Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
GAGE
He found her in the living room.
Laptop open, legs tucked beneath her, tea gone cold beside a scatter of notes. She hadn’t heard him come in—her head bent, a soft line of concentration in her brow, hair pinned haphazardly like she’d stopped halfway and forgotten to finish.
Gage stood at the threshold and just watched her for a moment.
This. This was what he wanted.
Her. In his home. Studying. Waiting for him like she belonged there.
Bea looked up then, caught his gaze, and smiled. “Hey,” she said, closing the laptop halfway. “You’re home earlier than I thought.”
He stepped out of his shoes, loosened his tie. “Left after the call. No use staying longer.”
She stood, and went to him. Slipped her arms around his waist. He held her, one hand at her lower back, the other brushing into her hair.
Her cheek rested against his chest. She inhaled slowly. “You smell like the office.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair.
She tipped her head back, searching his face. “What is it?”
He exhaled. “London’s moved up again.”
Her brow furrowed.
“They need me to take a series of meetings in person in December,” he murmured. “I leave the week after your finals end.”
Her voice sounded small, and futile. “I thought you’d be here for Christmas.”
“I meant to be.”
He watched as all her tells surfaced. The press of her thumb against his shirt. The pause before her eyes returned to his. The way her breath moved deeper into her ribs, like she was anchoring herself.
Most people wouldn’t have seen it, but he did. Because he was the one who put that silence in her. And he hated it.
She nodded. “Okay.”
It wasn’t. They both knew that.
Bea leaned in, pressing her forehead to his chest. She tipped her face up after a minute and met his eyes. He read them like he always did: the ache she wouldn’t name, the questions she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t need to.
He kissed her then. She didn’t pull back. She rose into it.
And when he took her hand to lead her to the bedroom, she let him. Without hesitation.
The city light slipped through the high windows, casting gold across the bedding. She peeled her sweater over her head, the soft fall of it brushing the floor. He unbuttoned his shirt one-handed, so he could keep hold of her hand.
She reached for him first.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, as he guided her down to the bed. Let his hands move across her like a memory he didn’t trust time to keep.
It was her, and him, and the space between them folding in.
When he slid into her, she curled both hands to his jaw. Held his face like she was afraid it might change if she let go.
Neither of them said a word. But everything was in the silence. The way she arched into him like her body knew its place against his. The way he moved with her like this was something sacred. The way their mouths found each other over and over, unspoken questions answered in every breath.
When it was over, she lay with her back to his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around her ribs. He felt her breathing slow. Counted each inhale like a borrowed moment. Her hand rested over his.
He didn’t ask if she was okay.
And she didn’t ask if he could stay.
GAGE
The upstairs lounge was all deep wood and low lighting. Books no one read lined the walls for effect. The air held the usual mix of old scotch, cigars, and inheritance.
Gage leaned back in the high-backed armchair, one ankle resting on his knee, whisky untouched. He hadn’t planned to stay long.
Charles, the man of the hour, moved through the crowd like a statesman working a summit. Groom-to-be energy, all smiles and soft control.
Nate dropped into the chair beside Gage, drink in hand. “Off whisky, or overthinking?”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Nate smirked. “They’re placing bets.”
“Then they should know better.”
Dominic Cabal, all teeth and political pedigree, slid into the gap like a social grenade.
“So, King,” he said, easing onto the ottoman, “will we celebrate you before you go? Or are you skipping straight from boardroom to altar without the usual vices?”
The air shifted—small movements, a low ripple of laughter, a recalibration of orbit. They were listening now.
Gage looked up. Voice calm. “No bucks.”
“None?” someone echoed.
“I don’t plan to mark a transition I haven’t earned yet.”
They all blinked at him, like buffering icons in human form.
Across the room, someone said, “Didn’t think the King hesitated.”
Someone else muttered, “As if she’d say no.”
Charles stepped in smoothly, always the diplomat. “Let’s keep the bets off the heir, gentlemen. There’s a groom in the room, and bad decisions to make.”
RAFAEL
I don’t plan to mark a transition I haven’t earned yet.
Rafael didn’t move. But the line threaded through his bloodstream like a match to oil. His fingers tightened once on the glass, the crystal biting back against his grip.
