“The UR is a walled garden,” Bea murmured.
Gage gave a single nod. “It wouldn’t be paradise without walls.”
A bell chimed: clear, ascendant, unmistakable.
Staff disappeared like magic. Alcoves lit up as though they’d been waiting for this moment, revealing pastries under glass, a tower of champagne, and a gilded espresso bar with silver liquor trays.
“What’s happening?” she asked Gage.
“The second half is for mingling,” he explained.
The energy had shifted from ceremony to revelry. Everyone rose, adjusting jackets, fixing cuffs, flipping hair.
At the center of the room, Gustave and Carine Aurelle stepped into the circle. He gave the faintest nod, and the band answered with something warm, pulsing, and meant for two. The singer followed, her voice an invitation. The floor was open.
One by one, other couples followed.
Bea felt the ache of it. She loved to dance. Not to perform or impress, just to move. Her fingers curled slightly around the back of her chair.
Gage never danced. Not at events or in public. Not even with her.
She tried not to feel disappointed.
“Want dessert?” he asked, already standing.
If she couldn’t have the music, she could at least have something sweet. She stood.
“Bea.”
She turned, pulse quickening like a wire sparking in the cold. Victor King stood regally beside their table. Impeccable in black-tie. The embodiment of legacy.
“Mr. King—Victor,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
“My son doesn’t dance,” he said. “I do.”
Oh.
Oh no.
That was an invitation. Or as close as a man like him ever got to extending one.
Was there a protocol for this? For dancing with the patriarch of an empire? A man who might one day become her father-in-law, if she didn’t fumble the next few minutes and get excommunicated from the bloodline?
Gage glanced, but didn’t interrupt. Nate remained still. Georgina didn’t say anything, but she was pushing back a smile that said this moment was better than dessert.
Victor extended his hand.
Bea placed hers in his. Her shoulders squared on instinct. And then—because there was nothing else to do—she let herself be led.
His palm found her back. They swayed.
“This weekend has gone better than expected,” Victor began.
That was a relief, but also begged the obvious: What had he expected?
“I’m glad, sir,” she said, careful not to overplay it.
“There was an interesting moment with Rafael yesterday.”
