Chapter 17
Harper
If you’d told me three weeks ago that I’d be attending a gala willingly, with a group of friends, I would have laughed in your face.
Okay, I don’t have a deep bond with these people, but still—it’s a big deal for a girl like me.
James asking me to commit to their group was just for laughs, but it still meant something to me. And I’m glad going back to New York doesn’t mean saying goodbye to them. Or to Baptiste.
Every time he looks at me or our bodies brush, the butterflies come back in full swing. Yep, they’re alive and well. I’ve been trying to chase them out, but it seems I no longer have a choice in the matter.
Especially here in the dimly lit ballroom, when he’s asking me to dance with him.
You heard that right.
“Come on, Harper,” he says, leaning a few inches closer so I can hear him over the music.
His faint French accent is giving me chills.
“Look, everyone’s doing it.” He glances at the dance floor, where players from both the Stars and the Stripes are busting out their moves, ties loosened, jackets discarded, all sense of rivalry seemingly forgotten in the haze of music and champagne.
“That’s what people say when they’re trying to get someone to do something forbidden,” I tease. “Are you being a bad influence on me?”
He chuckles, low and warm, but keeps his hand extended toward me. Waiting. Confident. “That would definitely be the other way around. Come on. You know you want to dance with me, Harper. Look at Beaumont—we can’t let him steal the dance floor like that.”
I follow his gaze, and it’s not hard to find Maxime, who’s stealing the spotlight with his elaborate moves. Even though it’s technically a slow song, he’s spinning Hayley like they’re in a dramatic ballroom competition. Everyone’s laughing around them, phones out to capture the chaos.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, taking his hand. “Dancing with your friends does sound fun.”
His hand closes around mine, and he squeezes it lightly, not moving.
“No, no,” he rumbles, stepping closer. “You’re not dancing with my friends, Harper. You’re dancing with me.”
His gaze darkens, the playful glint shifting into something heavier.
Intent. Focused. And all I can do is nod, letting him guide me to the dance floor.
I try not to trip over my dress, the hem brushing the floor as we weave through couples and scattered laughter.
My heels catch on the fabric before he steadies me with a firm hand at my waist.
Baptiste leads me—intentionally, I’m sure—to the opposite side of the dance floor from his friends.
He secures one hand on my waist, his touch warm. Solid.
His eyebrows draw together, and that’s when I realize I am really just standing there.
“Oh. Right. Dancing.” I clear my throat.
I wrap my arm around his midsection awkwardly, my fingers pressing against the back of his shoulder. The fabric of his jacket is smooth, and beneath it I can feel the strength of his firm muscles. Listening to the slow beat, we start to sway.
The music envelops us, bass vibrating softly through the floor. His hand shifts slightly, fingers spreading just enough to anchor me. My other hand is still in his, and he elevates our entwined hands, guiding the rhythm without forcing it.
My body is hyper-aware of everything—where his thigh brushes mine when we shift, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his thumb occasionally traces an absent circle against my side.
I try not to overthink it. To notice how easily I fit in his arms.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs, leaning closer so his lips are near my ear.
“No I’m not.”
He huffs a soft laugh that ghosts against my skin. “You are.”
His hand presses at my waist more firmly, grounding me, and I exhale before I even realize I was holding my breath. My body relaxes, following his lead.
It’s the warmth of him, the steady sway, the faint graze of his jaw near my temple when we turn.
And for a dangerous second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to lean in. To rest my cheek against his chest. To stop pretending this is just a casual moment between friends.
His gaze drops to my lips.
My heart stumbles.
And then—
The music cuts out, and the tone abruptly shifts.
A loud, upbeat anthem blasts through the speakers, jolting everyone back to reality. The crowd erupts into cheers.
“Here they are!” Miles shouts from somewhere behind us.
Within seconds, Beaumont crashes into Baptiste’s side, Adler grabs my hand, and the entire group swarms around us. The dance floor turns from a gentle breeze into a hurricane—arms raised high, people jumping off-beat, someone attempting a spin that nearly takes out a waiter.
Baptiste laughs, stepping back, but his hand lingers on my waist just a second longer than necessary before finally letting go.
