Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Hanging Garden at Viremont wasn’t really a garden.
More like a secret carved into the rock, layered in terraces and whispered invitations.
Southgate stretched below it, glittering in soft focus.
Above, string lights swayed between pergolas wrapped in climbing roses.
Tables lined the staggered platforms so every view, whether skyline or spectacle, remained unobstructed.
Bea stepped out of the car in a storm-blue silk gown, the one-shoulder drape clinging like liquid. Gage’s hand pressed low at her back, steadying.
She looked up at him. Impeccable in navy, his tux so cleanly cut it could’ve been used to breach a vault. Sometimes she forgot how he looked to the rest of the world. This wasn’t one of those times.
Gage in evening wear was the reason silk gowns got abandoned on floors.
They reached the edge of the courtyard just as Naomi’s laugh rang out from the far end. Cameras were flashing. Bea paused, then exhaled. Not press. Friends.
It had been an entire month since the engagement was announced and, finally, tonight it was being formally celebrated. Of course Naomi didn’t refer to it as simply a party. This was a statement. Maybe even a soft launch for a future First Lady, Naomi had joked.
Naomi stood beneath the lanterns, radiant in ivory, the diamond on her hand throwing light in every direction. Charles stood beside her, looking like what people dreamed of when they said the word senator. Bea could practically hear the ballots being counted.
“Bea,” Lillian called, emerging from the crowd. She wore the black velvet dress they’d found together on their last thrifting trip. Vintage YSL with square shoulders, pearl pin fastened unconventionally at the back.
Naomi turned. “You’re here.”
“You look perfect,” Bea said, hugging both women as Gage veered off to join the men.
“It only took three hours and two stylists.” Naomi grinned.
Bea let herself be carried by a conversation that was bright, breathless, and a little too fast. Her eyes scanned the room like a ledger: Georgie mid-command with the party planner; Isabel straight-backed beside a silent Mason; a selection of parents, including Gage’s.
Rafael and Laurent, who were friends of Charles.
Rafael stood near the edge of the terrace, one hand in his pocket, the other turning a glass between his fingers. His shirt collar was open. The stubble was new. Not unkempt—intentional.
And then there was the woman beside him.
Tall, stunning, wine-colored dress. She was laughing at something Rafael said, her hand lightly touching his arm. Bea ignored the low buzz that crawled just under her skin, restless and dull.
A bell chimed for dinner, and movement swept toward the two long lines of linen and glassware glowing under a ceiling of florals and strung light.
Her name was printed in gold on a small ivory square between Gage and Lillian.
A few handsome graduate boys had been placed nearby, subtle temptations Naomi had clearly arranged for the latter.
At the far end, Laurent and Rafael, flanked by their dates.
From the other table, Bea caught the eyes of Victor and Elena King. They nodded with something that almost resembled warmth. Bea smiled at them, nodding back, before taking her place.
The first course arrived in symmetrical rows: seared wagyu over yuzu daikon, set on minimalist white porcelain. A soy-glazed quail egg balanced delicately on each slice, like something from a design museum.
Between the second and third courses, Bea sipped her sparkling water and pretended not to eavesdrop.
“I’ve seen you on campus,” said the man beside Lillian. “Are you a guest of the bride, or just here to upstage her?”
Lillian flushed. “Neither. I’m, um, just here for the catering.”
“Then I owe Naomi a thank-you note.”
Bea bit the inside of her cheek to school her grin. She’d been clocking them for ten minutes. Lillian was trying not to melt, and failing. But not in a way that said she needed someone to step in.
Someone laughed at a joke she hadn’t heard. A waiter refilled Bea’s glass. Plates were cleared. The next course arrived, shiitake dashi broth with white truffle foam, poured at the table from a gold-lipped teapot. Bea murmured a thank-you, but her mind was elsewhere.
Somewhere in the gutter.
Her gaze slid sideways again. Gage, chewing. Unbothered. Gorgeous. She was on the pill. She knew it, her body knew it. And yet her hormones were out here acting like it was peak fertility hour.
Gage leaned close, just enough she could feel the heat of him. “You keep looking at me like that, and we won’t be staying for dessert.” He paused, then added, lower, “I already know which clasp I’ll undo first.”
Bea stepped out of the powder room, heels clicking lightly on the marble as she adjusted her dress at the shoulder.
Rafael emerged from the opposite end of the corridor like something conjured.
She halted midstep. So did he, as if her stillness summoned his.
“Nice dress, little Bea.”
Her pulse misfired. She crossed her arms, eyes flicking over his face. “Nice…beard thing.”
He smiled. No charm, all trouble. “I was wondering if you’d notice.”
She noticed too much. For example, “I noticed your date.”
“Did you?”
