Chapter 19 #2
“You’re being watched now. You know that, don’t you?”
She cleared her throat delicately. “I figured.”
“Not just by the parents. By the women. By the men. By everyone who wants to know whether Gage King is making a mistake.”
On top of his shoulder, the fingers of one hand curled against her palm, nails biting into the skin.
“You’ve done well. But the real test isn’t this weekend.” He looked down at her for a long beat. “It will be when the moment arrives that you and my son realize he carries four generations on his shoulders. And you have to decide whether you’re prepared to carry that burden with him.”
Not walk beside him. Not love him. Carry it. With him.
Bea had no answer.
Victor’s gaze found something beyond her shoulder. “Sooner than you think, you’ll be asked to make a choice, and it won’t be between two men. It’ll be between the life you imagined—and the one that’s waiting for you.”
He let go of her hand, guiding her into a turn.
And when she came back around—
Laurent Duret was there.
Like the universe had whispered, Let’s add a wildcard.
It was impossible not to clock the contrast. Victor was carved from tradition—dark wool, gravitas, upright posture. Laurent, in his cream tuxedo, with his dirty-blond hair careless and fashionable, had just enough debonair to be charming and provoking at once.
“Forgive me, sir,” Laurent drawled. “I need five minutes with your potential daughter-in-law to unsettle the room.”
Victor looked at him. A nod. Toward Laurent. One for Bea.
Permission.
Then he turned and walked away.
He never would have let Rafael cut in—not with the weekend’s subtext still hanging in the air. But Laurent? Laurent was just left of the hazard. Not a direct rival. Technically polite. Safe. In the same way arsenic used to be prescribed for headaches.
Laurent offered his hand with mock solemnity. “Do you trust me?”
“Not even slightly,” Bea said, placing her hand in his.
He smirked. “Perfect. That’s exactly my type.”
His hand settled at her back—low enough to make a point, high enough not to get slapped. “You don’t look nearly as scared as you should.”
“Of you?”
“Of the room.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” Bea gave him a small smile. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Practicing,” Laurent echoed, an answering tug at the corner of his mouth. “Then I suppose we should be worried about what happens once you’re fluent.”
“Should I be worried that you’re dancing with me?” she asked.
“No. But a few others currently watching might be.”
“Because they think you’re a threat?”
“Threat? Not usually. Bad influence? Occasionally.”
“So why are you dancing with me, Laurent?”
“Because Rafael can’t. And Gage won’t.” He glanced at her dress. “Also, you’re stunning tonight, and French men are genetically incapable of resisting beauty.”
Bea’s laugh was unexpected. “So this is just for fun.”
“It’s never just for fun.”
They moved in a slow circle, her hand tightening slightly on his shoulder as the turn briefly revealed the other side of the room.
Where Gage was. Speaking to Nate, posture relaxed, body angled toward the dance floor. Not watching. But watching. Always.
She should go to him.
But there were so many things about Laurent she was curious about. His accent, his history, the way he moved through this world like it was a game. She didn’t know where he sat in the hierarchy, only that he didn’t seem to care.
And she wasn’t sure she’d get another chance like this. “So how does it work with you and Rafael?” she ventured. “Are you the one who keeps him in line, or the one who aims him at the next target?”
Laurent smirked. “Neither. And both.”
“Have you known each other long?”
“We met when Griffin Ventures was still Griffin Constructions, barely in our teens. My father was so taken with Rafael’s, shall we say, raw force, he sent me to join him for high school.” Laurent’s blue eyes glinted at the memory. “Said it was better than becoming a reprobate in Geneva.”
That startled her. A Duret heir, uprooted for proximity to Rafael Griffin? A hundred questions sparked at once. And not one of them she had any right to ask. It would say too much to be too curious.
She focused on following his steps through the throng of couples on the floor.
“So you’re a citizen now?” she asked after a moment.
“I had to do the military service to earn it, so yes.”
“And you work for Griffin Ventures?”
“No, chérie,” Laurent corrected. “I represent Duret Bank. My sister minds Europe. I’m on secondment. The returns through Rafael are…enough to satisfy even my parents.”
Bea nodded, filing that away under: things to Google later. If she thought too hard about how much of the world belonged to the men in this room, she was going to hyperventilate.
