"She said the board needed her married. Like she wasn’t even affected." Chay shrugged miserably. "But Drake... Drake stepped in."
"Of course he did," Nita muttered under her breath.
"He didn’t want her making a mistake as expensive as that," Chay said.
Nita smiled. "Richard was right on that angle too," she said with a soft nod. "Drake is a good man. A good honourable man. You don’t see too many of those around these days."
Chay shifted uncomfortably, running her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "So you... you agreed with this?" she asked.
"It’s not exactly my place," Chay mumbled, eyes drifting toward the patio where other guests mingled. It was a masterclass in evasion. Classic Chay.
Nita tilted her head. "I think it is your place, sweetie." she said gently. "Especially when it’s a man you have feelings for."
Chay’s head snapped back so fast, the wind whooshed in her ears. "What are you talking about?" she blurted. Too loud. Too fast. Too suspicious.
"Oh, baby," Nita said with a chuckle that held no judgment, only affection. "You think you’re invisible but you’re not. I know."
Her tone was soft now, almost motherly. And then she added, "And I’m sorry."
Chay blinked rapidly. That broke her. Those three words. Not because they were dramatic, but because they were rare in the Numero family dictionary. No one said sorry.
Chay shook her head, lips trembling slightly as she tried to form a wall of denial. "No... I... I don’t have feelings for him."
Nita didn’t argue. She just reached across and gently took Chay’s hands that were already trembling. "You are a beautiful woman, Chayara. Smart. Controlled. Loyal. But in the Numero world, baby... you have to be one thing whether you like it or not."
Chay tilted her head in question, not trusting her voice.
"Formidable," Nita said with a little smile.
Then, as if the word itself needed softening, she added, "Go out there. Meet people. Meet men. Multiple men." She giggled, and it was so delightfully scandalous that even Chay cracked a smile. "Live, sweetie. Please."
Chay took a long, searching look at Nita. "Did you... did you start out formidable?"
Nita laughed. "No, baby. I started out confused. Scared. But I learned fast."
She turned her gaze toward Richard, who was laughing across the room with his best friend Victor, the two of them clinking glasses.
"And I don’t regret a single minute of it," she said. "Even the disasters. Especially the disasters."
Chay followed her gaze, watching Richard chuckle, his head thrown back, face relaxed in a way that only came from knowing someone truly had your back.
"Formidable, huh?" she whispered.
Nita smiled and sipped her drink. "Or at least, wear heels tall enough that people think you are." Nita gasped. "Oh my God! I have become my mother in law!"
Both women laughed and they clinked glasses.
Queen emerged from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel, her damp hair clinging gently to her skin, trailing down her shoulders. She paused for a second, staring at the empty bedroom. It felt strange for the first night of a honeymoon... if this could even be called that. With a sigh, she padded across the room, water droplets leaving a trail. Through the glass balcony doors, she saw him—her new husband—standing tall and shirtless, a picture of calm.
"Are you still afraid of storms?" he called out.
Queen rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorframe, towel still securely tucked. "Yeah, why?" she replied, squinting at the sky.
Drake turned slightly, his silhouette framed by the moody clouds gathering in the distance. "Because there’s a storm coming," he said ominously.
Queen groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Oh boy... Great! Just great!" She stepped forward, half-annoyed, half-worried, barefoot but braving it.
Drake grinned, slipping effortlessly into full husband mode. "Not to worry. Your big, strong husband is here. I’ll protect you from the storm." His grin was boyish, cocky even, and irritatingly comforting.
Queen gave him a look. "You seem to be enjoying this arrangement a little too much," she said, folding her arms under the towel. It wasn’t so much accusation as observation.
He smirked, leaning on the railing. "Well, I am married to a beautiful wife, Numero heiress. She needs nothing, fears thunderstorms. I get to protect her now. Life is beautiful."
She gave him a playful smack on the back, her palm making contact with his warm skin—lingering longer than intended. She caught the lightning in the distance and her bravado fizzled. "Maybe I’ll just go back inside," she muttered quickly, turning on her heel.
Inside, the first low rumble of thunder rolled in. Queen visibly tensed, rushing to her suitcase. She yanked out a nightdress and wiggled into it at lightning speed, abandoning any form of elegance for the safety of being swaddled. Then, with a slightly ungraceful hop, she dove into the bed and pulled the blanket over her head.
A few minutes later, Drake walked back in. He kicked off his pants. Standing in nothing but his shorts, and took a quiet moment before sliding into bed beside her.
"You okay under there?" he whispered.
Queen peeked out, eyes squinting, cheeks warm. "Don’t get used to this."
Drake chuckled, turning to lie on his side and face her. "Too late."
Sleeping together wasn’t awkward. They had done so before—innocently, of course. But it had always been the three of them: Queen, Drake, and Chayara. Tonight, though, it was just the two of them. No buffer. No best friend. No excuse. And no denying that the air between them felt a little too charged. Still, Drake respected the boundaries they hadn’t even discussed. He kept a safe, responsible distance—barely brushing the edge of the mattress.
That was, until Queen started hogging the damn duvet.
"Will you quit hugging the duvet?" he whispered sharply, yanking it toward himself with frustration. He didn’t want to sound annoyed, but the woman had wound herself in the blanket like a royal burrito.