There were a hundred things she could say. A hundred questions she wanted to ask. Some of them solid, some insane.
Do they even have oat milk in London? I don’t understand cricket, is that a requirement?
But none of it would change the path already forming beneath their feet.
She squeezed his hand and said, as bravely as she could, “Okay.”
The elevator slid open on the top floor of Mayfield Hall.
Bea stepped out in a daze. The weight of dinner still clung to her skin.
Gage was leaving.
Not on my own. With you.
He had a late-night call with London, so he’d dropped her off home.
Her phone buzzed in her bag, loud enough in the silence to jolt her. She’d forgotten it entirely, and it’d been on silent during dinner. Now it was blinking with twenty-seven notifications. Someone was either dead or had been photographed in satin under flash lighting.
She pulled it out. The messages started an hour ago.
Group Chat: Therapy Club
NAOMI: I’m engaged. I repeat. The future of the UR’s political machine just put a ring on it.
GEORGINA: It’s 4.5 carats and has its own security.
ISABEL: I knew he was going to do it!
LILLIAN: Congratulations!!!!!
NAOMI: Everyone assemble at Mayfield Hall. It’s most central.
NAOMI: I have binders. Plural.
ISABEL: Leaving my photoshoot now. Traffic is hell. I’ll be an hour at least.
LILLIAN: Me, too. I’m bringing cake.
GEORGINA: I already ordered six bridal sample racks. I had a premonition.
NAOMI: BEA. Tell Gage to release you. The Republic needs you.
GEORGINA: I’ve alerted his concierge. He’ll tell me if Bea shows up at the penthouse.
NAOMI: BEA DO NOT SLEEP WITH HIM this is more important.
NAOMI: You can have sex forever. I’m only engaged once.
GEORGINA: (debatable)
NAOMI: THE POINT STANDS
NAOMI: The Krug is open!
Bea huffed out a laugh. She punched the code in, and pushed open the front door.
Naomi let out a scream the moment Bea stepped through the door. A full-body, multi-octave, slightly deranged squeal.
