Page 38 of Bind Me
Was it rude to stare at your own fiancé and salivate? Too late.
Another email came in from Adriana. She needed confirmation on floral arches vs. column installations. Bea suddenly found that she had no opinion on columns, but alsovery strong opinions on columns. She chewed the end of her pen, clicked it twice, and kept working through her to-do list.
In front of her, new pairs had formed. Someone grunted in a veryis-my-spleen-still-in-thereway. She heard a low rumble that was unmistakably Rafael’s. Another heavy impact shook the mat, followed by amuffled curse in French.
“You sure you want to marry that, Bea?” Jerry called out.
She looked up.
Rafael was backlit and shirtless, his torso sculpted like someone for whom clothing was optional.
“I’m very sure,” she said, and meant it.
Her emails pinged again.
Regarding the lantern release, do you have a preference for paper density and glow temperature? Warm amber versus neutral white reads very differently on camera.
Bea pressed a palm to her forehead. Glow temperature? She was trying to recreate a Disney movie. She was one question away from suggesting they elope. Somewhere, a couple was getting married barefoot in a park and thriving.
“Baby.” Rafael’s voice cut through. “Come here.”
“I can’t,” she protested. “I have to choose a white.”
He went to his bag without responding. She watched him pull something out, and when she saw it, her jaw dropped. The Christmas voucher book.
“You brought that to the gym?”
“I bring it everywhere.” He held it up. His thumb tapped one page. Even from here, she could see the words in her own handwriting.
One Hug.
“You’re cashing in now? While you’re marinating in sweat?”
“Yep.” Rafael’s brow lifted. Nearby, someone snickered.
Bea stood reluctantly, setting her laptop down. “If I smell like you at the cake tasting after, I’m blaming you.”
“I accept responsibility.” His voice dropped. “Now come here.”
She crossed the mat straight into his chest and his arms enveloped her, wrapping around her nervous system and telling it to stand down. The noise in her head went mercifully quiet. His scent hit her throat, pure Rafael. He murmured something into her hair, but Bea barely heard it over the fact that her body was misreading the moment, lighting up with a desperate enthusiasm that had nothing to do with comfort.
Hug. It’s a hug.
“Adriana’s being paid to suffer. Not you,” she heard, distantly.
Adriana who?
Bea surfaced.
Right. Their wedding planner. She was in a gym, and five men were stretching around them, trying not to intrude on their moment.
“I need to contribute to the weddingsomehow,” she whispered, trying to capture a single working neuron.
“Guys, keep going,” Rafael called behind him. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
He guided her to the bench, sat, and pulled her into his lap. The sounds of sparring resumed.
“Tell me.”
