Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The library at St. Ives was the kind of place that could turn anyone into a scholar. Grand and sprawling, with towering ceilings and intricate crown molding, pure old-world European elegance. The vast arched windows framed the inky blackness of the night.
She’d never been in a library that had a real fireplace burning.
A fire. In a room full of books.
Besides the obvious danger, it was oddly perfect—flickering flames cast restless patterns across the herringbone floors and mahogany tables, making the whole space feel like something from another time.
Like back when reading was the greatest pleasure anyone could afford.
Bea had planned to study for a couple of hours. Time slipped away. By the time she surfaced from her notes, the library was almost empty.
10 p.m.?
That Pilates class tomorrow was sounding better and better. She stretched, rolling the knots out from her shoulders.
Two tables away from her, she recognized a familiar figure. Hair nearly as dark as hers, a jawline so sharply cut it looked carved from stone, broad shoulders framed by the crisp lines of his dress shirt.
When had Gage arrived?
She watched him, drawn to the quiet focus in the way he moved. The way his long, elegant fingers moved across the keyboard as though trying to keep up with the machinations of his mind. The glow of the screen cast shadows across his face, sharpening the clean angles of his cheekbones.
He must have felt her gaze, because his eyes flicked up.
Bea nodded toward his laptop. “Study, or world domination?”
“I’m a student, too. For now.”
Bea stood, tucking books into her bag. “Right. Still technically one of us.”
He closed his laptop with a soft click. “You finished?”
“Yeah. Heading home.”
He glanced at the old grandfather clock against the far wall. “It’s late. I’ll walk you.”
“I’ve walked myself before,” she said reflexively, though her nervous system had already voted yes.
Gage just arched a brow, waiting.
She grabbed her bag and fell into step beside him.
The night air was crisp, the streets quiet except for the occasional whoosh of a passing car. The buildings loomed with quiet dignity around them, like majestic sentry.
He walked just close enough to make her aware of him, not enough to touch, but her whole body felt tuned to his presence. He didn’t say a word, comfortable in the silence. Her brain, usually so good at multitasking, could suddenly only do one thing: notice him.
She needed to say something—anything—to drag her focus away from irrelevant details. Like how perfectly even his steps were.
“I didn’t know you still had to study,” she said, half teasing. “Doesn’t King Global Capital already have the world mapped out for you?”
Gage’s mouth curved. “Sure. But some things still require effort.”
“Like?”
“Like getting to know people.”
Her heart tripped over itself. Casual delivery, loaded look.
Perfect. Something new to agonize over tonight.
They reached Mayfield Hall.
Bea looked up at him. “I guess this is where we say goodnight.”
Gage’s eyes moved briefly to the building, then back. “Not tired yet. Unless you want me to leave.”
Who would want him to leave?
“Take a walk with me,” Gage suggested.
She should say no. She wasn’t the kind of girl who wandered off into the night with absurdly handsome men. Or maybe she was. And the expectant way he was looking at her made it feel like saying no would be the wrong choice.
They wandered down an even quieter path. It led to a small garden space tucked behind the faculty buildings, lined with marble benches and sprawling ivy.
Bea sat on the edge of one, crossing her arms against the slight chill.
Seeing that, Gage removed his suit jacket and draped it over her.
The warmth settled on her shoulders and sank straight through, lighting every nerve along the way.
Silky lining glided over her bare arms, and his scent clung to the fabric, coaxing her senses open in ways she hadn’t prepared for.
“Thank you,” she managed.
His tall frame leaned, deceptively relaxed, against the railing beside her. For a moment, neither one spoke.
Then he asked, “Why did you come to St. Ives?”
“You’re asking me why I transferred?”
Gage nodded.
“I guess…I wanted more,” she said. “Freshman year I started in accounting. Good prospects, logical choice. But I hated it.”
He listened.
“So I started again, switched to economics and finance. It was harder, which was better.” She paused. “But it still…wasn’t enough. So I applied here. To be around the best. To push myself to be more.”
“Why do you want that?”
Her eyes tracked the ivy that was winding around the lattice. “I’m an only child. My parents went through years of IVF—money, hope, all of it—for a chance at another.” Her voice was soft, as if this were a confession. “But all they got was me.”
