Rafael knew instantly: he’d figured out about the abstinence. He hadn’t said anything, but heknew.
He turned back to Bea. She was watching him, dark eyes bright with mirth and something that felt like adoration.
Look at me like that forever. I’d burn the world for you.
Slowly, he slid his hand down her spine to her waist, and felt a new type of tremble in her. She melted into his palm like she’d been waiting for the touch all night. Her fingers gripped his shoulder. This moment still belonged to them.
They dropped into the beat on the same breath. Their bodies locked in on instinct, heat and timing with no thought of steps. The crowd roared its approval. Bea’s papa covered both his and Umma’s eyes, but kept watching through his fingers.
Rafael’s grip shifted to the middle of her back. He angled his right foot behind hers, tipping his chin the slightest fraction. A barely there signal. Bea understood like he’d spoken it. One arm looped around his neck, her expression said:do it.
He dipped her, smooth and deep. So low her long hair brushed the floor. Held her there, supported entirely by him, and the tent swung from feral to unhinged, every guest towed into their gravity.
Flashes. Someone screamed, “THEY PRACTICED, THEY DEFINITELY PRACTICED.”
At that moment, Rafael decided to let Laurent live.
“Okay,” the host said, laughing into the mic. “Before we lose complete control of this event—there’s one more surprise. Please turn to the screens.”
Rafael pulled Bea up carefully. The marquee dimmed.
Nico appeared midmotion, camera slightly off-kilter, dark hair cropped. Bea’s face lit up instantly.
“Okay, so technically I’m not supposed to be recording on base—” A distant voice yelled something. Nico didn’t flinch. “I’ve only got forty-seven seconds, so let’s go. You two finally locked it down. Some people might say it was fast, but honestly I’ve been pretending not to notice this situation for at least a year.”
The crowd roared. Rafael caught every word, even as his attention kept drifting back to Bea. She was so damn radiant. That joy was his to protect now.
“Bea: you bullied me into finishing essays, fed me when I complained, and somehow made school stop feeling like punishment. Respect.” His grin widened. “El Jefe: if I turn out to be half the man you are, I’ll call that a win. Also, that Krav Maga move you taught me? Came in handy.”
A voice barked something sharper behind him. Nico leaned slightly closer to the camera. “Happy wedding. I wish I was there.”
He almost tapped the screen, then stopped, like an afterthought had just struck. “Oh—and make sure you wait until I’m back from military exile before you make an intimidating multilingual genius baby. I’m calling godfather.”
Nico straightened and snapped a crisp salute. “Cadet reporting.”
The screen cut to black.
Nico’s mother, Marie, and Bea both wiped their cheeks. His father Stefano looked like a man trying very hard not to stand and salute his son through the screen.
Leon shouted through cupped hands, “PROMOTE THAT YOUNG MAN.”
The section nearest them started chanting Nico’s name before dissolving into laughter.
While the room was still buzzing, Claire slipped in and grabbed the microphone before the host had regained command of the room, like a stand-up comic spotting a captive audience.
Rafael pulled Bea’s back into his chest, both arms anchoring her to him.
Claire cleared her throat. “I’ll keep this short because Rafael’s probably thirty seconds from ignoring three hundred and fifty witnesses and abducting the bride.”
The room erupted again. Someone near the back shouted, “DO IT.”
The thought had crossed his mind. Sixty-five times.
“Beya Slaya once told me Rafael was ‘a little intense.’” Claire smiled sweetly at him. “She undersold that by several orders of magnitude.”
More laughter rolled through the marquee, warm and approving now, glasses lifted everywhere. Claire lifted her own.
“But she’s always deserved someone who looks at her like she’s the best decision he’ll ever make.”
