Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
GEORGINA: So my cousin was sporting a new appearance at family dinner tonight.
BEA: Is he okay?
GEORGINA: He’ll live.
BEA: I feel awful that I couldn’t check on him.
GEORGINA: Please. Bruises just make him look like he belongs on a poster.
BEA: Can you…tell him I hate that it came to that?
GEORGINA: Why don’t you tell him yourself?
BEA: I don’t think I should.
GEORGINA: Fair. His face says it wasn’t yesterday though. Few days?
BEA: The Monday after the Children’s foundation benefit. We went for a drive.
GEORGINA: Rafael found out?
BEA: Rafael was there when he dropped me off home.
GEORGINA: Ah. Hence the lip.
GEORGINA: Honestly stunned it took this long for those two to swing at each other.
GEORGINA: You okay? Was Rafael mad?
BEA: Mad is an understatement.
BEA: But I’m fine. We…talked.
GEORGINA: Uh-huh. Which piece of furniture did you “talk” on, and has it sought counseling?
This was only her second time to this part of the coastline but it was already one of her favorite places.
The air tasted different here, like salt and wind from a bygone era when fishermen ruled the horizon. Rafael’s sleek white yacht was arrogant among the modest boats with their chipped paint and sun-faded ropes. He kept it here on purpose. This was where he’d first learned to sail.
The day had been flawless. No storms, no wet sandals, no frantic docking, only endless blue and Rafael at the wheel, salt wind carving his profile into something mythic. The bruise along his cheekbone had faded to yellow, but the echo of fists on bone still lived in her body.
They’d eaten inside the marina’s only restaurant, a warm breeze trailing in. Rafael spoke with the owner in Haventaal, that thick, punchy dialect the locals called Dock Dutch. It was a survivor of the first settlers’ tongue, worn down and remade by the coast.
She couldn’t understand a word—English was the national language of the UR and sufficient for Northgate and St. Ives—but she loved the gritty sound of it in his mouth.
Now twilight had softened the water, and they strolled along the edge. His body blocked the breeze, like even the weather needed permission to reach her.
She tugged him toward a weathered bench. They sat, Rafael dragging her into his side. Golden light burned across the rippled water.
“You should change your emergency contact,” he said, fingers playing with the strands of her hair.
She turned to him. “Huh?”
“In your records. Work, doctor, bank. Put me in. I don’t want it blank.”
“It’s not blank…” she protested, then stopped.
Oh, right. It was now. It used to be Gage.
“Do I really need a name there, though?” she asked.
“If you ever need one, it’ll already be too late if there isn’t.”
She drummed her thighs lightly with her palms. “Alright, Griffin. I’ll put your name in.”
Her expectation was that he’d pontificate about the benefits of what she’d just agreed to. Maybe be cocky about it.
Instead—stillness. Like she’d tripped an invisible wire.
“Don’t call me that.”
Her brow knit. “Don’t call you what?”
“Griffin.”
She tilted her head, uneasy. “But…it’s your name.”
“It’s what they use when they shake my hand,” he said. “Not what you breathe into my skin.”
The words landed like a mallet. Not lurid, but she still felt like he’d dragged something private into the open air and brandished it as evidence. Her stomach twisted.
“Don’t use that against me,” she said with quiet dignity.
“I’m not.” His gaze didn’t move. “Everyone else gets Griffin. You don’t.”
She turned away, but his hand caught her chin, brought her back until her eyes met his.
“You think I say things just to provoke you?” His thumb dragged across her jaw. Possessive. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing all this time?”
Back when she was still pretending Rafael didn’t get under her skin, that’s exactly what she’d thought. That he was baiting her. Not exactly playing games, but goading her into reactions.
“I haven’t been chasing your attention, little Bea. I’ve been trying to stay sane. Waiting for you to stop looking away. To stop acting like you don’t feel it, too.”
Something in her chest cracked open. Not breaking, just making space. Her pulse went wild.
