Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The coffee cart was out of oat milk.
It shouldn’t have felt like a sign, but it did. The barista—a girl who wore earrings shaped like planets and always gave Bea a subtle nod of solidarity during midterms—leaned on the counter and whispered, “Soy’s your best bet today. I’m not feeling the new almond brand.”
Bea nodded staidly, as if being handed national security intelligence. “Soy it is. Let the record show I’m adapting.”
She took the cup and stepped to the side, pulling out her phone with one hand while taking a cautious sip. The soy was…fine. Like Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. Not exciting, but dependable.
She opened her Notes app. The document was already titled:
MOVING TO LONDON??
The double question marks made it feel indifferent. Like she might delete it later. Like she hadn’t been updating it compulsively with random thoughts since 7:12 a.m.
She added a line:
Do they have mangos in summer?
Her lecture was in fifteen minutes. International Development.
The irony was not lost on her.
Bea walked the path between the admin building and the library, past first-years who moved in slow, wide-eyed clusters, and fourth-years who looked aggressively caffeinated. A few nodded vaguely at her. She didn’t stop. Her feet moved. Her brain didn’t.
The list was already growing faster than she could contain it:
Does London have bubble tea?
Do I have to pretend I like Earl Grey?
What if I call someone “dude” and they call me “madam”?
Do I have to develop an opinion on the royal family or is neutrality allowed?
She walked into the lecture hall and took her seat near the back. The perfect spot to hear while also ignoring everyone. The lights dimmed slightly as the professor started sharing slides on post-conflict economic stabilization.
Bea opened her laptop. Told herself to focus.
Failed dismally.
Because the professor had just used the phrase “socioeconomic transition” and now her brain was whispering, Is that what I’m doing? Socioeconomic transitioning? Should I add that to the list?
Instead, she opened a browser tab and, with subtlety honed by years of fake note-taking, typed:
what is it like to move to london in winter when you have no friends and the only person you know is your stupid hot billionaire boyfriend
She deleted “stupid.” Replaced it with “beautiful.” Then deleted the whole thing and searched:
London winter survival tips
How to not feel like an imposter in a new city
British grocery chains ranked by affordability
how to reinvent yourself in a different country but still stay you
Someone two seats down was watching a soccer match on mute.
Not soccer, football. That was what they called it there.
She had a long way to go.
Her phone buzzed.
CLAIRE BEAR: How’s the micro-crisis today
CLAIRE BEAR: On a scale of 1 to “I googled if jaffa cakes are actually cake”
BEYA SLAYA: Currently researching whether raincoats are stylish or just sad necessities.
Class ended. She packed up without really remembering what had been said. Walked to the library because she had papers to finish, but mostly because she needed to sit somewhere and continue researching in peace.
In the library elevator, a guy she recognized from class peered at her. “You look like you’re being haunted by a wraith,” he said.
Bea smiled absently. “Just the future.”
“Worse.”
She found a desk on the third floor, near the windows, and set up her laptop again. Didn’t open her paper. Instead, opened her Notes.
A second list formed:
QUESTIONS FOR GAGE
Where would we live? Would we live together?
Will you be working all the time? Like…all the time-all the time?
Will I be allowed to be confused for a while? Or does your world require instant poise?
What happens if I get lonely?
Are we doing this?
She stared at that last line. Deleted it.
Then rewrote it. With a period.
Bea picked at her grilled sea bass. It was fresh, delicious, surrounded by vegetables she couldn’t name. Apparently in your twenties, life decisions came with a side of microgreens.
“Can I ask you more about London?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He held her gaze. “I did.”
She tilted her head in question.
“At your birthday last year,” he said, voice even. “I told you the next move was taking on international expansions, but that before I go, I needed to close a deal in the UR first.”
She stared at him. And slowly, she remembered.
That perfect day. That ridiculous, thoughtful day. She’d told him her birthday felt wrong in spring. In Toronto, it was fall—fiery trees, crisp air. So he’d found a private estate filled with Japanese Bloodgood maples and organized a picnic lunch for her under a canopy of red.
“The deal was me?”
Gage nodded once, as though that single motion could shoulder the magnitude of it. “We’d barely been together five months then. I wasn’t going to hand you that kind of decision when you didn’t even know what it meant.”
“And now?”
His cutlery stilled. “I can’t delay it again.”
Not won’t. Can’t.
She nodded slowly, the meaning sinking in. “And you want me to come.”
He paused long enough that she looked up. When he spoke, his words were precise. “Not as my girlfriend.” That was…not ominous at all. “If you come, you come with my name.”
