“You could land a helicopter on that lawn,” Lillian said, craning her neck out of the window of the luxury minivan that had arrived to pick them up.
Naomi’s house rose behind the gates with the serene confidence of something that had nothing left to prove. It was made of stately red brick, with dark shutters and symmetry that bordered on pompous.
Bea stepped out into a chorus of voices, luggage thudding onto gravel, heels scraping. Isabel pulled her into a hug that smelled faintly of citrus and airport air. Georgina materialized beside her, dragging a tote that must have bullied its way past airline policy. Lillian was already filming the scene.
“Okay, I feel underdressed,” Bea announced.
“Yeah, the hedges are definitely judging us,” Isabel agreed.
“They’ve seen worse,” Naomi said, coming down the front steps, wearing a cream knee-length sheath dress that gave serious first lady vibes.
Charles followed in his business shirt, jacket draped over one arm like he’d just arrived home in time to greet them. He shookhands with Rafael, Max, Laurent, Hunter—and Cassian, whose presence at the terminal had been unexpected.
Bea felt Rafael behind her like a sixth sense. He joined the conversation, the greetings, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled, telling her his attention never fully left her.
Charles motioned toward the door. “Come inside before all our security starts twitching.”
She glanced back at the human wall surrounding them. Cain, Channing, and Voss held their formation. Every one of her friends, except Lillian, had one or two of their own. It was nearly comedic that this was her life now.
Naomi led them through the foyer into a living room with wood-paneled ceilings. Built-ins lined the walls filled with porcelain that read as inherited rather than curated, and light poured in from twelve-foot-tall windows.
“So this is how the other half lives,” Bea breathed.
“It’s not a hundred feet from the surf,” Charles said wryly, with a sidelong look at Rafael. “But we make do.”
They moved as a loose, bright tide through the home. Bea trailed her fingers along banisters worn smooth by decades of powerful hands. The terrace stretched wide all the way along the back of the house.
“That’sa pool,” Max commented. “Just shy of Olympic regulation.”
By the time they looped back to the central hall, the women’s energy had climbed by decibels. Plans were being made, far more than their three-night stay could accommodate. The men listened with practiced patience. They were used to this.
Naomi clapped her hands. “Rooms.”
Bea’s first, mildly cynical thought was that this was technicallyCharles’ house, but he didn’t interrupt as she assigned them. The two single men had ground-floor apartments. Lillian’s was in the upstairs corner, with Isabel’sacross the hall. Georgie and Hunter were in the suite with the balcony.
“Ground floor?” Laurent lifted a brow. “You’re not worried I’ll raid the wine cellar at midnight?”
Charles gave Naomi the floor.
“If you do,” Naomi said calmly, “you’re cleaning the pool in the morning.”
Laurent grinned. “Understood.”
Naomi led them to a door at the far end of the upstairs hall. “You and Rafael are in here,” she said. “Fiancés get the most privacy.”
Bea stiffened. Her eyes darted to Rafael. He wasn’t looking at the room, he was looking at her. His expression was calm, but the upward slant at his cheeks said everything.
She turned, half ready to object?—
His hand closed firmly around hers and her fingers curled back before she could think. “Thanks, Naomi. This is perfect.” He tugged her inside.
“Come down in an hour for some fun,” Naomi called after them. Then, teasing, “Or if you’re already having fun…don’t come down at all.”
Rafael shut the door behind them and set the bags on the dresser.
Bea took in the room in a single, helpless sweep. The bed was wide enough to fit three grown adults. And yet every part of her knew: they’d find the center.
“We should talk about this arrangement.” At least her voice sounded steady.