The moment dissolves into noise and flashing lights.
But my skin still tingles where he touched me.
And beneath the thrum of the music, my stomach churns as reality dawns on me. I’m in way more trouble than I thought.
“I’m stuffed,” Marissa says, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.
“Same,” Grace adds with a yawn.
“Actually, I could go for some dessert.” Maxime says through a chuckle.
“You already did,” Caleb notes. “Twice.”
Maxime groans. “Stop monitoring what I eat, man. Besides, I meant more like a light snack.”
“Oh yeah.” Baptiste nods. “Like ice cream. Always space for that.”
“Yes!” I exclaim louder than intended, and everyone laughs.
“You’re our friend now, Harper,” James replies with a grin. “But I won’t spend hours wandering around looking for ice cream for you again. Learned my lesson at the festival.”
“I didn’t even get a single scoop,” I groan. And I’m still craving it.
“That’s true,” Aria says. “But it’s never too late.”
“You guys are crazy,” Aaron says, patting his stomach. “I can’t eat another thing.”
“I’ll take you to get ice cream,” Baptiste whispers, leaning closer. My arm erupts in goosebumps.
We keep chatting—some of us yawning—before we eventually decide to call it a night. We walk back to the lobby, where we say our goodbyes.
“So, is anyone coming for ice cream?” Maxime asks the group.
A chorus of firm “no” and “no way” ripples around the group.
“Oh, come on. A little digestive walk would do us good,” he presses.
“Yeah, just so we can fill ourselves with more sugar,” Marissa says, arching an eyebrow. “Makes perfect sense.”
“Looks like it’s just us, then,” he says, glancing between Hayley, Baptiste, and me.
“Actually, you guys go without me,” Hayley says. “After all that dancing, I’m beat, and I definitely can’t stomach another bite. But seriously, you go. I don’t mind.”
“Absolutely not,” Maxime says, wrapping an arm around his wife. “I’m staying with you.” He nods to us. “You guys go. There’s always the mini bar.”
We all say goodnight, and soon enough, it’s only Baptiste and me left in the lobby.
I rock on my heels, suddenly aware of the quiet. “We don’t have to go either,” I say. “It might be wiser to call it a night.”
“Oh, we’re going,” he says with finality, a gleam in his eyes. “You’ve been talking about ice cream for days, and besides, it’s a beautiful night.”
“If you’re sure.” He’s right. The evening air is balmy with a light breeze. And if I’m being honest, I kind of don’t want this night to end.
“Are you okay going with those shoes?” he asks, glancing down. “Or do you need to swap for something more comfortable? It’s just around the block, but—”
“They’re not too uncomfortable.” I shrug, glancing down at my black stilettos.
He raises both eyebrows.
I chuckle. “Well, I have to wear them pretty often for work. Black-tie events and stuff. I’m used to it.”
He studies them thoughtfully. “They look like torture devices to me.”
I bump my shoulder into his. “Says the guy who spends half his life on skates.”
He takes a step back, eyeing me warily. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who can’t skate.”
“Why? You can’t be friends with a bad skater?” I ask, daring him with my gaze.
“For you,” he says with a smirk, “I’ll make an exception.”
I shake my head. “Darn it. And here I thought I’d found a way out.”
He bursts out laughing. “Nope. You’re stuck with me,” he says, guiding me out of the hotel with a hand on the small of my back.
We step onto the sidewalk, chatting and enjoying the short walk as the warm summer breeze caresses our skin, the city buzzing softly around us.
After finally ordering some ice cream—biggest achievement of my DC trip—we take the longest way back.
“I can’t believe it’s over already,” I say, licking a bite of fudge-stripe raspberry ice cream from my spoon. “It went by fast, in a way. I was dreading this so much.”
“Yeah,” he says. “We’re not that bad after all, right?”
“Well, you did lose,” I tease. “But the Stars team was all right.”
He stops in his tracks. “You did not just say that.”
I slow my steps and hold his gaze in challenge, and before I know what’s happening, he’s tickling me. I scream-laugh, twisting away, doing some improv acrobatics to keep from dropping my ice cream.
