“He’s already done enough,” Laurent said. “He won’t risk turning you into a spectacle. Not after yesterday.”
Bea had no idea why, but she let herself believe him. Her shoulders loosened.
“In case you’re wondering,” he added lightly, “do you know how many other women Rafael has looked at like that?”
Of course she hadn’t been wondering. But now she was. Fantastic.
“One?” she guessed, aiming for flippant but not quite landing it.
Laurent gave her a slow, almost pitying smile.
“Zero.” He said it carefully. Like it was important she understood. “But I admire your optimism.”
Cue the world’s most awkward silence.
A disbelieving laugh, more deflection than humor, snagged completely in her throat. Heat crawled up her neck like it had a personal vendetta and zero respect for context.
Then, as if by divine intervention, the oxygen seemed to suddenly be pulled from the room.
The hum of conversation dipped. Movements slowed. Every couple on the dance floor misstepped a fraction?—
Then turned.
Bea followed their gaze.
The ballroom doors had opened. And there, unerringly outfitted in a black velvet dinner jacket and crisp white shirt, stood Cassian Montenegro.
He didn’t pause at the threshold. Didn’t scan the room. He walked like he’d already memorized the layout.
“Why is everyone staring?” Bea whispered to Laurent.
His arrival was causing a shift in barometric pressure, and she had no idea why. Cassian was in the same league as everyone here.
“Because he wasn’t invited.” Laurent’s eyes glittered. “He humiliated the Langleys in a deal last quarter. The Aurelles couldn’t host both this weekend.”
“But he still came?”
“He didn’t offendthem.” Laurent shrugged, gaze fixed on Cassian, who was cutting a line straight for the hosts. “Looks like he’s here to divide the room.” Laurent leaned in, his voice a low murmur near her ear. “And just like that, we are all footnotes again.”
Bea gave him a wry smile as he pulled back.
This wasn’t the moment to be twirling with a provocateur in a cream tux. Not with eyes shifting. Not with alliances subtly realigning around the edges. She didn’t know what game was being played now, but she knew enough to get off the floor.
“I should go.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “Until next time, Bea Cruz.”
She didn’t answer. Her heels bit into marble as she turned.
The safest place in the room was always by Gage King. He was still with Nate, drink in hand. But she saw the tension in his knuckles. The controlled awareness in his frame.
His eyes tracked her, cool and unreadable, then slid to the small of her back when she took her place beside him.
“Enjoy your dances?” he asked, voice smooth but tight.
She nodded.
None of them pretended not to watch.
