Page 56 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Dancing With Myself

T he stage lights gleam down on me as the music swells.

The energy in the studio is inspired, a palpable current of anticipation and excitement.

Wearing denim shorts and a white top with a sparkly silver jacket, I grip the microphone and let the first notes spill from my lips, my voice weaving a spell over the audience, an acoustic rendition of my first single ‘Ignite.’ The band behind me plays with precision, each note falling perfectly into place as I deliver a performance that is equal parts raw and refined.

The studio audience erupts as I hit the final note, the applause ringing through the room.

All I hear is my own heartbeat, the energy of their cheers washing over me.

I take it in, grounding myself before I smile and give a slight bow.

It has been a long road to this moment, and standing on the Rise and Shine America stage feels like the beginning of something incredible.

As I step off the stage, Lara Spencer greets me warmly, leading me to the plush interview area.

“Elena, that was phenomenal! You’ve had such a whirlwind year—returning to the U.S.

after being away for so long. I loved watching you on Starstruck Australia .

” She touches her hand to her chest in earnest. “Your mom’s cancer battle, winning it all for her, I was in tears every episode.

You know, I lost my mom to cancer, too. Your story really struck a chord with me and so many others,” she says, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Aww, thanks, Lara, that means so much. I’m a big fan of the show. Thank you for having me,” I answer confidently, her sentiment hitting close to home.

“Oh my God, your accent is adorable. Isn’t it adorable?” she gushes playfully to the studio audience, and they erupt in laughter and applause.

I laugh with her, feeling the jitters of nerves fading away.

“So, tell the good people what you’re working on. What can we expect next for you?”

“My sophomore album is set to be released in September. I’m really excited about it, it’s a completely new direction in sound, and I’m working with some incredible producers.”

“I can’t wait to hear it. Be sure to send me an advance copy! You came on the scene and had such resounding success back in Australia—your debut album and award nominations. I see big things for you here!” she exclaims.

I tuck a loose wave of hair behind my ear and smile.

“Thanks, Lara. It’s surreal, honestly. I feel incredibly grateful.

This is what I’ve always dreamed of, and to have people connect with my music—it’s everything.

I put my whole heart into this album, and I hope the fans connect with it as much as my first.”

“I have no doubt it will, Elena. You’re such a talent—your voice, your songs really resonates with people,” Lara says warmly.

I’m touched by her comment, warmth spreading through my chest as a mix of pride and nostalgia washes over me. I think of my mother, of the long nights spent dreaming about moments like this, and how surreal it feels to be here now. I simply nod, placing my hand over my heart in silent gratitude.

Lara pauses, taking a deep breath, before leaning in slightly, her expression turning more serious. “And, of course, you’ve been in the headlines a lot lately. Not just for your music. There’s been quite a bit of buzz about your personal life. How are you handling all of that?”

I smile, keeping my expression poised. My fingers curl around the armrest, a small attempt to steady myself, but I hope to God my face doesn’t show it.

“I focus on the music. People will always talk, but at the end of the day, I’m here because of my art, and that’s where my heart is.” I respond with the well-crafted response Kylie and I worked on in the lead up to this interview.

Lara nods approvingly. “We love a hard-working queen!” The crowd responds with a resounding applause.

“Well, we can’t wait to see what’s next for you! Thank you for being here today.”

As Kylie, Mark, and I head back to the dressing room, Kylie is on her phone checking socials and reading out loud some of the comments coming through.

“One user says…” Her voice is steady and proud.

“Ugh, people are the worst,” Kylie groans.

I roll my eyes, brushing it off. “Let them talk. They always will.”

“I think overall, that was a resounding success,” says Kylie.

“Okay, let’s discuss next steps,” Mark adds.

Once Kylie, Mark, and I wrap up, I head back home to shed my performing persona and slip into my civilian clothes. This afternoon, Philippa has her final bridal fitting before her big day, and I get to try on my bridesmaid dress.

My phone dings with a text from Riley.

Riley

You’re a freaking Queen! So proud!

Another text I missed from earlier—from Broderick.

Broderick

I have some notes, LOL. Just kidding, you killed it.

I laugh, shaking my head. But as I scroll, my heart sinks.

