Page 40 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

As I sing, my gaze drifts across the dance floor.

My father holds Carole close, the two of them swaying intimately, their smiles warm and genuine.

It’s strange, seeing him this way—content, at ease.

It isn’t the version of him I grew up knowing, but it’s one I’m slowly coming to understand.

Philippa and Andrew dance nearby, their movements graceful and easy, the kind that comes with knowing and loving someone for years.

And then there’s Broderick.

He stands off to the side with Riley, their heads bent close, deep in conversation. The flickering candlelight plays against the sharp lines of his jaw, the way he nods, the glances he steals in my direction. Riley says something, smirking, and his gaze lingers on me a beat longer than expected.

Are they’re talking about me?

I can see it in the way Riley’s eyes twinkle with mischief, in the way Broderick’s expression shifts—curious, thoughtful, unreadable.

I try to focus on the song, on the delicate notes beneath my fingertips, but I can’t shake the feeling that, in this moment, I’m being seen in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for.

And yet, I keep singing.

As the evening wears on, I find myself caught in more fleeting glances with Broderick.

I try to look away, pretend I don’t feel it, but the pull is undeniable.

There is something different in the way he looks at me tonight—something unreadable, something waiting.

It’s nothing. Probably the lighting. Or the wine.

Eventually, he crosses the room, closing the distance with casual ease.

“You planning to ignore me all night?” he asks.

I glance up at him through my lashes, heart thudding like a baseline I can’t control . “I’m not ignoring you.”

He leans in, his breath brushing warm against my neck. “Prove it.”

Every muscle in my body tightens. My thighs clench.

Fuck.

I clear my throat and take a slow sip of champagne as he straightens again, far too composed.

“Dance with me?” he asks, extending a hand like it’s already settled.

I pause, eyes drifting from his hand to that maddeningly smug face. Broderick’s eyes sparkle beneath the twinkling lights, dimples deepening with that grin he knows damn well is dangerous.

I shouldn’t.

He tilts his head, all charm and challenge—and just like that, my willpower wavers. Who the hell says no to that face?

“One dance,” I say softly, then slide my hand into his. His grip is warm. Steady— too steady . My pulse jumps in response, and I try to ignore it. It doesn’t mean anything. Just…proof. That I’m not ignoring him.

The band plays a rendition of “I Finally Found Someone” by Barbra Streisand, all strings and delicate piano chords.

Around us, couples begin to sway, drawn to the pull of it. Broderick steps in, his hand finding the small of my back as if he’s done it a hundred times before. My other hand rests lightly against his chest, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of his tux.

The lyrics drift through the air around us, echoing a feeling I desperately want to ignore—one that seems to unfold, note by note.

“I have to say,” he murmurs, voice low enough for only me to hear. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

I tilt my head up at him, one brow raised. “Had what in me?”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin. “Watching you online versus seeing you tonight— it’s different . You had the room in the palm of your hand.”

I smile, teasing. “I’ll be sure to send you a signed copy of my album—one for my newest number one fan.”

“Include a poster,” he says, eyes glinting. “I’ll hang it on my wall.”

A flush creeps up the back of my neck, but I laugh it off. “And coming from the man who pledged half a million dollars to build homes for people in need? I think you win tonight’s ‘most impressive’ award.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm, reverberating against my palm. “It’s not a competition, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I say, though my voice is softer than I mean it to be.

His thumb brushes across the bare skin at the back of my dress—barely there, just a lazy circle. My spine straightens, every nerve locking into place. He keeps dancing like he hasn’t done anything.

“You were incredible, El. Really.”

I look up, meeting his gaze again. And then I can’t look away. The ballroom, the music, the hum of voices—it all fades away. It’s his eyes. Unflinching. Like he’s seeing something I’m not ready to admit exists.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, trying to keep it breezy, though the warmth in my chest betrays me. “I was so wrong about you.”

His mouth curves. Not a smirk. Just soft. Honest. “So you do think I’m impressive.”

I roll my eyes, trying to keep the heat crawling up my throat at bay. “I think you’re tolerable.”

Broderick’s hand tightens at my waist, not enough to be obvious, just enough to pull me closer. I feel the change in my breathing before I notice I’ve moved in. His breath hits the side of my neck.

“I’ll take it,” he whispers.

I freeze. Just for a second. My whole body lights up with tension, seeping into my bones, and suddenly, I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my feelings.

Fuck.