“I love you. I knew it before I ever named it. Now you know it too.”
The sound of it wasn’t a shock. It was gravity, falling into place exactly where it was meant to. Her lungs kept working, but it still felt like she couldn’t breathe all the way through.
And she couldn’t say it back.
Not yet. Maybe not even because it wasn’t true. Because it was too much. She’d only said it once before, and part of her was terrified it wouldn’t mean enough if she gave it away too quickly.
“Rafael, I—”
“I didn’t say it to hear it,” he cut in. “Say it when you’re ready.”
She let him pull her onto his lap. Folded herself against his chest. And together, they watched the water catch fire in the last light of day.
A man was tailing her.
Bea finally clocked it when she was leaving the office just after six.
At lunch, she’d caught sight of a face in the crowd she half recognized but couldn’t place. Now he was there again, pretending to scroll his phone.
Not a stranger. He was one of Rafael’s. Voss.
She pulled her phone out, thumbs flying.
LITTLE BEA: Did you send him?
The reply came back seconds later.
RAFAEL: Come to me. I’m at the GV office.
Which was how she found herself at the Griffin Ventures Tower. From the street it was a skyscraper not too dissimilar to those in the vicinity.
The interior was another story: limestone walls, water sliding in thin sheets, golden light instead of bright white.
Scale models of Griffin builds from around the world gleamed under glass.
It made her forget about the height and the glass outside; all she noticed was how warm and alive it felt in here.
Rafael was waiting, propped against the side of the reception desk. He was casually dressed as usual, in khaki chinos and a white t-shirt, yet somehow still radiating authority. This was one of his worlds. One where he ruled.
She spied Voss again and her spine went stiff. She braced as she approached Rafael, like she was about to walk into an ambush. “So. I have a shadow now.”
“Yep,” came the exasperating, unapologetic reply.
“Since when do I need a guard to buy takeaway sushi?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Since you got in a man’s car without telling me.”
“The man was Gage, and he’s gone back to London.”
He didn’t debate further. Just took her hand, pulling her toward the turnstiles.
She half-tugged back, scandalized. “Wait, I haven’t signed in.”
His lips curved, as though he found that cute. “It’s fine. You’re with me.”
The man had no respect for formality. What if there were a fire drill? How would she report to a warden?
The elevator chimed, doors opening. He steered her inside, tapped his card, and the panel went dark except for one light—his floor. They stood perpendicular, leaning on different walls.
“Is it permanent?” she asked.
“Until I’ve chosen the right man. You’ll have someone on you at all times. Consider this a loan from my team until I get you your own.” His eyes dared her to argue. “Your safety’s not optional, little Bea.”
Her jaw worked. She’d never been assigned a shadow, but she bit that back, blew out a breath and scowled, because that was all she could do for now.
“Let’s talk about Christmas.”
“I’ll be in Toronto.”
It was his turn to cross his arms. “You’re leaving in two days. And you still haven’t asked me to come.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Do you…want to come?”
He gave her a look. The kind that said she’d just asked if water was wet. “Why would you think I don’t want to come?”
Bea’s cheeks puffed out. Had she assumed that? Not exactly. It was complicated.
Her parents. She accidentally hadn’t told them yet. She had no reason to think they’d be against it, but she’d never actually called and said, Umma, Papa, I’m officially dating the holiday chauffeur with the parents you guys liked so much.
Somehow she’d skipped straight to making him her emergency contact.
Christmases were spent with her whole family. Loud and unfiltered and everywhere at once. Two years ago, she’d endured her family’s interrogation about Gage. Last Christmas, she’d been curled on the couch heartbroken over him.
And now Rafael wanted to stride straight into the middle of it.
She stared at the elevator numbers ticking upward. “Well…I haven’t exactly…”
“What?”
“I haven’t told them yet,” she admitted. “So if I show up with you, and then on Christmas Day you’re just there…”
His eyebrows lifted. “Explain to me how that would be a bad thing.”