Nothing from Alex? Maybe he’s busy with work. I try my best to set aside the feeling of disappointment as I hurry out the door.

The bridal boutique is nestled in a quiet, upscale corner of Manhattan, all soft lighting and ivory fabrics. Philippa waits outside with Carole and my father.

They see me, and Phillipa and Carole both rush to embrace me, gushing over my performance this morning. My father stands to the side, simply nodding. His expression is unfamiliar—pride, maybe?

While Carole, Mortimer, and I sit on the plush sofa, sipping complimentary champagne, we wait for Philippa to emerge from the dressing room.

She steps out, and I’m momentarily stunned. The dress clings to her perfectly, the intricate lacework of the bodice catching the soft light like something out of a dream. Her gown drapes elegantly around her, the most glamorous veil cascading down with delicate lace details. She looks breathtaking.

I don’t much believe in marriage—maybe I never have. But standing here, watching my sister glow in a dress meant for forever, I can at least appreciate the beauty of it, even if I don’t believe in the promise it represents.

“Oh, Philippa,” Carole gushes.

“Do you guys love it?” she asks.

“Wow, you look like Mom.”

Philippa’s eyes soften at my response. Carole hangs her head at the mention of my mom.

“Oh, Dad, please don’t cry. If you do, then I will, and then I won’t be able to stop,” Philippa says, her voice thick with emotion.

My father sits silently, his eyes welling with tears. I try to ignore the sting of jealousy creeping in. The way he looks at her, the softness in his eyes—it’s something I don’t think I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. And that thought stings even more.

We all watch as the seamstress makes small adjustments to Philippa’s dress before she heads back to the dressing room to change.

“Elena, I just wanted to tell you again how proud I was of your performance this morning,” says Carole, making small talk.

“Thank you.”

I know she’s trying to be kind, but being friendly with her feels like such a betrayal to my mother.

“Your voice is so wonderful, it always has been. Such a powerful gift to have,” she adds.

“It’s definitely something,” my father adds, catching me completely off guard. “You handled the interview well.”

Before I can respond, Philippa bounds out of the dressing room.

“Your turn,” she sing-songs, snatching my hand and dragging me toward the back. In a flurry of fabric and impatience, she strips me down and shoves me into the bridesmaid dress she selected.

As she zips me into my dress, she lets out a low whistle. “Damn, sis, you look amazing.”

I glance at my reflection—the champagne floor-length dress hugs my frame perfectly. It’s fitted off-the-shoulder bodice exuding an understated elegance. Simple and sophisticated.

And yet, despite the warmth in Philippa’s voice, despite the excitement of the moment, a thought that’s been sitting on my tongue finally slips out.

“I know you probably only asked me to be your maid of honor because we’re sisters.” My chest tightens. Unable to meet her eyes, I keep my tone light, though there’s a heaviness behind it.

Philippa pauses, her hands stilling on my shoulders as she meets my gaze in the mirror. For a moment, I brace for one of her classic, polished responses. The kind that keeps emotions neatly contained, that sidesteps anything too raw. But instead, she exhales, her expression softening.

“Yes, that’s one of the reasons,” she admits with a small smile.

“But also, I asked you because I want this to be the start of us rebuilding what’s been broken between us.

We barely had time together growing up, always tangled up in Mom and Dad’s mess.

But their baggage isn’t our baggage. It never should have been. ”

Her words land softly, but they hit deep. The weight of our family’s history has always sat between us like an unspoken wall, built brick by brick by years of resentment, misunderstandings, and circumstances beyond our control.

Nodding, I take in her expression—the sincerity. This is Philippa, not the polished, put-together version that fits neatly into our father’s world, but my sister, the girl who used to sneak into my room and braid my hair when I had nightmares.

“I’d like that,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, she pulls me into a hug, and for the first time, I don’t stiffen or pull away. I lean into it.

My big sister.

She smiles, a real one this time, before nudging me playfully. “Good. Because I need you to give one hell of a maid of honor speech, and if you embarrass me, I’ll never forgive you.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Oh, I’m absolutely telling the story about how you snuck a wombat into the house when we were kids.”

“Elena!” she gasps, shoving my shoulder.

The laughter comes easily, melting the tension that always seems to cling to us. Maybe this is the start of something new. Maybe, for once, we can just be sisters.