“I’m flattered. Yes, I’m doing some research. This place is still a bit of a mystery to the outside world. You really have tobehere to understand it.” He waved some tourist booklets picked up from reception. “But I’m also just traveling. Northgate is extraordinary. It invites you into their culture the way few cities do anymore.”
It was so akin to something Rafael had once said to Claire and Marco that she smiled. “You should visit St. Ives town if you have time, too. It’s more historical.”
“I will.” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress. “You must be mid-wedding obligations.”
“Oh, yes. Hosting guests.”
“Hopefully invited ones.” He chuckled. “The world seems very interested in you.”
Bea made a face. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“It can’t be helped. Everyone loves a fairy tale,” he replied easily, tapping the brochures against his palm.
“That’s true,” she admitted. “My umma and I woke at dawn for the royal weddings.”
“Exactly.” He gave her elbow a tap. “Well, Bea, I won’t keep you. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Her phone buzzed in her hand. Bea glanced down. A message from a famous women’s magazine asking if she’d comment on an article they were running, titled: “From Ramen to Riches: The Billionaire Bea CruzFinallyMarried.”
The wedding hadn’t even happened yet.
Chapter Fifteen
The twins were nearly at the end of the aisle now.
One of them tipped her basket too far and dumped half the petals in a pink avalanche at her own feet. Han marched the remaining distance with fierce concentration until he spotted someone he knew and waved enthusiastically. At the altar he fist-bumped every groomsman before taking his position.
Bea shifted beside Papa, careful not to crush the hem of her dress.
Ahead of them, the aisle stretched over the beach like a long pale ribbon. Flowers cascaded on either side in lush drifts, white and champagne. At the far end, where the ocean kissed the sky, the circular platform appeared to have risen from the sea, the altar framed with fabric curved like sails.
She’d seen sketches and mood boards. Nothing compared to what Rafael’s team had made into reality.
The string quartet drew one long, shimmering line. Three hundred and fifty guests rose. A piano followed, the notes rippling over the sand. How they’d managed to get a baby grand across a hundred feet of beach, Bea had no idea.
Rows of people turned toward her and Papa. For a fleeting second she felt too small for the moment. Her chest rose andfell unevenly beneath her abuela’s mantilla, fingers going damp around the flowers she held.
This is too much for a girl from Toronto.
Then Rafael’s eyes found hers. A slow ache spread through her chest. Cream linen, three pieces, shirt open at the collar. The moment she saw him, everything inside her settled.
Her feet moved.
Papa guided her forward. The aisle went on forever. Faces emerged from the blur: mentors, friends, family. Halmoni stood closest to the aisle, four foot eleven of unyielding authority. As she passed, her grandmother gave the smallest nod. Umma pressed a tissue to her cheek.
Bea’s balance wavered just enough that Papa’s hand tightened at her elbow. She blinked, determined to preserve both mascara and dignity.
“Almost there, mija,” Papa said, steadily. “You look beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit harder than she expected. Her throat was hot with gratefulness. “I love you, Papa.”
Her bridesmaids were beaming, sniffling, a line of French-blue gowns, each cut differently. Claire made the tiniest fist-pump. Georgina shamelessly leaned into the aisle and took a selfie. The groomsmen formed a quiet flank by Rafael. Beside them, Selene and Leon glowed with pride.
Finally they reached the end. Rafael stepped forward.
Papa swallowed. “Take care of my daughter.”