We keep dancing—slow, quiet. The world blurs at the edges, tuxedos and ballgowns fading into nothing. As if there’s nowhere else to be.

His hand stays exactly where it is. I can feel his heartbeat under my fingers. I don’t dare look up again.

I stop thinking. For once. I follow his lead, moving with him in a rhythm that feels instinctive—as if our bodies have always known each other.

And then the song ends. We both linger for half a second too long.

I step back, breathless, chest rising and falling like I’ve run a sprint. I can’t read his face. I don’t want to.

Across the room, Riley raises an eyebrow so high it nearly reaches her hairline.

I mutter something about the bathroom and make a break for it.

The gala is for a noble cause, sure. But as I accept a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, the real event of the night isn’t my performance, the speeches, or the silent auction.

It’s in the quiet exchanges, the invisible lines being crossed.

And the unrelenting pull of a man who refuses—no matter how hard I try—to fade into the background.

After a few too many drinks, Riley, Philippa, and I decide to have an all-girls sleepover at my apartment. Sitting in our extravagant ballgowns barefoot, half unzipped, makeup disheveled, we share a bottle of wine between us with “Sway” by Bic Runga crooning in the background.

I sink deeper into the plush couch, a glass of wine dangling from my fingertips.

“You know what’s crazy?” Riley breaks the comfortable silence, her voice full of humor.

“Hmm?” Philippa and I echo at the same time.

“You went from no guys to two guys in a matter of weeks,” Riley drawls from her end of the couch, one knee tucked up as she scrolls through her phone. “You been making milkshakes in private?”

“What?” I blurt out, chuckling under my breath.

Philippa, sitting elegantly in an armchair—because, of course, she can’t lounge like a normal person—sips her wine, watching us over the rim of her glass like a cat ready to pounce.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, babe.” Riley grins, eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re in quite the pickle.”

“There really isn’t anything to talk about,” I mutter quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Broderick and I are…” I falter, unsure how to finish that sentence. Friends? Acquaintances forced into the same wedding party? Something more?

“Yes, please,” Philippa purrs, her gaze sharp. “Enlighten us, Elena. What exactly are you?”

I throw my head back against the couch, groaning. “Friends, I guess.”

Riley snorts. “Yeah, you sound real convinced.”

“Sounds like you’re working overtime to assure yourself of that,” Philippa adds, her eyes glimmering.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shoot back. “I’m with Alex.”

Riley arches a brow. “Oh? So you’ve defined the relationship?”

“Well, not exactly,” I say, swirling my wine glass.

“So, you’re still a free agent.” Riley smirks knowingly.

I roll my eyes. “No. I mean, I want Alex. He’s the one I want.” I say it firmly, like speaking it out loud might make it true.

Philippa exchanges a look with Riley. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” Riley says slowly, a wicked grin spreading. “But let’s say—hypothetically—there was something with Broderick. What would that be?”

I exhale sharply. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how I ended up in this mess.”

Riley scoffs. “Oh, no, poor you. Two hot, successful men chasing after you. What a nightmare.”

Philippa, ever composed, doesn’t take the bait. “You sound surprised.”

“Of course I’m surprised,” I groan, leaning forward. “I have nothing to compare this to! I wasn’t some serial dater before, Pip. I didn’t—” I hesitate, swirling my wine. “I never thought I’d be here. Torn between two completely different men, trying to figure out how this even happened.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “Well, I know what I want. Alex. No contest.”

Philippa lets out a slow breath. “Of course you’d say that.”

“Obviously! He’s hot, exciting, makes her feel something . Admit it, babe, when you’re with him, it’s thrilling.”

I chew my lip but don’t argue. She’s not wrong.

Philippa isn’t impressed. “He’s complicated. You know that, Elena.”

“Oh, here we go,” I mutter.

“You need someone steady. Someone grounded, especially with your career.” Her eyes soften. “Broderick’s caring, steady, and accomplished.”

Riley scoffs. “Steady? Boring . No matter how stunning the packaging.”

Philippa’s gaze sharpens. “Because he doesn’t bring chaos? Broderick is real, Riley. Not a fantasy.”

“God forbid Elena has some fun for once,” Riley snaps. “Just because you like the safe option doesn’t mean she should.”

Philippa narrows her eyes. “And just because you run through men like it’s a sprint, doesn’t mean she should.”

The room goes still.

Riley’s eyes are wide, hurt flashing across her face. “Wow. Okay. That was low, even for you.”