“It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just…fast,” she finished lamely. She made a face, because even she heard how weak that sounded. “We’ve only been together for two weeks.”
“Does it feel like a two-week relationship to you?”
Her tongue darted across her upper teeth.
No. Not even close. She didn’t want to admit what it felt like, because saying it out loud was too scary. She thought, not for the first time, of his words that first morning together: After we’re married. She’d tried to laugh it off, tell herself that he couldn’t be serious, not so soon.
Except there were new words for the repertoire: I love you. I knew it before I ever named it. Now you know it too.
The bottom line was that Rafael had never once made her question whether permanence was his aim. It was always her who pussyfooted.
If she went to Toronto without him, she’d spend every second wishing he was there, kicking herself for not asking. Especially when he was clearly willing.
She approached, set her hands on the sides of his shirt. Felt the stillness ripple through him. “Come with me?”
The elevator pinged.
His answer was immediate. “Of course.”
“Next up, Micky. Bea, sit.”
Greg, her BJJ instructor, clapped sharply.
Bea collapsed onto the mat and gave a fellow student a grimace of solidarity.
Her gi was damp and sticking, belt hanging crooked like it had given up on her.
Her hair was half out of its braid. She tugged at the stiff collar and complained, “Polyester wasn’t designed to contain this much suffering. ”
She felt a prickle of premonition, and searched for him. Rafael stood across the room, holding a stack of files, gaze locked on her like she was the only thing worth watching.
Normally phones were banned, but tonight they were tolerated for recording each other’s drills so they could analyze and improve. She snatched hers up.
LITTLE BEA: If you’re going to stare, at least offer notes.
She watched as he pulled his phone out and tapped a quick reply.
RAFAEL: Hip mobility’s improving.
RAFAEL: Not as good as when I’m stretching you myself. But close.
Her face went nuclear. She typed furiously.
LITTLE BEA: That’s wildly inappropriate feedback from the owner!!
RAFAEL: I plan to be much more inappropriate later.
“Doesn’t look like exam prep, Scholarship,” Manny said on his way past, eyes flicking toward his boss in the corner.
Bea slapped the phone face down beside her and grouched, “Snitches get stitches, Manny.”
Greg clapped. “Bea, you’re up.”
“Again?” Bea groaned, but she dragged herself upright.
“Pair with Reyes,” Greg called.
Great. Reyes, the human boulder.
Bea bowed, squared up, and instantly regretted the glance over to the corner. Rafael was still there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her brain promptly ejected every technique she’d ever learned.
Reyes lunged. Bea squeaked, grabbed for the lapel, tried to pivot her hips—and nearly toppled herself.
“Better,” Greg barked. “Use your hips. Don’t be afraid to open them.”
Her cheeks flamed so hard she thought the gi might ignite. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.
Reyes had her on her back in seconds. Bea flailed, scrambled, and managed half a bridge, her braid slapping her shoulder, legs sliding uselessly against the mat.
“Commit!” Greg shouted.
Commit? To what—being flattened? Reyes was two hundred pounds of pure cement, and she was currently the welcome mat.
Rafael’s voice came to mind from their private sparring session. She’d asked what she should be thinking about at times like this: Where my weight is. Where your hands are. What you’re willing to do to win.
She stopped panicking. Focused. Reyes’s weight was high on her chest, his balance off. She shoved hard against his collarbone with one hand, slipped the other under his arm, and snapped her hips. Momentum. Space. She twisted, scrambled, and popped free.
But she was upright. Winded, wild-haired—and smiling
Reyes grinned, offering her a fist bump. “Not bad, Cruz.”
“More of that, Bea,” Greg said, “and you’ll get your blue.”
Her whole body buzzed. She staggered back to the side, eyes scanning. Rafael was gone.
“Congrats, you survived Reyes. There’s another his size waiting for you in the office.” Manny chortled.
Bea snorted. “That one I can handle.”
One new message waited for her.
RAFAEL: Good girl. Let’s try that again tonight.