Page 44 of Bind Me
He’d sent her the link to a driving club an hour from Northgate, one with a circuit where cars like the McLaren could be driven properly. Bea hadn’t been sure how many of Rafael’s friends even owned supercars, but Laurent had dryly reassured her that a few of them had two, so no one would be without.
For a few minutes they sat silently, watching the horizon together. The water took on a hard shine, as if someone had laid metal across its surface. Then the colors began, honey and rose easing the grey away. With them came the first hint of warmth, permeating the cold, and slowly, patiently, the world was reborn.
Bea pictured years ahead on this strip of sand, home behind them, a thousand mornings arriving this way. Maybe she could learn to love dawn, if it was always like this.
Rafael shifted behind her. “I have something for you.”
He brushed sand from his palm before reaching into the pocket of his jacket, then holding out a small envelope.
“What’s that?”
He only tipped it toward her, waiting. The envelope rested against her knee, stark and official-looking, the kind that usually meant a government office somewhere had decided to involve itself in your day. Bea tried to recall if she’d recently exceededthe speed limit along that boulevard where the posted number felt more like a suggestion for bicycles than cars.
Bea slid a finger under the flap and pulled out a single sheet. The title blared:
PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT
The ocean kept rolling toward shore. The wind tugged at the paper in her hand. Somewhere a gull let out a startled squawk that captured her exact emotional state.
Her brain stalled, then immediately sprinted in twelve different directions. She twisted so quickly she nearly cracked him in the chin. “Rafael.”
“Read it first.”
“I did.”
“Already?” His mouth tipped up. “Impressive.”
“This isn’t the time to admire my talent for absorbing alarming information.” Bea gaped at him. “I read the words. I’m not understanding why they exist.”
He was transferring the beach house into her name. The one that cost as much as her entire childhood postal code.
“Because I heard you,” he said, matter-of-fact. “About the cage. I don’t want you living here wondering if you’re a guest.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. “Tita Tess is helping me fill it up with all kinds of things you’d never pick for yourself. There will be pillows.So many pillows.”
His hand came up, cupping her face and turning her toward him. His palm was warm against skin cooled by the morning air. “I have power here. I could turn it into something ugly. I won’t.” His thumb grazed her cheek, the slight roughness making her shiver. “This goes in your name. You could hurt me with it. You won’t.”
Heat rose behind her eyes. Words abandoned her. She reread the page, trying to understand how something legal could feel sointimate. Trying to assemble a sentence that contained bothnoandthank youand alsoRafael, are you out of your mind?
“You don’t need to do this,” Bea whispered, looking back up at him.
His fingers slid into her hair at the nape of her neck, combing through it as the wind kept trying to push it into her face. “You think it’s free?”
She blinked, sand skittering across the paper between them.
“It’s not.”
“What’s the catch?” She tipped her head back. The sunlight was beginning to catch in his hair, burnishing the ends.
“You have to marry me.”
A laugh bubbled from her throat. “Are youbribingme with a beach house?”
“Think of it as a pre-wedding gift.”
“You realize normal men panic-buy flowers when their fiancée has an existential crisis.”
“I considered flowers.”
