“We practically grew up in these rooms together,” she continued. “I supposed that’s why he offered to bring me back on the jet from London. To makesureI didn’t miss it.”
There it was. The first cut that bled.
Bea smiled.
Because that was what you did. You smiled like it didn’t sting. Even when the wine turned sour on your tongue. Even when the girl beside you reminded the room that she’d been there before you. That he’d flown her in with himto make sure she didn’t miss it.
“Your memory of Harvest Summits is full of artistic license,” Georgina interjected, dry as stone.
Catherine didn’t miss a beat. “Gage doesn’t share everything with you, Georgie.” Then, dreamily, “One year he got it in his head to teach me how to ride properly.” Her voice was gentle, wistful. “I could barely stay on the horse, but he was convinced I had potential. I was up at dawn every day with him practicing.”
A sip of wine. A smile that gleamed. “He’s always been like that. Once he takes something on, he doesn’t let go until it’s perfect. Or until he’s proven it can’t be.” Catherine looked at Bea pointedly. “Gage always did have a thing for projects.”
Bea felt it at that moment.
Not rage, not even hurt.
Shame.
The slow, burning kind. The kind that crawled up your spine and settled behind your eyes, telling you that maybe they’d all seen something you hadn’t.
That maybe you weren’t a guest. You were an experiment.
She needed air. Silence. Space. She needed to leave.
But she wouldn’t run.
“So did you become a good rider?” Bea asked quietly.
Catherine blinked as if caught. She laughed, trying for nonchalance. “Not really. I guess…I wasn’t born for it.”
Bea held her gaze. “Not everyone is.”
Catherine’s smile didn’t drop, but her eyes were sharp.
“Excuse me,” Bea said. Then she turned, skirt brushing her legs as she walked out through the side door of the cellar.
She walked up the stairs. Past the limestone arch.
She didn’t care where she was going. Just that it wasaway.
She turned the corner—and hit a chest. Rafael steadied her with both hands. His eyes cut over her face once. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
He didn’t follow.
Somehow, she ended up inside the ladies’ bathroom at the top of the path.
She wasn’t crying. Not yet. Her throat was tight. Her hands were shaking. She stared at the sink. The room was stunning of course, bronze fixtures, antique soap tray, and towels rolled like they’d been sculpted.
The door opened, and without a word, Georgina stepped in. Her heels clicked once on the tile, then paused.
“You’ve got three minutes before this becomesThe Story,” she said.
Bea didn’t answer.
Georgina crossed to the mirror and opened her clutch. She pulled out blotting paper and dabbed at Bea’s forehead without asking. “Catherine gets to you,” she said.
