Georgie tore open a sugar packet, spilling crystals onto the saucer. “Because I kept thinking the feeling would catch up. Thatlove would turn into certainty.” She looked up. Her eyes were very blue and unusually blank. “But it didn’t.”
A clatter of cutlery at a nearby table punctuated the pause.
“Was it the marriage laws?” Lils asked softly.
“Naomi did it. Bea’s done it.” She shook her head. “It’s not the law that scares me. It’s the idea of being owned by someone I wasn’t afraid to lose.”
Bea set her pastry down. Lillian reached across and found Georgie’s hand.
“Three years,” Georgina said, almost absently. “And when he ended it, all I felt was relief.” She stared into the condensation on her glass. “Does that make me heartless?”
“You’re not heartless, Georgie,” Bea murmured. “You just didn’t want him enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bea adjusted her blue belt in the wall-to-wall mirror, wiping a bead of sweat from her nose.
In Toronto, the most physical thing she’d done was carry groceries up icy steps. Here, she was voluntarily asking randoms to try to chokehold her.
“Last one for the night. Positional rounds,” Greg called. “Start in bad spots.”
A collective groan. Bad spots were where egos went to die.
“Ready to lose?” her sparring partner, Melody, taunted lightly.
“Lose? Please.”
They slapped hands, and Melody dropped her straight into side control, pinning her shoulder, isolating the limb. Bea’s cheek hit the mat. She felt the trap closing as Melody’s weight shifted. For a second, she blanked.
“Cruz,” Greg barked. “Move.”
“Iammoving,” Bea gasped.
“Ay, scholarship kid’s Griffin now,” Manny called out, tattooed arms crossed.
“Don’t tell the boss.” Greg grinned. “He’ll kill me for forgetting.”
Bea planted her foot. Found her frame and remembered strength wasn’t just muscle, it was leverage. She carved out an inch. Then another. Slid her knee through and came up. A simple trip as they rose. Controlled the fall, and landed in top position.
Melody tapped twice, sharp against Bea’s thigh.
“That’sa blue belt,” Greg said, pointing at Bea.
Bea sat back on her heels, chest heaving under her gi.
“You been sparring with your husband?”
“He says since I’m his wife, I should be hard to kidnap,” Bea snorted. They bumped fists. “See you next week.”
The mat smell clung to her skin as she grabbed her phone. One message waited.
CLAIRE BEAR: Is this about you?
A YouTube link was attached, uploaded twelve hours ago. Bea frowned, tapped it.
“Coming soon onFox Hunt: a series on the United Republic of Westhaven.” Oliver spoke from what looked like a hotel room. “An exquisite juxtaposition of old ritual and modern power. But when demographic imbalance drives policy, and marriage contracts remain opaque, what does it really mean to be a woman who marries in?”
Her stomach dropped, clean and sudden.