Her brain short-circuited. Fully rebooted.
Please hold.
Everything stilled. The table. The restaurant. The music.
Had she just been…pre-proposed to? Mid-sea bass?
The air between them was heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. Not a proposal. Not yet. But definitely its spiritual cousin.
“Does it have to be that way?” She gestured helplessly, like the words were just out of reach. “I mean, could I just come with you as me? Does it have to be so…final?”
It wasn’t even that she didn’t want it. But this had gone from personal to global in a heartbeat.
His gaze didn’t waver. “This life only works if you commit to it.”
Translation: there was only one way this was going to happen. This wasn’t a plus-one situation. This was change-your-last-name-on-your-passport-level serious.
She didn’t look away from him, but she didn’t speak, either. Mostly because her mouth was busy doing absolutely nothing while her internal organs were screaming into a pillow.
One breath. In through her nose. Out, steady. The kind she took before opening exam results.
“What would it look like for me?”
“You’d finish your degree in London,” he said, cutting into his steak. “We’d find a school that would take your credits. I’d handle the paperwork.”
“I’d have to leave St. Ives,” she said, gripping the napkin in her lap.
“Yes.”
“My scholarship.”
He nodded.
“And my job at Monaghan and Stowe.”
“They’d write you a recommendation.” He sipped his sparkling water, then added, “Or you could not work, if you don’t want to.”
She smoothed her napkin, one corner at a time. “I’d have to leave Nico.”
“You could still tutor him remotely.” Gage placed his forearms against the table.
“But I’d be gone. I’d miss his last year of high school.” The part where he needed her most. When he’d asked her to stand by him for officer track.
Gage said nothing. Didn’t offer comfort or corrections. He understood there was a cost. And after saying it all out loud, so did she.
“I’ve worked so hard to belong here, Gage,” Bea murmured, fingernails digging into her palms. “To make this place mine, not just yours. Something that isn’t borrowed or temporary.” Her voice dropped lower. “You’re asking me to start again.”
Not as a student. As a version of myself I haven’t met yet.
The restaurant buzzed softly around them, clinking glasses and low conversations. Their table felt like a separate world.
“I know.” Then, quieter but firm, he said, “But not for nothing. I’m asking you to build something bigger. With me.”
She took a shaky breath.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” he added.
“I’d have you,” she agreed. “When you’re home.”
“I’ll be working a lot. Especially at the start,” he acknowledged.
“Late nights. Dinners. Business trips. Meetings I can’t come to.”
“You’d have a driver. Security. A home. A school. Anything you need,” he countered. He didn’t reach for her hand. As if he didn’t want to pressure her more than she already was. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but you’d never be just a shadow in my world.”
She believed him. That was the maddening part. Her brain was buzzing with logistics and questions and fears, but her heart was already halfway packed.
Bea leaned back in her chair. “You’re asking me to follow you into the life that’s waiting for you.”
“We’ll make it ours.”
She wanted that too. She’d needed to hear him say it, that there was a place for her.
She looked down at her plate. The sea bass had gone cold. The future was on the table. And it had arrived before dessert.
“I’m not saying no,” she said gently. “But I need time.”
He nodded. Picked his cutlery back up. “I’ll give you as long as I can.”
GAGE
Gage stood in the dark, sleeves rolled, shirt collar undone, the city glowing faintly beneath him. He’d always liked this view.
He didn’t need to replay the conversation. It was still in his body. The sound of her voice. The curve of her hand against her water glass.
He’d expected this part. He just hadn’t imagined what it would look like on her.
He hadn’t told her last year because it was too soon. Had waited until the London deal was signed before broaching it so he knew he had things in order first.
That was what he’d told himself.
But maybe it hadn’t just been about timing.
Maybe, beneath all his planning, he’d sensed from the start that Bea wouldn’t come easily. The only thing he’d ever really wanted for himself didn’t fit neatly inside his future.
He wouldn’t undo his choices. Not even now. Because somewhere deep down, he’d always understood: if he lost her, there wouldn’t be a second draft.
He turned from the window and sat on the edge of the low leather bench, elbows on his knees. He must have assumed, in some inherited way, that the woman he married would know the role. Accept it without reservation. Be born into it, or bred for it.
The truth was, the life waiting in London wasn’t hers. It was his.
She loved him. That part had never wavered. Now more than ever, he understood what that love would cost her.
He was selfish enough to still ask. Because the alternative—
He exhaled.
There wasn’t one.