She smiled serenely, trying to hold the high ground. “She’s beautiful.” Not to mention leggy, glossy, the kind of woman who knew exactly how to wear an evening.
“You’d hate her if you spoke to her.”
“Why?”
His gaze didn’t move from hers. “Because she’s not you.”
The words landed like a wrong note, abrupt and far too loud in her chest. What he expected her to say in response to lines like that, she had no idea. She looked away, fingers fussing at an earring that didn’t need fixing.
“So…” The timbre of his voice descended. “…when’s your turn?”
Her gaze cut back to him. “Excuse me?”
“Rings are trending tonight.” A lazy, one-shoulder shrug. “Felt like a fair question.”
The blood drained from her fingers. He couldn’t know. About London. About everything.
Bea scoffed. “You’ve been silent for months and now you’re making jokes?”
“I’m not joking.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He barely stepped closer, and the air shifted. Great. Now her lungs were confused.
“Making conversation. Unless you prefer silence.” Yes, the silence was better. Except for the moments it sucked.
As if he didn’t expect a reply, he turned his head, gaze tracking the music echoing down the corridor.
“They look happy,” he noted.
Bea followed his line of sight. Naomi and Charles, radiant and ridiculous. The crowd around them beaming like they’d all helped tie the bow.
“They are,” she said softly.
“It’s easy when you want the same kind of life.”
The silk of her dress brushed her knees. “And if you don’t?”
“Then someone bends.” He looked at her again. “Or breaks.”
Quiet slid between them.
She peered up at him. “Are you always this cheerful at engagement parties?”
“Depends who’s getting engaged.”
It hit too close.
The bell rang in the distance, summoning them back to society. Bea turned and walked away before she did something unwise.
Like ask him to elaborate.
Or worse—like stay.
Bea returned to the table just as her napkin was being refolded. She took her seat beside Gage, careful not to glance toward the doorway.
Rafael reappeared after a few minutes. She didn’t need to look. She could feel him reenter the room.
Gage reached out, drawing her just a little closer, then let his hand settle on her knee.
Naomi’s father stood at the head of the long banquet table, toasting his daughter’s razor wit and Charles’ ability to handle it.
The crowd laughed in all the right moments.
Cameras flashed. Naomi looked radiant: cheekbones lit by candlelight, hand resting lightly over Charles’ as he smiled at her like there was no world outside of this room.
Isabel’s voice was pitched just enough to include everyone within earshot. “If Naomi gets one more compliment, she’s going to levitate.”
“The ring’s throwing light like a disco ball. I think it just blinded Charles,” Georgina said, snagging a chocolate-covered strawberry.
“I warned him anything visible from space would be a liability,” Mason inserted.
Glasses clinked down the line in a lazy ripple.
Laurent tapped his lowball against Rafael’s. “I like Charles. He’s a bit like a French official I once blackmailed.”
“That’s not even a joke, is it?” Lillian said, not quite smiling.
“They’re perfect for each other,” Bea said, as she watched Naomi tilt her chin just so for another photo.
“She can teach him how to deliver an apology that somehow raises polling numbers,” Hunter agreed.
One of the men beside Lillian added, “He can make them retract opening-night reviews.”
“That’s why it’ll work,” Gage said.
Rafael didn’t look up, just set his glass down with a soft tap. “Maybe. But that’s not why it’ll matter.”
When the speeches ended and the music swelled, Naomi and Charles stepped out like royalty.
The lights dimmed to a golden hue. The roses were luminescent under soft uplighting. It was so obscenely romantic that Bea knew, by morning, this moment would be splashed across every society magazine in the Republic.
Bea watched them sway to the live music, perfectly choreographed.
“Walk with me.”
She looked up at Gage, nodded, and set her napkin aside. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist before settling at her lower back. They moved past the banquet tables and through a low arch flanked with rose vines.
The air was cooler. Gage shrugged off his jacket and settled it over her shoulders as if it were protocol. It was still warm from his skin. She breathed him in.
They walked in silence, at first, the music threading faintly through the trees.
“Tonight went well,” Gage said, his profile unreadable in the dark as they paused, looking out to where Southgate was all agleam.
“I’ve never been to an engagement party before, let alone helped to plan one. But this place is unreal. The food was incredible. The view…” Bea’s voice trailed off. Because Gage was listening even more closely than normal, as if cataloging every word she said.
“Do you like it?” he asked, with a nod toward the glow of the courtyard.
She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. “Yes.”
“Good.”
That was all.
It felt like a black thread stitching something quiet and permanent between them. Her fingers curled into the lining of his jacket. His gaze lingered, one slow sweep over silk and skin. She felt it like heat pressed to bare flesh.
He offered his hand. “Let’s go. I haven’t forgotten about that clasp.”