Page 49 of Bind Me
She needed her wits to help her act normal, but her brain was too busy flooding her system with dopamine, estrogen, adrenaline…the whole chemical cocktail.
Not now, biology.
Her hens seemed to hold their collective breath with her. Cushions rustled as they rose; silk was smoothed down.
The bucks stopped at the threshold, as custom dictated, to allow Rafael to enter first. His men followed, fanning out behind him like the world’s most intimidating GQ spread.
Sugar and champagne gave way to cologne and quiet dominance.
He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at her.
A couple of girls stood up taller. One muttered, “Okay, wow.”
Bea felt strangely heady. Everything filtered through the pound of her heartbeat in her ears and the calm on Rafael’s face as he walked toward her like no one else existed. He stopped just short of where she stood.
The bridal party drew together in the center.
“Is the First Crossing supposed to feel this dramatic?” Claire whispered. “I’malmost willing to go with him, and he hasn’t said anything yet.”
Laurent’s voice came back, soft with amusement. “Wrong target,chérie.”
Claire didn’t have her usual glib comeback.
“I’ve come for my bride.” The rumble of Rafael's voice carried through her ribs.
That wasn’t the traditional phrasing; he was meant to sayfiancée. From the glances across the room, everyone understood the statement he was making.
She wasn’talmosthis.
She already was.
The next part was normally narrated by the Maid of Honor, but as custom dictated the participants be UR natives, Georgina stepped forward. “You sure you deserve her?”
“No,” he replied. “But I’m not giving her back.”
Georgie studied him before calling over her shoulder, “Beatriz?”
Every part of her pulsed withyes. She gave the smallest nod.
The moment stretched, suspended.
No one moved. For a heartbeat Bea forgot if she was meant to step forward. Or wait. Or say something.
And then the inches between them evaporated. His hand closed around her wrist, right over the pulse she couldn’t hide.
“Are we taking the boat?” Bea asked, not caring that she sounded breathless.
In her periphery she saw Voss toss him something metallic. Rafael caught it without looking. The McLaren fob gleamed between his fingers. “Not tonight.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bea had a new theory about Mondays. They were perfectly nice days. The trouble only started when someone insisted you work during one.
The sun was shining, she was halfway through a smoked salmon and arugula salad, Claire was mid-rant to Lillian about the final episode of a K-drama she’d stayed up to binge.
BEA: Hi Umma, are you and Papa at the airport?
UMMA: Yes we are here.
