulled back.
“I mean you didn’t deserve death,” Naomi allowed. “But I needed you.”
Bea’s chest tightened, tears spilling from where they’d welled in her eyes. She had no answer that didn’t feel small.
“And I should’ve been there,” she said, sniffling. “I just…couldn’t. I knew if I showed up, everyone would know. And I couldn’t explain it over and over, not on a day that was supposed to be happy, not at your wedding…”
Naomi blinked back tears, sank into the seat, and motioned for Bea to do the same.
“I ran to Canada like a coward.”
“You ran to Canada like a human,” Naomi corrected.
“Bey, I wasn’t mad because you left. You and Gage…
of course you were hurting. I was mad because I missed you.
My wedding would’ve been more fun with you there.
” A pause, then a sneaky little grin. “And because I was hoping to con you into singing during the reception.”
Bea laughed, rubbing her sleeves across her cheeks. Just like that, the awkwardness vanished.
A soft sound made her glance over. Lillian had appeared, hovering a few paces away like a polite ghost holding pastries. Bea had begged her to come, but she’d insisted on waiting in their apartment across the street until Bea and Naomi had at least a few minutes of privacy.
Bea tipped her a small, conspiratorial nod.
Lils crossed over, accepting the hug Naomi stood to give her. They both sat.
“Everyone alive?” Lillian joked lightly, sliding an assortment of croissants onto the table.
“For now.” Naomi picked up an almond one and ripped off a corner. “Ask me again after tonight’s fundraiser.”
Her husband, Charles, was political royalty. From what Lillian had told Bea, he was working as a leader in the youth caucus, already lining up his run for the Second Chamber, the UR’s lower house, in the next election in four years.
“Are you enjoying the political life?” Bea asked.
“We only got a two-week honeymoon in the Maldives before Charles was called back to work,” Naomi said, rolling her eyes. “But living in Westhelm is nicer than I expected. The only drawbacks are that everyone living there is in politics, and it’s two and a half hours from you guys.”
“That’s practically exile,” Lillian said, starting on a chocolate croissant. “We’ll never see you anymore.”
“You will,” Naomi said firmly. “We’ll be in Northgate every couple of months for fundraisers and society things. And you’ll have to come visit me. I’ll show you the cliffs, the markets, we could even tour the Meridian if you’re into that kind of thing.”
The Meridian was the official seat of power in the UR. Bea had seen it in photos: domed, encircled in glass, almost otherworldly.
The women kept chatting, and between Naomi and Lillian the three pastries were mostly devoured.
When the conversation lulled, Naomi’s gaze came back to her. “So. Canada. Did it help?”
Bea tore a piece of napkin between her fingers. “It was…quiet. I spent time with my parents and Claire. Cooked, read, walked in the snow.”
It sounded wholesome enough, like something that should fix a person. But the knot in her chest had barely shifted.
Bea’s fingernail traced the grooves in the wooden table. “Thought I’d come back feeling stronger.”
“And?” Naomi asked.
“Turns out walking around the block doesn’t solve everything.” If it did, she would’ve circled the neighborhood until her boots fell apart.
Naomi’s eyes narrowed in that way that made Bea feel instantly under review. “You’ve dropped weight.”
“Just a little,” Bea said quickly. “It’s nothing.”
Lillian leaned forward, always sensitive to landmines. “How’d your parents take the news?”
“They understood. They liked him, but agreed I wasn’t ready.” And really, who wouldn’t like Gage? But even Bea’s parents had sensed the certainty hadn’t reached all the way down. “They were a little worried about a potential media storm, though.”
She’d checked her phone every morning, bracing for her name to appear in some glossy headline. Its continued absence was a mercy, especially for someone as naturally averse to media attention as Bea.
“Victoria would’ve had the PR ready either way your relationship went,” Naomi said, referring to Gage’s highly effective assistant. “And she would’ve known Gage wanted it plugged tight.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” And Naomi would know these things, especially now. “He didn’t let the media feed on you while you were dating, and he wouldn’t let them be vultures after.”
The ache in her chest was sudden and immediate. There it was again. The pain. The kind that didn’t break you, just made you ache more for having been loved well.
How do you grieve someone who keeps being good to you?
Naomi glanced at the time and sighed. “I have to go, ladies.” She stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress.
“Take care,” Lillian said.
Naomi gave Bea and the leftover pastries a pointed look. “You weren’t wrong to choose yourself, Bey. Keep doing that, okay? Start by eating something.”
Bea’s throat tightened once more. “I’ll try.”
RAFAEL
The land had been stubborn.
Dense trees, tangled undergrowth, and roots that ran wide as ship ropes, snarled under every inch of ground. The crews had cleared it in two weeks, half the time quoted, because he’d paid enough to make the plans bend to his will. Eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.
Most people built homes of this scale in two years or more. He wanted this one standing in twelve months.
The neighbors close enough to notice would call that timeline impossible. He’d grown up watching his father turn empty lots into houses and towers. He knew how long concrete took to cure, how weather could kill a deadline, and how to make a project run whether the conditions liked it or not.
Obstacles didn’t deter him. They marked the places worth conquering.
The lot had sat on the market for years before Rafael bought it a year and a half ago. Ten acres of prime beachfront choked with protected flora and a turtle-nesting site at the far end. The kind of property most people walked away from once they saw the zoning maps.
“You’re ahead of schedule,” Maxwell Mercer said, stepping over a coil of electrical line to meet him.
Rafael clasped his hand. “Not enough.”
They’d been friends since middle school, back when the Griffin name hadn’t meant much in the classroom except when they’d gotten in trouble for fighting at lunch.
Now Max was a lawyer in his father’s firm.
They handled the kinds of contracts and disputes for Griffin Ventures that required both precision and nerve, like negotiating development rights around endangered trees and wildlife corridors.
“Southern half’s clear,” Max said, passing him the folder. “We can build right through. Northern side…we’re still talking to the environmental board. Think you can work with five acres?”
“It’ll do for now,” Rafael said dryly. “Thanks.”
They moved toward the edge of the foundation. From there, Rafael could see the curve of the bay, the deep green of the headland. He’d already decided which wall would hold the fireplace, where the master balcony would catch the first light over the water. Where the library would be.
Max followed his gaze, taking a sip from a coffee cup. “Big place for one man.”
Enormous for one. Which was exactly the point; he had no intention of living in it alone.
A slow set of footsteps crunched the gravel behind them. “When you said the next move was yours,” Laurent Duret drawled, “I thought you meant a dinner reservation. Not a beachside fortress.”
Rafael didn’t look away from the view. “Think it’s too much?”
Laurent came up beside him, gaze sweeping the bay, blond hair glinting in the sun. “I think you’re a cocky bastard, considering she’s not yours yet.”
“Who’s she?” Max asked.
Rafael let the question hang for a beat. “You’ll meet her soon enough.”
Laurent rocked back on his heels. “If you’re going to make a move, you might want to do it before the rest of the field gets bold.”
“She’s not ready,” Rafael said, crossing his arms. “They’ll know to keep their distance until she is.”