21. Heidi
HEIDI
The Westmere Ballroom is the kind of space that makes you feel tiny the moment you walk in. Gold molding traces the ceiling, and the crystal chandeliers are so heavy and grand they seem to pull the whole room upward.
Everything is white and gold and expensive. It’s beautiful, but it's the kind of grand that feels untouchable. It’s a room built for a different version of reality, and standing in the middle of it, I’ve never felt more like an outsider.
I don’t have a seat, so I’m tucked beside a pillar, watching. Hiding, a little. When I first walked in, I smiled at a few people out of habit but the puzzled looks I got back told me quickly that was a faux pas.
And I wasn’t feeling great anyway. Grace picked at me all afternoon and during the entire drive here. Normally I’d ignore those kinds of comments, but after a while they started to wear me down.
Apparently my teeth are too yellow, so I should avoid smiling too widely.
My hair has a few premature grays, which she insisted on fixing with a powder she pulled from her bag.
My shoulders slump when I walk, which she corrected twice in the hallway by straightening my back and telling me to “stand like someone with self-respect.”
She did a great job with my makeup, her touch surprisingly gentle. But her comments made me feel like Gollum in a borrowed designer dress.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to fit in. I keep my focus on John and Elias across the room, quietly filming Max and the Whitmore’s at their table. Finn and his date haven’t appeared yet, so the crew has framed the shot carefully, cropping the empty chairs out of view.
“It seems I’ve been stood up,” a voice says beside me.
I jump. I hadn’t heard Finn approach.
“Apparently Alexandra has a tedious policy about her dates sleeping with her sister.” He sighs, as if the situation is just a minor inconvenience. “Women and their principles. They really do ruin an evening, don’t they?”
Before I can process that, he gestures toward the dining room. “Care to join me?”
He offers his arm.
“I’m fine right here—”
“It’s you, or an empty chair,” he interrupts. “An empty seat suggests a flaw in the evening’s design. That wouldn’t look good for the cameras, would it?”
I glance around, looking for an escape. There has to be someone else. I gesture toward a woman in a shimmering gold dress nearby.
“She is not speaking to me,” Finn says. I don’t care to ask why.
I keep scanning the room, but he cuts me off.
“In fact,” he adds, “you will find almost every woman in here is currently not speaking to me. Even the ones you wouldn’t suspect.”
He lifts his brows at an elegant woman in her fifties. The moment she notices him, she clutches her husband’s arm and steers him in the opposite direction.
Finn offers his arm again. Reluctantly, I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Just for the shot,” I say.
“Of course,” Finn says, guiding me toward the table.
He pulls out the chair directly across from Max and Grace. As I sit, Finn settles in. He drapes one arm across the back of my chair, and his fingers brush the nape of my neck.
The table goes quiet. I don't look up, but I feel Max's stare. It’s heavy and fixed right on me.
“Everyone, you know Heidi,” Finn announces. “She looked a bit lonely by the wall, so I’ve decided to claim her for the evening.”
Grace watches us with a tight, thin-lipped smile. Her eyes flick to her brother and then back to me, full of a quiet, mocking pity. She clearly thinks Finn is playing a game, and I am the punchline. To her, the idea of a Whitmore wanting me is probably so absurd it’s beneath her concern.
Maverick too assesses me and seems to find me lacking, yet not worth the energy of an argument.
But Finn’s the one who worries me. He’s watching Max with a smug look on his face. Like he knows the truth, but he can’t know. There’s no way.
The dinner service is a blur. Maverick dominates the conversation, talking at length about his new product launch and the state of the market. John and Elias move through the room, capturing the atmosphere and the guests from various angles.
I try to keep my eyes off Max and Grace. Partly because I’m in the shot, but mostly because I’m sick of watching them. Even though I know he is leaning into her for the cameras—and ultimately for me—it doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
“You know what this table is missing?” Finn asks, looking from Grace to Max. “A little romance. Why don’t you guys give the cameras what they want?”
“Finn, we’re at a charity event.” Grace flushes a dusty pink and glances at her father, who seems completely uninterested.
“Dad doesn’t mind,” Finn says. His hand slides from the back of my chair to firmly squeeze my shoulder. Max’s eyes lock onto the contact. “Go on, Max. Kiss the girl.”
The silence is heavy. Max leans in, cups Grace’s cheek, and presses his lips to hers. I hate every second of it.
