17. Chapter SeventeenLucas
Chapter Seventeen
Lucas
“ I still don’t understand why we need to practice dancing.” Emma’s voice drifts from behind Sophie’s bedroom door. “I know how to dance.”
“The Great String Quartet Catastrophe of last year’s Chamber of Commerce dinner suggests otherwise,” my sister retorts with the familiarity of someone who’s been witnessing Emma’s disasters since high school.
“That violin was clearly out to get me,” Emma protests. “And besides, tonight isn’t about dancing. It’s about convincing the Johnsons to trust our implementation strategy instead of Brighton’s ‘immediate integration’ nonsense.”
“Which you can do while looking fabulous and not tripping over musical instruments,” Sophie counters. “Besides,” her voice shifts to a teasing lilt, “now that you’re officially dating my brother, you need to uphold certain standards.”
I lean against the wall outside Sophie’s room, fighting a smile. When Sophie insisted I come help with “emergency gala preparations,” I’d expected spreadsheets and client profiles. Instead, I’m listening to my sister fuss over my girlfriend like she’s been waiting for this moment since high school. Knowing Sophie, she probably has.
The scent of Sophie’s apartment—vanilla candles and fresh flowers—reminds me of countless family gatherings. How many times had Emma been here as Sophie’s friend while I orbited on the periphery, both of us pretending there was nothing more than friendship between us? And now we are preparing for our first public appearance as a couple.
“Ow! Sophie, that pin was nowhere near my dress!”
“Stop squirming then. And Lucas, if you’re done lurking in the hallway like a creeper, I need your opinion about something.”
I push open the door and freeze, momentarily breathless. Emma stands on a small platform in front of Sophie’s full-length mirror, wrapped in a midnight blue gown that steals the air from my lungs. The silk flows like water around her curves; the color reminds me of summer nights by the lake. Her hair is partially pinned up, soft tendrils framing her face. She looks nervous but radiant—a combination that reminds me of countless presentations where she’d fidget with her notes right before dazzling everyone with her brilliance.
“You look...” I clear my throat, searching for words that might do her justice. “That’s definitely fountain-resistant.”
Sophie throws her hands up, pins clutched between her fingers. “You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company, and that’s the best compliment you can give your girlfriend?”
Emma’s smile, when it meets my eyes in the mirror, is pure sunshine. “High praise from someone who once described a sunset as ‘pretty okay, I guess.’”
“That was one time!”
“You were trying to be poetic.”
“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.’”
Emma’s hand tightens in mine, her earlier joy evaporating. I can feel tension radiating from her body as she stares at the photo.
“Lucas... the Johnsons. If they think this is affecting our judgment...” She pulls away slightly, that familiar furrow deepening between her brows. “Everything we’ve worked for—”
“No,” I say firmly, turning her to face me. “This is exactly what Clara wants. She’s trying to make us doubt ourselves, to create distance between us.”
“But what if she’s right?” Emma’s voice drops, vulnerability creeping in. “What if we’re jeopardizing the company by being together? What if the board thinks—”
“The old Lucas would have worried about that,” I interrupt, suddenly seeing with perfect clarity what’s happening. “The Lucas who ran to New York rather than face difficult truths. The one who hid behind professional distance because he was afraid of his feelings.”
She stills, her gaze locked with mine as I continue, my conviction growing stronger with each word.
“But I’m not that person anymore. I’m not running from this—from us—or letting Clara manipulate me with fears about what others might think. Our work is brilliant. Our approach is innovative. And being together makes both of us better.”
Sophie has gone quiet, watching us with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Let them think what they want,” I tell Emma, holding her gaze. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Our work speaks for itself.”
“But Clara—”
“Is trying to rattle us before tonight.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, my touch gentle but firm. “We’ll show them all that we’re stronger together. That being in love doesn’t make us less professional—it makes us unstoppable.”
Her breath catches. “You just said...”
“That I love you? Yes.” I trace the curve of her cheek, suddenly aware that I’ve never said these words to anyone outside my family before. They feel right, necessary, like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place. “I do. And I’m not hiding it anymore. Not from Garrett, not from Clara, not from anyone.”
I see the moment it hits her—the full weight of what I’m saying. This isn’t just about a declaration of feelings; it’s about me finally standing my ground, facing problems directly instead of ducking away from conflict. It’s the opposite of everything the old Lucas would have done.
“Oh my gosh, I’m going to cry and ruin my makeup,” Sophie announces, fanning her face. Then, with unexpected seriousness, she adds, “You know, I used to worry you’d never get here, Lucas. After Dad died... I wasn’t sure you’d ever let yourself be vulnerable again.”
The raw honesty in her voice catches me off guard. Behind her matchmaking schemes and teasing, my sister has been carrying her worries and hopes for me.
“Emma,” Sophie says, turning to her friend with misty eyes. “You might want to say it back before he has a heart attack.”
Emma’s laugh is watery, her eyes shining with emotion. “I love you too. Even when you’re being magnificently magnificent.”
“I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Not a chance.” She rises on tiptoes to kiss me softly. “But I love that too. I love that you’re choosing to stand and fight instead of pulling away. I love that you’re willing to face Clara and Garrett and anyone else who thinks we can’t be both professional partners and... us.”
The kiss deepens slightly, a promise and affirmation wrapped in one.
Sophie clears her throat. “As much as I’m enjoying this rom-com moment I orchestrated, we have a gala to prepare for. And a corporate shark to outsmart.”
She picks up her phone again, studying Clara’s post with narrowed eyes. “You know, two can play at this game. While you two finish practicing your waltz, I’m going to call in some favors from the PR team. By tonight, the narrative will be about Walker Enterprises’ dream team combining innovation and tradition. Clara wants a media war? Let’s give her one.”
There’s something fierce in my sister’s expression I rarely see—the protective instinct that makes her more than just a skilled marketing executive. It reminds me of the time in high school when she confronted a group of seniors who were making fun of Emma’s color-coded notebooks. Sophie doesn’t just scheme and meddle; she fights for the people she loves.
“Okay!” Sophie claps her hands, all business again. “Save the romance for after you wow the Johnsons. Emma, final dress fitting. Lucas, go get ready. And remember—you’re picking her up at seven, and Mom expects you both for photos on the terrace before the gala starts.”
As I head out, I hear Sophie already planning the wedding, her voice animated as she describes flower arrangements and color schemes. But for once, the thought doesn’t terrify me. If anything, it feels like a future worth fighting for.
Some things are worth risking everything for.
Even if Clara Brighton is determined to make tonight as difficult as possible.
Because Emma Hastings loves me.
And that makes us invincible.
I pause at Sophie’s door for one last look. Emma stands on the fitting platform again, Sophie adjusting her hemline, both of them laughing about something. The sight fills me with certainty.
The old Lucas ran from complications and difficult emotions.
The new Lucas is running toward them, arms open.
Tonight, we face the world together.