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“Actually,” I move closer, drawn to her like always, “I was trying to impress you. You just kept laughing at my attempts to sound sophisticated.”

“Because you used the word ‘magnificently’ four times in one sentence.”

The memory hits me with perfect clarity—us on the dock at the lake, the summer before I left for New York. I’d been trying so hard to sound worldly and impressive, when all along she’d just wanted me to be myself.

Sophie glances between us, her expression softening. She brushes away a piece of lint from Emma’s dress with a tenderness that reminds me she’s not just my scheming sister but Emma’s closest friend.

“Well, since you’re both disgustingly adorable now that you’ve finally figured things out,” she quips, adjusting a pin in the hem, “Lucas can help you practice the waltz while I fix this hemline. We need you both looking perfect for your first public appearance as a couple.”

“Fine,” Emma sighs, stepping down. “But I maintain that any dancing injuries are your responsibility. You’ve been plotting this since we were teenagers.”

“Best matchmaking success of my career,” Sophie agrees with a triumphant grin. “Though I’m expecting a very nice mention in your wedding vows. Now dance.”

I hold my hand out to Emma, my pulse quickening when she takes it. Even after these weeks together, her touch still makes everything inside me respond. “Shall we?”

“Promise not to drop me? The Johnsons might not appreciate their new program lead taking out another musical ensemble.”

“Never.” The word comes out like a vow.

I pull her into a proper waltz position, acutely aware of how perfectly she fits in my arms. The vanilla-jasmine perfume I’ve grown to love surrounds us—the same scent that lingered on my hoodie when she left for her place this morning. Her hands are warm against mine, a slight tremor in her fingers betraying her nervousness about tonight’s spotlight.

“Music would help,” Sophie muses, then pulls up a playlist. The opening notes of “The Way You Look Tonight” fill the room.

We move together smoothly, muscle memory and natural chemistry taking over. Emma’s always been a better dancer than she thinks, especially when she’s relaxed and happy like this. She lets me lead, trusting me not to guide her into any furniture—a trust that feels significant given her history with physical mishaps.

“Keep your shoulders relaxed,” I murmur, my hand steady on her back. “Remember, you’ve analyzed more complex systems than a simple waltz. It’s just patterns and rhythms.”

“Trust you to turn dancing into a sustainability matrix,” she laughs, tension melting from her frame.

“Mom’s going to cry when she sees you two at the gala,” Sophie observes, watching us with a mixture of satisfaction and genuine emotion. “She’s been hoping for this since Emma first started coming over to study.”

“Your mom already cried,” Emma confesses. “She called me this morning to tell me she always knew I’d be her daughter-in-law someday.”

I nearly miss a step. “She what?”

“Relax,” Emma squeezes my hand reassuringly. “She just wants us to sit with her at the hospital board table tonight.”

We’re barely even dancing now, just swaying together as Frank Sinatra croons about eternal love. Emma’s head rests against my shoulder, fitting there perfectly. Like everything about us now—both the powerhouse business partnership and something deeper, something real.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” I say quietly. “She can be... enthusiastic.”

“I love that about her,” Emma replies. “She believes in people, sees the best in them. Like how she always encouraged my crazy organizational systems even when your dad thought they were impractical.”

The mention of my father creates a familiar tightness in my chest. “He would’ve liked seeing us together, you know. He once told me I needed someone who could challenge me. Keep me honest.”

“Really?” Emma looks up, surprise flickering across her features. “I always thought he just tolerated me because I was Sophie’s friend.”

“He respected your mind,” I tell her, remembering conversations I’d never shared with her. “Said you saw patterns no one else did. Reminded him of mom when she was young—full of ideas that seemed impractical until they revolutionized entire systems.”

Sophie’s phone chimes, interrupting the moment. Her sharp intake of breath makes us both look over.

“Clara’s been busy,” she says grimly, turning her phone to show us.

It’s a photo taken two days ago when I walked Emma to her car after dinner. We’re standing close, my hand on her waist, both of us smiling like we’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists. Which, honestly, we had. The lighting makes the moment look intimate, stolen—as if we were hiding something.

The caption reads:Looks like the CEO’s getting pretty hands-on with project management. Wonder what prospective clients would think about mixing business with pleasure? Care to comment, @WalkerEnterprises? #UnprofessionalConduct

“It’s already making rounds,” Sophie adds, scrolling through her phone. “Garrett’s already called three times, and there’s chatter in industry circles. Clara’s PR team is amplifying it, suggesting that your judgment might be ‘compromised by personal feelings.’”