Laurent’s gaze shifted subtly. She traced it to Rafael. Off to the side. Looking more like a warning than a man. Speaking to a stunning blonde. His eyes flicked to them. Too fast to be read. Too slow to be forgotten.
“Ah,” Laurent exhaled, gratified. “The fire prince watches.”
She stiffened.
“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “He won’t come over.”
“You sure about that?”
“He’s already done enough,” Laurent said. “He won’t risk turning you into a spectacle. Not after yesterday.”
Bea had no idea why, but she let herself believe him. Her shoulders loosened.
“In case you’re wondering,” he added lightly, “do you know how many other women Rafael has looked at like that?”
Of course she hadn’t been wondering. But now she was. Fantastic.
“One?” she guessed, aiming for flippant but not quite landing it.
Laurent gave her a slow, almost pitying smile.
“Zero.” He said it carefully. Like it was important she understood. “But I admire your optimism.”
Cue the world’s most awkward silence.
A disbelieving laugh, more deflection than humor, snagged completely in her throat. Heat crawled up her neck like it had a personal vendetta and zero respect for context.
Then, as if by divine intervention, the oxygen seemed to suddenly be pulled from the room.
The hum of conversation dipped. Movements slowed. Every couple on the dance floor misstepped a fraction—
Then turned.
Bea followed their gaze.
The ballroom doors had opened. And there, unerringly outfitted in a black velvet dinner jacket and crisp white shirt, stood Cassian Montenegro.
He didn’t pause at the threshold. Didn’t scan the room. He walked like he’d already memorized the layout.
“Why is everyone staring?” Bea whispered to Laurent.
His arrival was causing a shift in barometric pressure, and she had no idea why. Cassian was in the same league as everyone here.
“Because he wasn’t invited.” Laurent’s eyes glittered. “He humiliated the Langleys in a deal last quarter. The Aurelles couldn’t host both this weekend.”
“But he still came?”
“He didn’t offend them.” Laurent shrugged, gaze fixed on Cassian, who was cutting a line straight for the hosts. “Looks like he’s here to divide the room.” Laurent leaned in, his voice a low murmur near her ear. “And just like that, we are all footnotes again.”
Bea gave him a wry smile as he pulled back.
This wasn’t the moment to be twirling with a provocateur in a cream tux. Not with eyes shifting. Not with alliances subtly realigning around the edges. She didn’t know what game was being played now, but she knew enough to get off the floor.
“I should go.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “Until next time, Bea Cruz.”
She didn’t answer. Her heels bit into marble as she turned.
The safest place in the room was always by Gage King. He was still with Nate, drink in hand. But she saw the tension in his knuckles. The controlled awareness in his frame.
His eyes tracked her, cool and unreadable, then slid to the small of her back when she took her place beside him.
“Enjoy your dances?” he asked, voice smooth but tight.
She nodded.
None of them pretended not to watch.
Cassian had reached the hosts. Gustave offered a handshake. Carine, a kiss on the cheek.
Not quite endorsement. Permission. That was all he needed.
The Langleys, frozen by the dessert table, looked like portraits that hadn’t been dusted in years. Glass expressions. Brittle posture. Nothing to say, because nothing could be said.
The Kings, speaking quietly to Georgina’s parents, remained composed but still.
Across the ballroom, Bea spotted the Griffins. They weren’t rattled. They looked, if anything, mildly entertained.
Georgina and Hunter crossed the room with the kind of ease that came from knowing every eye was already watching someone else. Georgie touched Gage’s arm lightly, murmuring something meant only for him.
Naomi and Charles, Isabel and Mason, joined the loose circle.
Bea’s gaze caught silver. Someone else was approaching.
Catherine Vale was walking in a beeline toward Gage.
“Gage. Can you believe he came?” Her voice was soft. Almost deferential. Like she was trying to smooth over a misunderstanding and offer her fealty all at once.
Slowly, Gage looked at her. Made it clear he’d heard, then turned his head. As if she hadn’t spoken. As if she didn’t exist.
If this were Pride and Prejudice, it would have been called a cut direct.
Georgina didn’t hide her smirk. Nobody rushed to fill the space.
Catherine stood there a moment longer, like she couldn’t quite believe it.
Then, Gage touched Bea’s cheek. Light, brief. A gesture he never made in public. “Should I get you a drink?”
Bea nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.