“I actually heard…she’s in London,” Isabel said.
Bea’s head jerked up.
Oh. Perfect. London. Where Gage was. What a thrilling coincidence. Definitely nothing to spiral about.
She tried to smile. “Good for her.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just sad, chasing a man who’s chosen someone else,” Lillian said quietly.
Even the mocktails went quiet.
“This is exactly why I insisted you come, Lils.”
Lillian turned. “Why?”
Naomi smirked. “Because you’re not clueless. But you speak truth so gently it’s impossible to get upset at you.”
Isabel lifted her mocktail. “And because it’s inevitable.”
Lillian raised a brow. “What is?”
Georgina leaned back on one elbow. “That you’ll end up in a room like this with a ring on your hand and no idea how you got there. Better to be prepared.”
A pair of girls brushed past. She heard one whisper to the other. “My sister said that’s her. The one from M and S who wrote that memo.”
Bea’s head whipped around. She’d saidher. Like she was an actual person who’d done something cool, besides attract Gage King.
Lillian’s lips quirked. “Guess you’re a main character now.”
Bea took a slow sip. “That’s new.”
Chapter Sixteen
Gage’s Ferrari crested the final bend in the drive just as the vineyard estate came into full view, its honeyed stone glowing gold in the dying sun. Vines stretched in perfect rows down the hill in all directions.
There were currently four cars being handled in the driveway by the three-person valet team, wearing matching dark vests. Bea recognized Georgina’s red convertible among them.
The car slid into the roundabout, black against the ancient stone. It didn’t belong here—and yet somehow, it did. Not because it matched the estate, but because it dared to contrast it: horsepower in a place steeped in history.
A valet opened her door.
Bea stepped out into the evening light. The breeze carried the scent of grapes and pine. Gage emerged from the driver’s side, handing off the keys with a nod.
Bea looked up at the estate. Massive. Imposing. Timeless. And already watching.
Security, of course, was everywhere. Vineyard staff patrolled unobtrusively at the perimeter, but the real protection had arrived with the guests in sleek black cars with tinted windows. A party like this wasn’t just a social event, it was a power grid.
A sound split the calm. Low at first. Then climbing. Unapologetic. A growl more than a purr.
She turned.
The Lamborghini Urus tore up the gravel with no interest in subtlety. Matte black, massive, and thundering into the quiet, reckless and alive. The engine cut off with a final snarl.
Laurent Duret climbed out of the passenger side.
Then Rafael. Boots hit gravel. Jeans, dark t-shirt, wind-rough hair. He looked at her first, his wordless acknowledgment designed to be just enough to irritate Gage, but not enough to invite comment.
Bea couldn’t help a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. The car was pure Rafael.
