Rafael shook his head, used to the bickering. He’d considered banishing the board to one of their offices, but here at least he could confirm they did some work between rounds.
The room was quiet. A moment later, the soft tap of stones resumed. He used the lull to sign off on Cain’s security plan. Additional bodyguard for Bea. More men at the beach estate, wider perimeter.
A fortress, by any other name. What he wanted to be for her. Fortresses kept people safe; they also kept people in. She hadn’t missed that part.
He glanced over just in time to see Max sweep what was left of the bounty.
Laurent swore in French. “How do you keep doing that? I’m a banker. Counting is supposed to be my job.”
“I’m a lawyer. All I need is an opening.” Max started resetting the pieces, because apparently one game wasn’t enough for these two clowns.
“So we’re going to Westhelm,” said Laurent.
“Does that mean she took it well?” Max asked. “I assume you’ve explained the marriage law.”
‘Well’ was doing a lot of work in that sentence. Things had returned to pattern since his return: breakfast at her place, dinner at his. But he was the one starting every touch. She wanted him. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that whenever she felt it, she retreated. Usually right before things became interesting. Before, abstinence had been something they endured together. Now it felt like armor she wore alone.
Which meant things were not, strictly speaking, going well.
“She’s processing.” The sound of his own voice was enough to tell him Laurent had just been handed ammunition.
That man’s blue eyes lit with interest. “But she hasn’t said yes.”
“She already did. She’s engaged to me.”
“We both know that isn’t the only yes that matters.”
The silence stretched.
Rafael turned his attention back to the documents spread across his desk. The clean geometry of the titles and permits. Every page bore his name.
He heard her voice in his head.
Every time I think this place is home, I’m reminded it’s a cage.
He reached for a fresh sheet, and sat.
“Max,” he said, already writing, “draw up a transfer.”
“Of what, exactly?”
“The beach house,” Rafael replied.
“That’s an eight-figure asset.”
“I know.”
“And if you gift it before the ceremony,” Max continued, “it doesn’t revert under marriage law. Not automatically. Not ever, unless she chooses it.”
Rafael looked up. “I know.”
Laurent’s brows lifted, something like admiration flickering there. “You’re really doing it?”
Rafael didn’t bother confirming. They watched him sign.
Chapter Six
The first thing Bea learned about Westhelm was that it did not believe in modesty.
