“You know why.”
They reached the café and paused by the door, the aroma of pastries and espresso wafting into the street. Bea barely noticed it. All she could register was him—the dark, unmistakable scent that drew her attention to the hollow of his throat. She wanted to lean in and press her face to his neck.
She didn’t move.
Rafael’s gaze drifted. A car passed behind her, but she knew he wasn’t monitoring traffic. He was giving himself a second to think.
“I’ll reschedule,” he said at last.
Bea forced herself not to let the moment end there. “Also…I asked Umma not to send the logistics pack to my family yet.”
He closed the distance in a single step. Her pulse spiked, driving her to retreat, but she stayed planted and lifted her chin.
“Travel bookings need to be made soon.”
“They can wait.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Resistance landed in his body before it reached his face. She saw it in his stillness, the kind that came right before motion. For a fleeting second she was certain he would abandonwords altogether, take hold of her, and erase the space she was insisting on.
Selene chose that blessed moment to arrive.
“Darlings!”
Rafael turned slowly. “Mama.”
“Theia,” Bea said, overly upbeat by exactly twenty-one percent.
Selene’s gaze flicked between them. Kind. Not fooled.
“I’ll pick you up later, baby.”
Bea turned back to him. Big mistake. He leaned down and kissed her. Not long nor gentle. A claim, as if in answer to the uncertainty he’d found on his return. He knew she wouldn’t pull away. Not with his mother watching.
His kiss burned through the careful facade she’d built in his absence. His hands, his presence, the solid press of him cracked her focus for three reckless, unforgivable seconds. When he was close, it was too easy to forget why she’d drawn the line in the first place.
He wrenched himself away, pressed the box into her hands. “Your snacks,” he said tightly. “Text me when you’re done with work.”
Then he kissed his mother’s cheek. “See you later, Mama.”
Selene watched him go before turning back to Bea. “Let’s head in.”
They settled at their usual table. The waiter had already clocked them and peeled off toward the kitchen. The café hummed a low, ordinary soundtrack.
Bea folded her hands together on the tabletop because if she didn’t, she was fairly sure she’d touch her mouth.
“It seems I arrived in the middle of a negotiation,” Selene said lightly.
Heat bloomed up Bea’s neck. “It’s the marriage law. Rafael and I have been…discussing it.”
“He told you.”
“It feels like I said yes before I knew what yes meant.”
“You did,” Selene agreed. “So tell me. What are you afraid of?”
