She didn’t know how it had ended up plated instead of dropped at the door. His assistant, Victoria, maybe. Or whatever quiet sorcery kept Gage’s life running like clockwork.
She folded one leg beneath her as they settled onto the stools, twirling noodles with real hunger now. She never touched the food in coach. And she’d turned down Gage’s offer to upgrade her, twice, on principle.
“You don’t even like this restaurant.” She pointed with her fork.
“I know”—he refilled her glass without looking up—“but you do.”
Bea shouldn’t have felt undone by a plate of Pad Thai, but warmth spread in her chest anyway. She caught herself staring, noticing how even here, at his own table, refinement clung to him with every bite. A man who didn’t know how to be anything less. And still, he remembered her favorite takeout.
After they cleared the plates, Bea drifted to the window. Dusk was settling over the city, the skyline igniting one light at a time.
She stretched, arms overhead. “Can I use your shower?”
“Towels are fresh. All your things are still there.”
The bathroom was familiar. Her skincare lined the vanity, identical to what she normally kept in her apartment in Mayfield Hall.
Gage had stocked the penthouse last year, wanting her to feel at home.
She stepped into the rain shower, letting the water wash away the flight and the cold of Toronto. When she was done, she blow-dried her hair, then opened her carry-on, pulling out the small box she’d packed before the flight.
It housed navy silk. The sleep shirt he’d given her on their one-month anniversary. Delicate buttons down the front. EmbroideredBCon the pocket. She slipped it on. The silk cooled instantly against her skin, clinging like water and memory. She smoothed the hem where it fell mid-thigh, then padded through the quiet penthouse.
He was still in the living room, eyes closed, leaning back with a lowball glass in hand. He didn’t open his eyes until she was in front of him.
His gaze swept the length of her—bare legs, freshly washed hair, wrapped in something he’d given her.
Gage saw it for what it was: a return. His jaw flexed. He set the glass down. Stood.
His voice cut through the silence. “You know what it means to wear that now.”
Her throat tightened. “I do.”
The silk was soft. The message wasn’t.
Gage watched her for another breath. Reaching for her hand, he turned toward his bedroom. She followed.
The sheets were cool against her spine.
Bea blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. She barely remembered falling asleep. Her muscles still ached, low and tender.
Gage was already up, immaculately dressed. Espresso in hand, he sat in the armchair by the window. His tie was slung over his shoulder.
Their eyes met. Or rather, his caught hers. He took another sip, a satisfied curve at his mouth, like he was very pleased with the outcome of the evening.
And maybe that was why, before even wishing him good morning, she said it. “I found a place to stay.”
That got an entirely new kind of attention. “Mm?”
Bea pushed the hair off her face and sat up, dragging the sheet with her. “Nico’s family has a pool house. His mother offered it.”
Nico was sixteen and had been one bad exam away from academic exile when she’d met him. Boarding school in Switzerland had been on standby. Through a strategic mix of threats, snacks, and relentless encouragement, Bea had dragged him back from the edge. He’d burned through half a dozen tutors before her. His mother now treated Bea like she walked on water.
Gage set his cup down. “You don’t want to stay here.”
“I don’t want to live with you,” she clarified. “Appearances still matter. So does space.”
“You wouldn’t be living with me. You’d be staying here while you work. It’s logistical.”
