Chapter 2 #2
Claire sat up fully, setting the glass down.
“Look, if you’re dressing for Logan, then don’t wear it.
But if you’re dressing because you want to feel like yourself—like Bea who walked into St. Ives and survived?
Then go on and rock it. Let it remind you that you’re not here to make the past feel comfortable. ”
Bea blinked. “That was unexpectedly deep.”
“I contain multitudes,” Claire said dryly.
That got a laugh.
Bea stood, tugged the dress from the hanger, and held it up. “Okay, but be honest, is it too much?”
Claire tilted her head, considering. “It’s just the right amount of ‘Don’t even try.’ Which, if I remember correctly, is what Logan needs to hear.”
Bea bit her lip. “He’s been texting. Calling.”
“I figured.”
“I haven’t responded. But he’ll be there tonight. And I need to say something. Before Gage finds out I didn’t shut it down.”
“Gage already knows. He’s just letting you decide when it’s going to become his problem.”
Bea’s eyes softened. “We talk. It’s not the same.”
Claire slowly packed her purse. “It won’t be. Not until you’re back in the same place. Until then, tonight’s just a beat between places. Say what you need to say to Logan. You’re not there to relive anything.”
Bea stepped into the dress. The deep-wine fabric hugged her waist, sharp at the bodice and soft where it flared. She smoothed it over her hips, wishing Gage were here to see her in it.
Claire watched her through the reflection, one eyebrow arched. “Anything else you need to download to your emotional support engineer before we go?”
Bea wrinkled her nose. “It’s going to sound stupid.”
“I was there when you thought Noah Centineo was profound,” Claire deadpanned. “Try me.”
“It’s just that…after Gage mentioned Catherine was there at Christmas dinner, it hit me. There are probably women around him.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “You mean like women who are…alive?”
Bea gave her a look, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing a slice of pear. “Bey. Gage is Gage. He’s a billionaire ice king with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. You’ve seen the way women look at him.”
“I know.” Bea adjusted the strap of her dress. “But it didn’t feel real until I was back here. Until it wasn’t just me away from him—it was him there without me.”
With her.
Catherine. And the kind of women who were born into the UR. Not women like Bea, who were there on scholarships.
Claire didn’t answer right away.
“It’s not stupid, you know,” she said finally.
“It feels stupid.”
“It’s not.” Claire reached for the hair straightener, passed it to her. “You left. You made a choice. And now you’re doing the mental math—how far is too far, how long is too long. That’s human.”
Bea ran the iron through a strand already perfectly straight, her hand slower than usual.
“It’s been a year since I saw Umma and Papa. And you. Seventeen hours is too far to come for a short visit.” She rattled through the list of justifications, trying to convince herself all over again. “It made sense.”
Claire watched her in the mirror. “Until it didn’t.”
“I just think…” Bea sighed. “Maybe coming back for the full ten weeks of summer break was too long.”
Claire raised a brow. “That’s sounding a lot like regret.”
“It’s starting to feel a bit like it too,” Bea admitted. “But the thing is, I can’t go back now. Not just for Gage. That feels desperate. Like I’m throwing myself at him.”
“You mean going back to the country you live in? To the school you go to? To the man you’re dating?”
The trifecta.
The UR. The school. The man.
It wasn’t just that she’d temporarily left the United Republic of Westhaven—the strange, sovereign archipelago built by power, wealth, and legacy.
Or that she’d stepped away from St. Ives University, where billionaires were groomed like racehorses.
Or even Gage, who wasn’t just her boyfriend but the heir to a kingdom of capital.
It was that she’d booked it without technically telling him first.
Suffice to say, he hadn’t been pleased. There had been consequences.
Sexy. Thorough. And a warning to take with her:
Don’t think for a second I won’t come for you.
Claire leaned in. “There’s a difference between chasing someone and showing up for your life.”
Bea’s smile faltered. Her life. It was getting harder to know where that was exactly. Here, in Toronto, where her parents and Claire lived, where she’d grown up. Or the UR. The place she’d fought to be invited to, and where she was working hard to prove she belonged.
“If I go back,” Bea finally said it out loud, “it needs to make sense.”
“It already does.” Claire tapped her on the nose. “You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
They didn’t say anything else for a while. The music was slow and low now, layered with distant vocals and liquid chords that felt like they remembered something for her. The city lights blinked behind frosted windows. Her umma was humming in the kitchen again.
Bea exhaled. Started straightening out the mess on the floor. “Why do you know so much?”
“Beya Slaya, I’ve waitressed through three breakups, two engagements, and one vow renewal that ended mid-dinner,” Claire said wryly. “Human drama’s my minor.”