“They call him the Beast?” Zella asked, eyes widening.
Mel’s eyes dropped to my left hand. She froze.
“Is that . . . ?”
I followed her gaze. The ring caught the rink lights. Oh. Right. I swallowed.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “Before anyone hyperventilates.”
Mel crossed her arms. “You got married.”
It wasn’t a question. I looked toward the doors where Raphael had disappeared, then back at my girls.
“Yeah,” I said.
The rink exploded. The rink did not, in fact, explode. It detonated.
“You did what?”
“Since when?”
“With him?”
“Belle.”
The questions layered over one another until I held up both hands.
“Stop. Stop. Everyone breathe.”
Mel crossed her arms. “Start talking.”
I shifted my weight carefully on the crutches.
“It’s not what you think.”
“That’s not comforting,” Robin muttered.
“I needed insurance,” I said.
That quieted them a little, not completely, but enough.
“I tore my knee. I don’t have coverage. He offered . . . a solution.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of solution?”
“Legal,” I said quickly.
“Define legal,” Sonia pressed.
“It’s . . . a temporary arrangement.” I chose that word carefully. I did not say marriage. I did not say wife. I did not look down at my hand.
Eleanor had gone quiet. She wasn’t looking at my knee. She was looking at the door.
“You know who he is?” she asked.
I nodded slowly, but some of the women didn’t know who he was.
“That’s Raphael Renault,” she said. “Of the Renault Group.”
