Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The last light of the city glowed against the penthouse windows. Bea sat cross-legged on the couch, still in the flowy dress she’d worn to dinner, her hair pinned up loosely.
Across the room, Gage stood at the kitchen island, a single glass of wine untouched beside him. His tablet was open. He wasn’t reading, just swiping and thinking.
His voice broke the silence. “Keep next weekend free.” A pause. “Starting Friday night.”
Bea blinked. “Why? What’s happening Friday?”
“We’re going to the Harvest Summit.”
“The what now?”
He looked at her. “All the legacy families drive to Edevane Valley for the long weekend. It’s hosted by the Aurelles.”
She took a breath. “And I’m coming because…?”
“Because you belong there,” he said simply. “With me.”
Her fingers found the hem of her skirt, tugging it smooth. “What kind of weekend is this, exactly?”
“Relaxation. Picnics. Vineyard tours. Wine tasting. Sports.”
“Sounds harmless enough.”
He looked vaguely entertained. “Every son up for strategic marriage. Every daughter trained to assess return on investment. A few quiet business deals. And the old guard keeping score.”
She should have known picnic meant something different when the families had trust funds.
Her eyes narrowed. “So you’re leading me into the lion’s den.”
“I’ll be there,” he assured her. “They won’t eat you.”
“Will Georgie be there?”
“Of course. Isabel and Naomi, too. You’ll have backup.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Am I going to be the entertainment?”
“Not unless you make yourself into it. But they will be watching you.”
Oh good. So just light surveillance with a side of generational judgment.
Somewhere between his words and his silence, she understood—this wasn’t a request. It was an entrance.
Sooner or later, she’d have to debut fully into his world. And this was him giving her the best version of a hard thing: with backup. With friends. With him.
She exhaled. “You couldn’t have given me more notice?”
“How much more do you need?”
“I don’t know…three months?”
His lips twitched. “You don’t need three months to prepare for Harvest Summit, sweetheart.”
“That’s what you think.”
“That’s what I know. Talk to the girls. They’ll explain.”
She took a deep breath. “Anything special I need to pack?”
He walked over, sat beside her on the couch, and turned the tablet so she could see the screen. What he’d been looking at.
Four gowns. Different cuts, all exquisite.
“Something for the black-tie evening,” he said.
Her brows lifted. “Just one?”
He shook his head. “You’ll need more than just this. But this is a start.”
“So do I get a fairy godmother, or—”
“Even better. You’ve got me.”
It was the kind of bright, early autumn morning that made everything feel both wholesome and crisp at once.
Bea tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweater as she and Georgina stepped through the towering security gates near Mayfield Hall, heading toward St. Ives town. Two guards nodded as they passed, earpieces in, eyes already moving past them.
Georgina wore a white blazer draped like a cape, enormous sunglasses, and buttery leather boots that had likely come off a Milan runway.
“So…apparently I’m going to the Harvest Summit.”
“Gage finally told you?” Georgie glanced at her.
“Last night.”
“Did he explain it?”
“Kind of.” Bea made a vague gesture. “Very…fiscal-quarter presentation. Charts. No feelings.”
Georgina tsked. “Okay, here’s the truth: imagine every legacy family that actually matters, all vacationing at the same vineyard, benchmarking each other.”
Bea frowned. “And we’re all just…there?”
“You’re not just there.” Georgina glanced over her sunglasses. “You’re with Gage.” Said like she was halfway to the throne and the firing squad.
“So I’m going to be judged.”
“Like a sculpture in a glass case,” she snickered.
Bea’s palms turned clammy. Her stomach dipped, a cold swoop like missing a stair.
They crossed the cobblestone street. Leaves rustled in sharp bursts of copper and gold. Everything was disrespectfully beautiful for a morning this stressful.
“Is it survivable?”
“With the right friends and the right wardrobe? Absolutely.” Georgie tapped Bea’s arm. “You might even like it.”