“Both of you, stop,” I say, rubbing my temples. “This isn’t some reality show, and I’m not a prize.”

Riley crosses her arms. “On this season of The Bachelorette , Elena’s search for love continues.”

Philippa and Riley laugh. I shoot them a glare.

She sighs. “Fine. But it’s a big deal—this has never happened before. And come on, you have to admit the contestants are delicious. But seriously, babe, you need to figure out what you want. Not what we want for you.”

Philippa, voice softer now, adds, “On that, I agree. Just don’t lose yourself in the excitement. Think about what kind of love lasts.”

I exhale, staring at the deep red liquid in my glass. And then, before I can stop myself, the words spill out.

“I don’t know what I want, Pip. How could I?

” I gesture vaguely with my glass. “I’m twenty-two years old.

I was practically raised in a bubble. Before I met Alex, I’d been kissed, felt up, and left high and dry.

That’s about it. And now? Now I have two men making me question everything, and I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing. ”

There’s a beat of silence.

Philippa’s expression softens, but Riley—Riley nearly chokes on her wine.

“Wait, what? Are you telling me—hold on, hold on.” She sets her glass down like she needs both hands to process this. “Are you telling me you’re still a virgin?”

My face flames. “Jesus, Riley, shout it louder. I don’t think the people across the street heard you.”

Her eyes are huge. “But you and Alex—I thought you?—”

“Riley, please, I don’t really want to hear about my sister’s sexcapades. ” Philippa raises her hand.

“We haven’t,” I admit, gripping my glass tighter. “And it’s not like I planned it this way, okay? I’ve spent so much of my life not thinking about romance, not really dating, and now I’m here, and it’s…” I sigh. “It’s a lot.”

Philippa reaches out, squeezing my hand. “Elena, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Riley, still wide-eyed, lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you have Alexander Fucking Westerberg, Heartthrob King of Sin and Orgasm-Giver, and Broderick, CEO of I Would Climb That Like a Tree, Heal The World Hot Hottie, both lusting for you.”

I groan. “When you say it like that…”

“You want my honest opinion?” Riley asks, teasing.

“Do I have a choice?”

She smirks. “Nope. Screw ‘em both.”

I nearly spit out my wine, and Philippa chokes on hers beside me.

“Separately. But together would be fun.” Riley winks.

Philippa, trying to regain composure, tsks. “Or, you know, pick the one you connect with. Broderick is kind. But whatever you decide, don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“And he’s hot enough to make nuns rethink their vows,” Riley adds.

I laugh helplessly. “God, I hate you both.”

Philippa smiles, softer now. “No, you don’t. But you do need to figure out what you want. It’s not fair to string them both along.”

She’s right. I think.

“Also,” Philippa adds quietly. “I’m sorry, Riley. That was a low blow earlier.”

Riley exhales. “Yeah, well…I didn’t have to bite your head off either. I’m sorry too.”

Philippa gives her a small smile, and Riley raises her glass toward her in a silent toast.

I watch them, warmth blooming in my chest despite everything.

“I love you guys,” I murmur, even as I rub my temples. “You’re impossible, but I love you.”

Riley smirks. “We love you, too. Even if you are a hot mess.”

Philippa squeezes my hand. “Especially then.”

And yet, as I lean back against the couch, wine glass trembling slightly in my hand, one thing clings to me like a bruise that won’t fade. That loneliness that aches deep inside.

The part of me that Alex seems to understand, because he’s felt that loneliness too. He was drawn to it and perhaps I was drawn to his, two lonely ships, passing in the night. I know one thing for sure, we’re definitely lovers, definitely not nothing.

But then there is Broderick, who makes that loneliness disappear altogether, makes it so it isn’t even a thought in my mind.

His warmth is like the sun—endless, a safe harbor to sail into.

Someone like him could never understand that loneliness.

Yet, would he even want me if he knew how unlovable I am?

How the first man who was supposed to love me, want me, was willing to toss me aside.

We’re definitely friends, but definitely not nothing either.

Alex is the safe choice. And he’s still here, even after I shared it all with him. I have let him in when I’ve turned others away. And maybe that’s it—I opened up to him and that allowed Broderick to pass through, too easy, too quickly.

He wouldn’t choose me. Not if he knew. He likes what he sees like most boys do. Broderick is too good for someone like me. He would never get it.

He could never understand. Would he?