Gage didn’t move. She felt his focus.
“They never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. They love me. They’re wonderful. But I saw it…the heartbreak when they finally stopped trying.” Her fingers curled slightly into the inside of his jacket sleeve. “No one asked me to carry that weight. I just did.”
A pause.
“Maybe that’s why I push so hard. I want to be enough. For two.”
Gage was quiet a moment longer, as if sorting data points no one else had access to.
“That explains you,” he said finally, thoughtful. Like he’d just fitted a piece into a puzzle he hadn’t realized was missing. “But that’s a heavy burden to carry.”
One of her shoulders tipped up slightly. Not a shrug, more like acceptance. “And maybe I’m not going to be able to bear it in the end. But I can’t not try.”
He regarded her like an equation that had gotten more complicated, and more interesting. “Then you’re already more than most.”
Bea’s exhale might have been a laugh if it weren’t so dry. “Is that your version of encouragement?”
“It’s an observation.”
They settled anew into that companionable silence.
She hadn’t meant to tell him so much. Now, she was actually surprised to realize she didn’t want to take it back.
It wasn’t that she trusted him, exactly. But he’d heard her, and hadn’t rushed to judge. That counted for something.
Gage moved first, straightening from his spot against the railing. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
Bea rose, and they fell into step again. The campus was quiet, still, washed in shadow and soft light. Like everything had pulled back to give them space.
Outside Mayfield Hall, she stopped and turned. Wordlessly, she slipped the jacket from her shoulders and offered it back.
“Well. I survived another day.”
Gage looked almost…warmly at her. “Goodnight, Bea.”
“Goodnight, Gage.”
As she closed the door to her apartment, her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
GAGE KING: Don’t stay up too late thinking about me.
Bea smiled. She read the message again. A third time. And then she locked her phone before she replied with something stupid.
Bea didn’t know what to expect from her first Pilates class, but as she passed a room full of fighters hitting the mats to the sound of barked commands, she was glad it didn’t involve combat. She winced involuntarily at a particularly loud crash and picked up her pace.
The glass door swung shut behind her with a soft click.
Peace.
The mirrored studio felt like a different world entirely. Hushed, cool, almost too clean. She adjusted her leggings and tank top, trying not to feel out of place.
Only six other people were in the room: two couples already sitting on their mats; a woman with maybe nine percent body fat who had to be the instructor; and Manny.
He approached. “Nervous, kid?”
“Nope,” she lied.
He clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the mats. “C’mon, let’s introduce you before you lose your nerve.”
Pilates, as it turned out, was not just stretching.
Bea quickly realized two things: she had zero control, and her instructor was way too cheerful about the pain.
She had expected slow, gentle poses, something relaxing. What she got instead was a brutal core workout disguised as grace. She was told to hold positions that made her legs tremble and engage muscles she didn’t even know existed.
“Breathe through it,” Nova instructed. “Control the movement, don’t let it control you.”
Bea clenched her jaw. Breathing didn’t help much when your arms had declared independence and ceased taking orders from your brain.
The two couples in the class moved through the exercises seamlessly, their breathing steady, their transitions smooth. Bea flailed through every pose, toppling and wobbling so much she literally checked there were no cameras in the room recording it.
Manny’s voice drifted from the doorway, entirely too amused. “Looking good, kid.”
Bea shot him a glare that should have set him on fire.
By the time class ended, she was a mess. Sweaty, exhausted, and wondering if she’d ever regain control of her legs.
She was still lying on the mat, half listening as the instructor wrapped up. The other students filed out slowly, chatting with Nova as they went.
Manny strolled over, nudging her with his foot. “So? You coming back?”
Bea wiped sweat from under each ear and glowered up at him. “Is this some kind of advanced Pilates class for Olympic gymnasts?”
“Nah. Just the regular kind.”
“Well, in case you’re collecting feedback, the pictures in your pamphlet are misleading. You should use a still from Titanic. Right after the ship breaks in half.”
Manny just grinned.
Bea let her head fall back onto the mat. “Tell me it gets better next time.”
His smile grew. “Knew you had some fight in you, kid.”