Bea spotted the café ahead. Lemon trees in copper pots, umbrellas stretched taut against the light. The perfect spot for a panic attack.
“There’s always one girl who becomes The Story,” Georgina continued. “Three years ago it was Arabella DuPont. Hooked up with her boyfriend and then tried to sabrage a champagne bottle. Took out a hedge that had been growing since the eighteen hundreds.”
Bea snorted a laugh at that, then stopped at Georgina’s expression. “I mean, it’s a little funny.”
“It was hilarious,” Georgina agreed. “But the point is the DuPonts haven’t been invited back since. And they still call that part of the hedge the DuPont Gap.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. So our strategy is: be stunning. Have fun. Don’t be The Story.”
Be shiny. But quiet shiny.
Bea exhaled slowly. “Gage thinks I’ll be fine.”
“He’s not wrong. But even Gage can’t control everything. Not there.”
They stepped onto the patio where Naomi waved them over. Isabel was already mid-laugh. Lillian sat curled around a teacup, scarf tucked into her hair.
A platter of poffertjes and a half-eaten Dutch apple pie sat between them, the missing slices soft at the edges where the filling had run.
“Ladies,” Georgina declared, removing her sunglasses. “Our Bey is making her Summit debut.”
“Look at her all calm and glowy,” Isabel deadpanned. “Like she’s not about to enter The Hunger Games: Billionaire Edition.”
Bea dropped into her seat. “How come none of you mentioned this last year?”
“You weren’t with Gage yet,” Georgie said, pragmatic. “The invite comes with him.”
“Translation,” Isabel said, glancing at Lillian, “you’re still safe.”
“Good,” Lillian said earnestly. “Sounds like my personal nightmare.”
Everyone believed her. Lillian struggled enough with the St. Ives crowd. The Harvest Summit was the one percent of the one percent. The upper crust of that crust—so elite they practically flaked.
“And you’re all going?” Bea confirmed with the other three.
“Obviously,” Naomi said, biting into a tiny, fluffy pancake. “It’s the best kind of awful.”
“Do you think it’s fun?” Bea tilted her head.
“There’s champagne at breakfast,” Naomi described. “Views that make you believe in the divine.”
“Footmen who materialize from flower gardens carrying warm olives,” Isabel added.
“You have to behave though,” Georgina warned. “No boyfriend mischief.”
“Zero sheet-shaking, Bey,” Naomi was quick to agree, head shaking like this was very important. “No matter how convincing he is.”
“Married or engaged couples get a suite. Everyone else—separate rooms,” Isabel said. “If he’s in your room for more than fifteen minutes, someone reports it. Usually a grandmother.”
“What if it’s the middle of the day?” Bea asked.
Naomi raised a brow. “Are you suggesting that sunlight would stop Gage King?”
Bea flushed.
“Exactly,” Georgina said. “My cousin has restraint, but let’s not test the theory. Keep the weekend PG. You never know who’s watching or listening.”
“So what’s the point of the weekend?” Lillian asked.
“Networking, power, and evaluation.” Isabel lifted a finger with each word.
“In that order. First they figure out who you know. Then they test if you’re useful. Then they decide if you’re worthy,” Naomi expanded.
“Or dangerous. Which is better,” Georgina added. “Make it look easy, even when it isn’t. That’s how they know you belong.”
Bea groaned. “I’m going to die.”
Lillian reached out and patted her back gently. “Maybe you could just…not go?”
Three heads swiveled toward Lillian.
“That’s basically announcing she doesn’t plan to marry Gage King,” Isabel said flatly.
Bea froze, forkful of buttery lattice crust halfway to her mouth. “So by going…I’m saying I do?”
“No.” Georgina picked up the drink menu. “But not going says you don’t. Everyone knows you’re with Gage. He claimed you publicly at St. Ives. You went to Imperium as his date. You chit-chatted with my aunt and uncle while he stood beside you.”