“Please,” Finn mocks. “I just met Heidi, and we could put on a better show than that.” He turns to me. “What do you think?”
Max’s chair screeches against the marble as he stands.
“Maverick,” Max says. “You mentioned those Cohibas earlier.”
Maverick grins and pats his chest, checking for his cigars. Max’s gaze flickers to Finn. “Finn, why don’t you come along?”
“Actually,” Finn says, his eyes narrowing, “I might stay and get to know Heidi.”
“Outside,” Maverick says. It’s not a request.
Finn’s grin vanishes. He excuses himself, and the men head toward the terrace. I gesture for John and Elias to follow them with the cameras.
I take a shaky breath. There’s no way Finn could know about Max and me, but it feels like he does. It feels like he knows exactly what’s going on.
Grace slides into the empty chair beside me.
“I know it’s flattering,” she starts, her voice a mix of pity and confusion. “But Finn’s a user. He likes to play with things that aren’t his just to see if he can break them. I just don’t see his play here. Why you?”
She says it with a look that makes me feel like I’m something rancid she found on the bottom of her shoe. I don’t answer, but she doesn’t need me to. She just continues with a lazy shrug.
“I mean, no offense, but Finn usually dates models.” She lets out a small, sharp laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “He’s probably just trying to annoy Dad. Don’t let it go to your head; he’ll be bored by dessert.”
“Thanks, Grace,” I say, my voice tight.
Max and Grace spend the rest of the night working the room like a power couple, their movements perfectly synchronized.
Every time I try to retreat toward the safety of the production crew, Finn pulls me back.
His hand is a constant, heavy weight on my waist. I keep shifting away, but he seems to find my discomfort amusing.
By the time we reach the valet, the tension is thicker than the humidity. Finn insisted on driving me back to the estate; between his subtle threats of a scene and my own exhaustion, I reluctantly agreed. Now, he keeps glancing toward the hotel entrance, waiting.
The doors open. Max and Grace walk out, and Finn moves. He pulls me toward him. His mouth is hard against mine but it's over before I can even react.
When he pulls away, his eyes are right on Max, waiting for a reaction. I wait for a disaster, but Max just stands there. Without breaking eye contact, Max slides an arm around Grace’s waist and pulls her closer.
Finn sees he won't get a rise out of him and lets go of me instantly. His frown deepens. He pulls out his phone, and his focus on the evening—and me—evaporates.
“Actually, I might hit an after-party,” Finn mumbles.
“That’s fine.”
Valet pulls up with his Mercedes, and he disappears into the night without another word. I can get a ride back in the van, but he could have at least checked that I had a way back after insisting I go with him.
Max is very quiet as we put him in a taxi, and I wait with Grace as John and Elias pack the gear into the production van.
“I could have gone with Max,” Grace says, her voice impatient.
“You’re not allowed to be alone with him.”
Grace rolls her eyes and gestures toward the van. “And instead, I have to squeeze in here with you people? I really should have my own driver. This is ridiculous.”
She must not notice my irritation because she continues.
“Honestly, I think it’s because Max is too nice to you all. I don’t know how he does it.”
“Well…we’re all just people, Grace.”
She glares at John and Elias laughing together as they get the last of their equipment in. “People…could’ve fooled me. I saw John grab a stuffed mushroom with his bare hands earlier.”
The condescension in her voice prickles my last nerve. Who cares if someone picks something up with their fingers instead of using a napkin or some obscure, specialized fork?
And I know exactly where Grace has placed me on her social ladder. To her, John and Elias are savages, and by association, so am I.
But there’s no point in explaining humanity to someone who thinks they’re a special, protected class.
I hop in the van, click my belt, and close my eyes. The drive back is silent. I spend the whole time fuming. It isn’t just her comments; it’s everything. It’s all piling up, and I’m the one cracking.
By the time we pull up, I’m done. I try to find a reason to relax, but I’m at my limit.
“Heidi, are we doing the wrap-up interview?” John asks. He hoists his camera as we get out of the van.
“You can handle it,” I say, heading toward the house. “Get her debrief on the night. Get her talking about the magical gala and her perfect romance. You don’t need me for that.”
“We don’t,” Grace says. “Go sleep. Those bags under your eyes are adding twenty years to your face. It’s not a good look.”
That’s it. My jaw locks. I don’t look back. I storm up the steps and into the house, but I don't head for the bedrooms. I walk through the kitchen, out the back door, and straight to the guest house.