Chapter 25 #2
“Not really.” He eased his hand free so he could wipe a smudge of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb.
“Okay so it wasn’t Laurent.”
The corner of his mouth ticked. “No, it was from a man who believed I betrayed him.”
“Did you?”
He set his cup down. “Not the way he thinks.”
Bea studied him. This kind of quiet, the shared ordinary, felt as intimate as anything else between them.
She turned slightly in his lap, picked up another croissant from the plate, and held it near his mouth. “Share with me?”
He bit off the end she offered, his eyes not leaving hers. “Always.”
The McLaren purred up the drive of the Palazzo di Vetro, falling in with the stream of polished arrivals. Rafael bypassed the marble fountain and the crush of cameras, guiding the car toward the side entrance.
“We’re not doing the front entrance?” Bea asked.
Rafael glanced at her. “You don’t like the press. I arranged for the back.”
Relief washed through her. “Thank goodness.”
The rear entrance opened onto the ballroom itself, where rows of candlelit tables stretched beneath a glass dome ceiling. Waiters moved like a tide in black and white, trays flashing with champagne flutes. Guests leaned close in glittering clusters.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Rafael murmured, hand at her elbow. “Then we head in.”
She scanned the tables set near the side. Found the one with the Children’s Institute team. “Okay.” She slipped from his touch.
Lillian spotted her first, beaming. Adam rose automatically from his chair.
“You look incredible,” Bea gushed. Lillian looked like something out of an old film—Audrey Hepburn reincarnated in white floral and gloves, all grace and poise in one frame.
“So do you.” Lils hugged her. Bea’s gown was a deep emerald satin that made her look far more confident than she felt, with a slit high enough to make her rethink stairs.
Adam grinned. “He’s matching you,” he said, jerking his chin toward Rafael.
Bea groaned. “Do you think anyone won’t notice?”
“Anyone with…retinas?” Lillian teased.
Bea swatted her. “Everything ready? Do you need any help?”
“We’re good.”
“Make sure Griffin gives a decent speech and makes everyone’s donations worth it,” Adam joked.
“I’ve never seen him speak, so let’s pray he doesn’t swoon,” Bea returned.
“If he does, you can revive him.” Lillian squeezed her hand. “Anyway, you’d better go. Before your boss and boyfriend both come hunting.”
Bea gave them both a wave and made her way back to Rafael. His palm perched on the small of her back. “Ready?”
No.
But that hardly mattered. She’d already picked the dress and the man. She wasn’t ashamed of him. And yet her chest beat like she was walking toward judgment, every gaze a scale tipping one way or another.
It didn’t happen all at once.
Instead it was a progressive unfurling—recognition spreading like a tide. A glance here, a faltered word there, shoulders turning, the air thinning as they passed. The ripple of attention stalked them down the aisle of tables, subtle but inescapable.
Rafael had dressed himself in dark green to match her. Tailored across broad shoulders, long lines of muscle, still every inch the embodiment of masculinity. Not ostentatious. Not performative. But, evident to all, absolutely intentional.
Whispers rose just within earshot.
From King to Griffin?
It’s always the quiet ones.
Remember what happened at the Harvest Summit?
Every instinct begged her to shrink, to take up less space. Rafael’s stride never broke. His fingers at her back tightened fractionally, a subtle correction that said don’t. His gaze swept the tables as they passed, unbothered, before he interlaced her fingers in his.
Bea tried to subtly draw air into her starved lungs, and caught Laurent Duret watching.
He gave her a small, encouraging nod, and the knot in her stomach eased a fraction.
They were allies now. Beside him, Cassian Montenegro lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze.
The dark rims of his glasses caught the light as he assessed her, as if filing the conclusion away for later.
He didn’t look like a friend. More like a rival invited in on purpose.
Their table placard gleamed under candlelight: Reserved for Guests of Rafael Griffin.
As Bea approached, chairs scraped softly back. Every man at the table rose. Rafael drew out her chair, waited for her to sit, and only then did the others follow. Gallantry, UR-style.
She was introduced briefly to the other five people at the table. One of them was Max Mercer, Rafael’s old friend and now lawyer. She’d been right in her hunch at the pub. There were also four Griffin Ventures execs whose names blurred the second they were spoken.
Bea had only crossed paths with Cassian twice: once at Midnight instead, he was focused on her.
Rafael braced one hand against the wall beside her shoulder, close enough that the warmth of him erased everything else.
“Give me something,” he murmured.
“That depends what you’re asking for,” she whispered.
“I’m your assignment for the night, aren’t I? You’re supposed to make sure I perform well.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Pretty sure my boss wasn’t encouraging hands-on performance management.”
His eyes burned into hers. “Hands on, little Bea.”
They were almost in a public place, this was a terrible idea, and yet her hands still rose at his command and rested against the breadth of his shoulders.
The instant she touched him, he took her mouth.
Short, searing possession in the shape of a kiss.
She hung onto his jacket as the world blurred.
When he drew back, she was off-balance, and warm from her toes to her hairline.
“That’s what I needed,” he said, gratified. The emcee was announcing his name. He straightened the cuff of his jacket and strode forward like a man who’d been freshly armed.
The spotlight hit him and, honestly, it was rude. The dark green suit, the shoulders, the calm. Danger had gone shopping and found the perfect fit. Cameras flashed, and she was suddenly flustered about the possibility she’d left a faint lipstick stain where it didn’t belong.
He wouldn’t mind, but she would be mortified.
“Good evening,” Rafael began, voice resonant, quieting the ballroom. “I stand here on behalf of Griffin Ventures, but tonight isn’t about business. It’s about what we leave behind. The children of this country are not numbers in a ledger. They are the measure of whether we’ve done enough…”
Bea, like everyone else, leaned in. He was confident. Mesmerizing. For one perfect moment, she felt untouchable.
And then the universe whispered, Not so fast.
A flash of movement tugged at her periphery. She turned—found Nate West. Relief pricked, brief and misplaced.
Because he approached another man. Broader. Devastatingly familiar. One who wasn’t watching the stage, but her.
Blue eyes, sharp as a blade, pinned her in place until she forgot how to breathe.
Gage.
Her stomach dropped. She knew how to read that stillness.
He’d seen the kiss. He’d seen everything.
He knew.
And the worst part was…how badly she wanted to explain herself to him.