“I’m agreeing with reality,” Rafael replied.
“So do you think we should do an interview?” she asked. “Or even just…me?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll make sure of it.”
Bea’s fingers found his forearm. “Whatever you’re planning, I want to be part of it.”
His jaw flexed. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know you can,” she said, steady. “But I asked for help. Not to be sidelined.”
His gaze cut to her.Sidelined.
“This is my life too now,” she added. “My face. My name. I can’t hide behind you every time someone comes for us. I need to learn, and you need to let me.”
She was asking him to loosen his grip. Logically she was right. Logic had never once quieted the urge to protect. “You don’t understand what I want to do to whoever produced these images.”
Because for one vile second it had been real. Bea’s skin in Dao’s hands. The image lodged itself like shrapnel, wanting to become a memory.
“It’s not hard to guess.” She took hold of one of his clenched fists. Her hands were so small she needed both of them to wrap around. “I want you to protect me. And I want to fight, too.”
Channing stood a few paces away, silent, waiting for orders. It would be easier to take this out of Bea’s hands entirely.
He had the right, the power, the structure behind him.
It would also be the fastest way to break something precious between them.
“Alright.” His voice scraped. “Channing, play that audio back.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Westhaven Women’s Patronage Dinner was the kind of thing Bea still couldn’t believe existed outside of period dramas. Overly delicate china, a string quartet playing waltzes, blazing candelabra. She half expected footmen in matching livery.
She sat beside her mother-in-law, who was the architect of her presence here. Although Selene ignored a hundred invitations like this, she’d told Bea that this one was important: here, philanthropy met power and wine loosened tongues that were usually trained into restraint.
Upon arrival, Bea had endured a brief moment with Elena King. Elena’s politeness was glacial. If there were any lingering disappointment, it didn’t show. But there was no future where their paths didn’t overlap. Avoidance would only make things louder.
At a nearby table, Catherine Vale rose before slipping through a side exit, phone already buzzing in her palm. Bea had spent the past hour waiting for her to be alone. Anticipation and dread weighed in her gut, but she pushed the discomfort down. Oliver Fox’s words echoed in her mind:
You’ll have a better sense of who carries grudges.
Bea was just about to stand when one of the women at their table spoke.
“Selene, you look wan.” Daniella Langley’s concern was perfectly applied, like lipstick. Two women angled closer, pretending they weren’t. “The situation in Malaysia sounds dreadful. First the accident, and now your overseas partner isn’t cooperating?”
Bea’s shoulders drew in, ready.
Selene’s smile was breezy, but it carried teeth. “My son is overworked, as is my husband. Malaysia will be handled.” Daniella was poised to press, but Selene continued. “Speaking of dreadful, I was sorry to hear Cassian Montenegro took another deal from your family.” A pause, polite as a condolence card. “After that time at the Harvest Summit, I imaginetwicemust sting.”
Daniella’s face smoothed into something blank. Bea felt an absurd urge to applaud. Clearly she wasn’t needed for backup.
“Mama,” she murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
Selene’s eyes sharpened. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I just need air.”
Selene’s hand covered hers briefly. “Go.”