Laurent, lounging beside him like a cat at the hearth, murmured, “Still breathing?”
“Yes.”
Laurent’s mouth curved faintly. “Impressive.”
Some voices called him over.
“Pray for the fools,” Laurent said, rising smoothly. “I’m about to steal their legacies in poker.”
Charles arrived just as he sauntered off. “Griffin,” he greeted warmly. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I don’t enjoy these things.”
Charles smiled. “No one does really. But it’s tradition. And tonight I indulge tradition.”
Rafael tipped his cognac toward Charles, then sipped.
“I appreciate you coming,” Charles said next. “Given…everything.”
Rafael’s gaze cut to him. “Say it plain.”
Charles’ smile didn’t falter. He took a slow sip. “Timing’s a bastard.” He gestured toward the group in the corner. “Go. Save the table. Before Laurent starts dealing and bankrupts them all.”
He walked off.
Rafael didn’t follow. Gage’s voice kept replaying in his head.
I don’t plan to mark a transition I haven’t earned yet.
Yet.
It wasn’t safety. It was oxygen.
And it was the only reason Rafael hadn’t razed the room to ash.
“Come on, Bea,” Georgina urged, nudging her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed from champagne, eyes bright with the kind of mischief that never ended well. “I’ve heard you at home when you can’t help yourself. You’ve got pipes.”
“I’m not drunk enough for karaoke,” Bea protested.
“No one gets drunk in the UR, remember?” Isabel grabbed her hand, tugging her forward.
“Come on. One song. For me?” Naomi’s eyes were sparkling, her veil a little crooked.
Bea didn’t have the heart to say no. Not when it was Naomi’s hens.
She stood at the edge of the light. The microphone was cold in her hand. She stared at it, a little stunned, as if she couldn’t quite understand how she’d gotten there.
Naomi squeezed her hand, and Georgina shot her an encouraging nod, before they all moved back into their seats.
The opening notes trickled through the speakers. Her neck snapped up, emotion inside her already stirring. She recognized the song by Noelle, a famous UR singer-songwriter.
The screen brightened, words popping up line by line.
Bea’s chest tightened. Her throat felt like it was closing up. But there was no way out.
She took a breath. Then opened her mouth.
Her voice came out soft at first. The room didn’t notice. It was loud, chaotic, a swirl of color and champagne and laughter.
But then, slowly, the noise tapered off. Conversations halted. Heads turned.
The words poured out, heavy and raw.
You know the parts of me I’d never let unfold,
Taught me I was stronger than the fears I tried to hold.
Gave me ground to stand, and wings to claim the skies,
Now I see us drifting in the pauses and goodbyes.
Don’t say we’ll be fine, it only makes it worse,
I can feel the distance in the spaces between words.
So if this is the last time that I get to be yours,
Then let me keep a piece of us like we were before.
Her voice swelled with the chorus, stronger than she thought possible. It ached. She ached. And the room fell utterly silent.
Don’t go,
Not yet, not like this.
Let’s stay in the space between almost and missed.
I don’t need promises, I just need slow.
One more breath with you,
Please don’t go.
The words cracked something open inside her.
The tears didn’t ask permission. They just arrived—fierce and hot. The taste of salt touched her lips. It startled her, the way her body knew before her mind did. How it responded to what she hadn’t dared acknowledge.
He was leaving. And she didn’t think she could follow.
No, even that wasn’t true anymore.
She couldn’t.
Naomi was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying not to ruin her makeup. Isabel wiped her cheek like it had turned against her. Georgina didn’t even try to stop the tears, just let all of them fall, hand clamped over her mouth.
And Lillian…Lillian sat unnervingly still, face wet, her tender heart understanding too much, too deeply.
Bea’s hands trembled around the microphone, knuckles white against the black steel. Her voice cracked in places, but she didn’t stop. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued, letting the words pour out of her like a confession. Let the tears stream unchecked down her face.
Her voice softened to almost a whisper on the final note. And then it was over.
The room erupted into applause, whistles, and shouts. People she didn’t even know were cheering like she’d just won something.
But four pairs of eyes stayed on her, unsmiling. Carrying the truth with her.
Bea swiped at her face, fingers shaking. Terrified.
Not of what people saw, but of what came next.