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“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.”