“My favorite clip adds clown music when Fox says ‘that’s how interviews happen,’” Rafael volunteered. She’d heard him replay it more than once.
“I’m just relieved the memes are more of Oliver than me.”
“Not so fast.” Laurent pulled his phone out, tapped, and angled the screen toward her. “You have clips too,Beya Slaya.”
The moment had been slowed. No audio. Just her, frame by frame—smiling slowly, head tilting, lips forming “Trust” with exaggerated clarity. It looped.
Laurent’s thumb tapped the screen again. “Top comments.”
Bea took the phone from him. The internet had lost all restraint when challenged to “CAPTION THIS”:
when you already saw the uber receipts, texts, and credit card statement
she knows the answer she just wants to see if you’re stupid
the face of every woman who’s ever dated a gaslighter
bold request from a man clinging to youth via facelift and hair plugs
Bea laughed under her breath as she scrolled. “People online are hilarious.” She squished up her face. “And vicious.” She shuddered, and passed the phone back to Laurent. “Anyway. What are you doing back?”
Nico looked at Rafael. “Yeah, you said he’s in New York.”
“I said hewasin New York.”
“Couldn’t let the cadet visit home and not feel welcomed,” Laurent threw in.
“Did you leave important business to be here?”
“I left things…well taken care of,” Laurent said, not without a gleam in his blue eyes.
Rafael’s gaze flicked past them all. He reached out, taking Bea’s hand in his. “Let’s relocate before the Dynasty Griffins weigh in.”
Laurent smirked. “You gonna put this in the formal dining?”
“Only if we start hosting heads of state,” came the deadpan reply.
Nico stared up at the portrait one last time. “You know, I didn’t clock it before, but at billboard scale? Bea has full mob-mistress bone structure.”
Bea blinked. “Uh…thanks?”
“Also, after what you did to Oliver Fox?” He studied her, then snapped his fingers. Lifted both hands and dipped into a theatrically low bow. “La Jefa.”
RAFAEL
Nico and Laurent had barely cleared the driveway.
Bea looped her arms around his waist, rose onto her toes, and pressed a kiss on his mouth. “It’s been a while since you laughed like that.”
His fingertips were immediately drawn to the soft warmth of her lower back beneath the fabric. She was here, safe. In his arms. “He’s a good kid.”
“That ‘kid’ is nearly as tall as you now,” she said. “I’m glad he made the officer track. He worked so h?—”
Her words scattered when his lips found her ear, then traced lower, grazing the sensitive line of her throat. One hand went to her buttons without patience.
“Do you think we should invite the boys to the housewarming on Sunday?” she tried again. “It’d be nice to see?—”
Her blouse gaped, then came undone fully. He hoisted her up using just one forearm. She weighed less than his sick-day warm up set on the bench press.
