“You know he practiced the tassel move,” Nate said.
“Moving it two inches back doesn’t count as practicing,” Gage replied without looking up.
Bea leaned forward, amused. “I need details.”
“I’m not saying he booked the boardroom,” Nate mused. “But I did see him checking the mirror for symmetry.”
“It was a window,” Gage said dryly.
Another dish came in a cloud of smoke: roasted quail over truffled polenta. Bea had lost track of what course this was. Fifth? Sixth?
Victor pushed his chair back and stood, glass in hand.
The conversation fell quiet. One by one, everyone picked up their glasses.
“Well done, Gage. Nate.” His tone was steady, formal. “You’ve made us proud.” He looked around the table, meeting each person’s gaze in turn. “To achievement. To legacy.” A small nod. “And to those who rise to meet what’s asked of them.”
He looked at her on that last line. Brief, but unmistakable. Her heels bit into the carpet, breath tight in her chest. Outwardly, she didn’t flinch.
They raised their glasses higher.
“Cheers,” the table echoed.
Once they’d resettled, Harper turned to her, a bit shy. “Your jumpsuit really is beautiful.”
Bea smiled. “Credit to Georgina. I had three black dresses on standby and she practically set them on fire.”
Harper giggled. It was a small sound, quickly hidden behind her glass. “If I were wearing white today, I’d worry about spilling something on it.”
“I am,” Bea whispered. “Every time they bring another sauce.”
“You’re doing great. My mom hasn’t raised a single eyebrow yet.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
Bea’s wineglass had quietly vanished. In its place: sparkling water with mint and a single slice of lime. Gage always remembered.
She smiled to herself.
Without looking, she slid her hand beneath his where it rested on her knee, curling her fingers into his palm. A quiet thank-you, just for him.
He didn’t pause his conversation. Didn’t glance down. But his thumb pressed once against her wrist, steady and certain.
It wasn’t grand, or loud. Just him, paying attention. Like he always did.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They were supposed to be heading to a lunch reservation, until Bea spotted the market.Koopstraat. Literally, Buy Street. Open every day since the dawn of time, apparently, but brand new to her. It might’ve been waiting its whole life for her to stumble upon it.
“Ten minutes,” she said, tugging his hand before he could argue.
“Is that going to be real or interpretive?”
“You’ll survive either way.”
He did not look convinced. “Victoria had to book that table,” Gage reminded her. “There’s a waiting list.”
It was a small sort of celebration for finishing exams.
