“Thank you for inviting me.”
His tone softened, almost avuncular. “You’ve had a remarkable few years. New country, new career, new husband.” He gestured, pen in hand. “It must have been quite a culture shock for you given your parents are just a librarian and portside worker. Did you ever imagine your life would look like this?”
Bea released a quiet breath. “Not remotely.”
“You were a scholarship student who transferred as a junior to St. Ives University.” He studied her. “Some might say you’ve been extraordinarily fortunate with the men who’ve taken an interest in you. Gage King was your first beau, correct?”
She had expected it. Hearing it aloud was something else. Her training kicked in. Every panel, every presentation, every moment she’d wanted to faint in public and somehow hadn’t. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Some people have wondered,” Oliver said mildly, “whether you would be Mrs.Kingtoday instead of Mrs. Griffin, if Gage King hadn’t moved to London two years ago?”
Again, anticipated. Again, way worse than when she’d said it in her head.
Bea paused to compose herself. “I think anyone who’s been in a serious relationship knows you can’t speculate about the past that way. It’s not helpful.”
“But surely you can try to imagine.”
“I have the deepest respect and admiration for Mr. King, and nothing to reproach him with.” Her fingernails made crescents in her palms. “But I think your audience understands something very basic about love.”
Oliver was the picture of an attentive interviewer. “And what’s that?”
“Sometimes the timing simply isn’t right.”
Oliver’s lips curved, as if indulging something quaint. “Fair enough. And anyway, you were able to find your ‘happy ever after,’” he segued. “While I was in Westhaven I spoke with several St. Ives alumni who described your husband, Rafael Griffin, as one of the most driven men of his generation.” He tapped his notebook with his pen. “What was it like realizing that man was interested in you?”
Bea glanced briefly toward the camera line. Rafael hadn’t moved an inch.
“Alarming,” she said with a small grin.
The crew laughed. Oliver glanced briefly at the number in the corner. Viewers had passed five hundred thousand. She saw the satisfaction in his blue eyes.
“Alarming?”
“At first.” Bea took a sip of water. “And then reassuring. Rafael has a way of making you braver than you thought you were.”
“That’s unexpected, considering the rumors about marriage in the UR.”
“Oh? What do they say?” Bea asked.
“Some critics say marriage in the UR resembles…ownership. Do you ever feel restricted?”
Bea glanced once more at Rafael. Faced the camera dead-on, with real amusement on her face. “All I can say is he’s doing a very poor job of controlling me. Because here I am, speaking for myself.”
“True,” Oliver conceded. And then it came. The opening she’d been waiting for. “I’m glad you trusted me with your story.”
Bea’s smile was slow. “Trust.” She repeated the word as if testing its weight. “That’s an interesting way to describe what happened.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, you didn’t exactly give me a choice.”
Oliver’s smile held, but he was gripping the pen hard. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“You approached me with leverage, remember?”
Behind the cameras, someone stopped typing. Rafael and the bodyguards straightened.
Oliver chuckled, the sound of a man humoring a misunderstanding. “I think that’s a rather dramatic way to describe a journalistic inquiry.”