“I’m kidding!” I say, breathless. “You did great. And you can’t win them all, right?”
He nods, withdrawing his hands. “That’s the sport.”
“So,” I say after a beat, my voice softer now. “What are your plans for the summer? Party boat in Ibiza? Sun lounging in Dubai?”
He shakes his head. “Really? You should know me better by now.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, biting my lip. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“What’s up with this bias anyway?” he jokes. “Has a celebrity stolen your lunch or something?”
I hesitate, not sure it’s the right time—or if he’s the right person. And yet, for the first time in my life, I want to say the words out loud.
“No,” I murmur. “But one killed my dad.”
He stills. “Oh… Harper, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I take a deep breath. Spotting a bench, I sit down, and he joins me, sitting close but not crowding me.
“I come from a small town,” I say. “When I was twelve, my dad fell from a ladder while putting up Christmas decorations and was taken to the local hospital. He was conscious, in excruciating pain, but stable.”
I swallow.
“The nurses were about to take him to imaging when a reality star in labor was rushed into the ER to give birth. All the staff was pulled to her, delaying my dad’s imaging and surgery. When they finally got to him, it was too late. He’d lost too much blood.”
“Harper,” Baptiste says softly, taking my hand. The comfort of his touch surprises me.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” I whisper. “They just took him. And I never saw him again.”
“That’s awful,” he says. “I—I have no words. But it explains a lot.”
“I know it wasn’t intentional,” I say. “But it’s hard to accept that some people get special privileges just because they’re on TV.”
“I agree. We’re all equals,” he murmurs, then hesitates. “And your mom? Is she… You said it was just your grandma and you.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, it’s just us. My parents were inseparable. They had the kind of love you only read about in books. After his death, she gave up on life. She didn’t want to keep going without him. Not even for me.”
And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive her for that. She abandoned me when I needed her most.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls me toward him, and I melt into his strong arms. I feel safe there, weirdly at peace. His woodsy cologne draws me into his bubble, and I wish I could stay here forever.
“That’s why my grandma is so important to me,” I say after a while.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to have them around longer. I’m sure that wherever they are, they’re very proud of you.”
My heart stutters. “You think so?”
He holds me tighter. “You completed your mission, didn't you? You covered this tournament like a seasoned pro, and you didn’t get roped into investigating a scandal. It wasn't easy, I’m sure. I mean, I didn't always believe you’d make it.”
I laugh softly, tapping his chest. “Come on.”
“I’m serious. You did it,” he says, covering my hand with his.
“I did, didn't I?” I smile, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing me. “Honestly, I had my doubts too. But I’m not sure that’s enough to make my parents proud.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You’re amazing, Harper. You’re strong, determined, brilliant at your job. You’re kind. You’re—” He exhales. “You’re beautiful.”
His gaze holds mine, and I get lost in the deep green of his eyes, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. His words are still resounding in my head. The words I didn’t know I needed to hear.
“Gosh,” he finally breathes out in a whisper. “You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now.” His warm palm caresses my cheek, electrifying my body.
“Baptiste,” I whisper, catching his hand.
He watches me expectantly, but I have nothing more to say.
Instead, I lean forward until our lips meet.
Softly at first, tentative, like we’re both unsure whether this is real.
The kiss is slow, unhurried, a careful brush that turns into something deeper when he exhales against my mouth.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, anchoring me there, and I fall into his arms without resistance.
The glittering DC skyline falls away, the buzz of traffic fading to a background hum. There’s only the warmth of his mouth, the steady pressure of his lips against mine, the way my heart is pounding so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it.
We pull back just enough to catch our breath, our foreheads pressing together, breaths mingling in the warm night air. My lips tingle, and my pulse is still thumping a million miles a minute.
He studies my face for a long second, like he’s memorizing it, then admits quietly, “I wasn’t even sure you liked me.”
I smile, pressing my lips together, my face still flushed from the kiss. “Well, I don’t hate you.”
He lets out a surprised laugh, warm and relieved. “I’ll take it.”
And then he kisses me again.