Page 17 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

He steps closer, closing the space between us, his fingers grazing my chin.

His thumb tugs at my bottom lip before gliding over it, slow and deliberate.

My breath hitches, the air between us thick with unspoken desire.

For a moment, time suspends, and I vibrate at the possibility of his lips on mine.

The penthouse elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Standing there, framed in the golden glow of the entryway, is my father.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him—Alex and I, far too close, caught in a moment that I wish I could freeze or rewind.

If the ground could swallow me whole, I would gladly let it.

Alex straightens immediately, assuming the calm confidence he always carries himself with, tempered by something more measured, more calculated.

“Father.” My voice is barely above a whisper. It’s all I can manage.

Alex’s gaze flicks to mine, his expression unreadable but careful. He gets it. He understands, after what I shared with him this afternoon. Without a word, he steps back, nodding once before saying, “I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that, he strides past my father, stepping into the elevator as if nothing had happened. The doors close behind him with a quiet finality, leaving behind only thick, suffocating tension.

Mortimer doesn’t move. He stands there, his expression unreadable, his sharp eyes assessing me, peeling back the layers of what he’s witnessed. My pulse is hammering in my ears.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask—my pathetic attempt to smooth over the awkwardness.

“Elena, who was that?” His tone is clipped and controlled.

I force myself to meet his gaze. “A friend.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, stepping further inside. “Philippa told me about the accident.” He raises his brow. “Is that him?”

I stiffen.

How much did she tell him?

“She said you met a man who stayed with you…Is that the friend?” he continues, eyeing me like I’m a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

I exhale sharply, folding my arms. “Yes, and what of it?” My voice comes out firmer than I intend, but I don’t back down.

“You’re here barely two weeks and already getting into incidents with strange men. Men who don’t even bother introducing themselves,” he snaps. “Then I have to read about you on Page Six . I should sue the hell out of them for printing that garbage.”

He drags a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into something rawer. “If something happened to you—” His voice breaks.

At first, I think he’s angry with me. But he’s not. He’s worried. The realization knocks some of my irritation down a notch.

This is new for him.

I went from a teenager to an adult in the time we’ve been apart, so it’s not like I owe him an explanation about the comings and goings of my budding love life.

“I’m fine. A knock on the head, some stitches, and a concussion, but I’m not dying.

” I try to make light of it. “And Kylie has the media handled. Don’t give yourself a heart attack. ”

His eyes widen, but he recovers his composure quickly.

“Seeing my daughter in the arms of a rather imposing man was enough to give me a heart attack,” he mutters, and I nearly choke. Mortimer Montgomery just made a joke?

What planet am I on right now?

I smirk. “You should’ve seen all the bikie gang members I used to entertain back at home.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at my humor. “This man seems a little old for you, no?” His voice is careful, like he’s trying to avoid setting me off.

“Old? What, do you and he have adjoining beds booked at the Golden Oaks retirement home?” I scoff. “Father, it’s fine. I’m an adult, he’s an adult, and let’s not forget that you and Mom had a significant age gap, too. So why should it matter?”

For the first time, his expression cracks slightly. A flicker of something crosses his face, something I can’t quite name.

A long pause stretches between us. Then, finally, he sighs. “I came to check on you. Make sure you’re recovering. That you’re being careful .”

My posture softens. “I’m fine, I promise.”

His eyes search mine for any sign of doubt before he nods. “And you’re settling in, okay? Not too homesick? Not making plans to run back home?”

I smile faintly. “I’m good. No running away. At least not yet.”

He studies me for another beat before finally giving a small nod. “Good.”

Then, after a brief hesitation, he adds, “And the album? It’s coming along well?”

That catches me off guard. My father, asking about my music? I squint, unsure I heard right. “It’s coming along.”

“Good, good,” he adds. “So, before Philippa’s wedding, I hope you would consider talking to Carole.”

The mention of her name makes me stiffen. The woman who destroyed my life. The mistress turned wife.

“Why?”

He sighs, unsure of how to approach this situation without it blowing up into a fight.

A flicker of realization hits me—his sudden interest in my music was nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to butter me up for this request. A familiar disappointment claws up my spine. Was this the only way we could have a conversation?

Through strategic maneuvering and carefully placed pleasantries.

I realize he probably wants things to go smoothly for Philippa’s wedding, and it’s a hope we both share, given our tempers. It makes sense why he wants to ‘manage’ this situation—to mitigate the risk, so to speak.

“We’re family, Elena. Like it or not, she’s my wife. You’ve embraced Jack as your dad…” He hesitates on the last part, like referring to Jack as my dad causes him physical pain.

“She’s not my mom,” I snap, anger bubbling to the surface.

“No, she’s not. And no one can ever replace Vida. She was a formidable force,” he adds softly.

I cross my arms, shielding myself. I hate when he talks about her—he doesn’t deserve to even speak her name.

“Please, if not for me, then for Philippa?” he pleads.

Philippa.

I don’t want to put any more strain on her. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating since I came back. If this is one way I can repay her kindness, then so be it.

“ Fine.” I sigh, defeated.

His eyes glisten, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. For the first time in my life, we managed to talk without it turning into a battlefield. No raised voices. No slammed doors.

Maybe it’s a step forward.

Maybe it’s just a ceasefire in a war that never really ends.

Either way, I’ll take it.

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect to end the day with two guests under this roof, both unexpected, both pulling at different parts of me.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting it all sink in—the risk, the hope, the wild, aching possibility that maybe, everything is starting to change.