Bea sighed. There was no getting out of this. She was with Gage, and everything that came with him.
She pulled her sweater tighter around her ribs. “So what do I need to know? Assume my life depends on this.”
And it kind of did.
They all paused.
“Overpack,” Naomi advised. “Your wardrobe is your armor.”
“Make a parent ally by Saturday,” Georgina offered. “Someone who’ll vouch for you.”
“Stay close to Gage,” suggested Isabel. “Half the room shuts up around his silence, so you’ll have fewer questions to answer.”
Lillian spoke next. “What happens if she can’t find Gage? Or any of you?”
Georgina stirred her iced coffee. “Then you find the nearest man who’s smiling at you. Men are always kinder to pretty girls than women are.”
Isabel bumped her knee under the table. “You’ll be fine.”
Bea glanced around the table. And knew what the next step was. “Are any of you free tomorrow?”
Isabel raised a brow. “Why?”
Bea reached into her bag. Slid a platinum card onto the table. It hit with a soft metallic clink—small sound, heavy meaning.
The silence was immediate.
Naomi leaned forward. “No.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “Is that—”
She nodded. “He gave it to me last night. Told me to get whatever I need.”
To be precise, he’d said, Don’t say no. Let me handle it.
And as much as she resisted spending his money, even she knew department-store optimism wasn’t going to cut it for her social debut.
“Did he say we could come?” Lillian asked.
One side of Bea’s mouth lifted. “He actually said to take you all.”
“This is the greatest day of my life,” Naomi breathed.
Isabel placed a hand on her heart. “I’m touched he entrusted us with you.”
“We ride at dawn,” Georgina said solemnly.
Bea slid her a look. “You’ve never woken up at dawn in your life.”
“It’s an expression.” Georgina grinned. “I’ll pick everyone up at ten. We’re going to The Row.”
Lillian smiled into her tea.
Bea shut the door behind her with her foot, breathless from dragging up the last round of shopping bags. The room looked like a luxury hurricane had torn through—designer tissue paper scattered across the bed, satin ribbons trailing from garment bags, shoes in neat but terrifying rows.
She stood in the middle of it, her hands on her hips, slightly dazed.
They’d gone to The Row, a luxury enclave just east of Northgate, nestled between the diplomatic quarter and the private banks. Home to couture and appointment-only showrooms, where the elite went when first impressions mattered.
There had been champagne. And Naomi’s running commentary. And Isabel trying to convince her to get a leather corset top just in case. Just in case of what, exactly, Bea still wasn’t clear.
They’d walked into stores she used to cross the street to avoid. She’d bought things she hadn’t even known how to pronounce. Hopefully it was enough.
The knock on her door came. She didn’t have to ask who it was. No one else knocked like that.
Bea padded across the room, opened the door. Gage stood there in his three-piece suit, straight from work. His eyes dropped past her shoulder and caught sight of the room.
His gaze scrutinized the bags. Then he looked at her again. “You did it.”
“You told me to.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually follow instructions.”
“I don’t always disobey,” she teased.
His eyebrows raised fractionally. He stepped past her into the room.
Bea closed the door behind him, watching as he surveyed the mess with a peculiar kind of pride.
“Anything in here for me?” he asked, tilting his head toward the mountain of shopping.
“Everything here is for you.”
The words left her before she could filter them. But once they were out, she realized they were true.
That made him look at her.
“I’m going because of you, aren’t I?”
He crossed the space between them. One hand slid around her waist. The other into her hair. His head dipped, breath brushing her cheek, voice low. “Say that again.”
“I said—”
But she didn’t get the rest out, because his mouth was on hers. Her body flared, all nerve endings and want.
He pulled back but didn’t go far. His forehead rested against hers. One hand still cradled the back of her head. “You spent my money.” His voice was like gravel.
“I did,” she breathed.
“You let me take care of it.”
She nodded, pulse quick.
“I like you like this.”
“Like what?” she whispered.
“Obedient.”