The music stopped at the perfect moment, creatively edited to give a sharp ending like a heartbeat held hostage. Nate threw his weight forward in that suspended second, cradling Holly in his arms for a dip that was aggressive as it was desperate. They stopped on a dime in what would have been a classic Hollywood-esque kissing pose, but this version of it was soaked in aged whiskey and pure need.
The crowd erupted with sharp gasps and a ripple of breathless noise that surged like a wave crashing the stage. Someone in the front row clapped a hand over their mouth. No one was breathing, and every eye was on them in a moment that looked so raw and so unscripted, it could only possibly end one way.
Her breath hit his mouth like a dare. Her lips were parted, her eyes locked on his like they were the only two people left in a world that never made sense to begin with. There wasn’t a cue for this. This wasn’t in the goddamn routine.She was going to fucking kiss him on live TV.
Fuck.Every muscle in Nate’s body braced like he was about to get hit. Every instinct screameddon’t move, don’t breathe, don’t scare her off. Because he wanted it. Wantedhermore than he’d wanted anything that didn’t come with laces and ice.
He wanted to fall forward and claim her in front of the entire world and stop pretending that this wasn’t killing him. Every nerve in his body screamed for it. His pulse roared in his ears. His hand at her waist tightened without permission.
But he didn’t move. He held.Stopped. Just a breath before their lips met.
It wasn’t enough to be noticed. Anyone watching would think it was perfectly planned. Only Holly would feel that half-second hesitation. The space he didn’t let her cross.
He didn’t mean it to be cruel. He just didn’t want her to throw herself to the wolves for something he couldn’t quite believe she actually wanted.
Because in what fucking parallel universe did a woman like Holly Martinez wanthim?Sure, he’d had flings. Models. Influencers. The type who thought he was fun for a weekend and a story to tell their girlfriends about over mimosas. It was impossible to believe Holly’d want him outside of the show environment.
This couldn’t be a real kiss. Not with the cameras, the pressure, the pretending. And if he kissed her now, taking it when it wasn’t truly offered, he’d lose her for sure. So he didn’t. Nate let the moment pass and felt the loss of her when she pulled back from him.
He’d felt it the second he stopped the kiss. A whisper of restraint, a breath of distance that landed like a slap. Her body hadn’t missed a beat.
Holly’s eyes shuttered, her mouth closed. She didn’t break frame, but the tension she usually carried came crashing back into her. Her softness was gone. The trust vanished like smoke. Her smile was camera-ready. But her eyes? Her eyes were fuckingfurious.
Nate helped her stand and stepped back, one hand held out in a gesture of gratitude to her as the cameras panned in. Holly was already half a step away, chin up, eyes glittering with performative charm. The soft flush on her cheeks could've passed for post-dance adrenaline, but he knew better. She wasn’t glowing, she wasseething.
The applause was deafening, wild and adoring and utterly unaware that his chest felt like it had been ripped open on live television. Because all Nate could feel was the space between their mouths where a kiss should’ve been.
And then Indie barreled in like a sequined wrecking ball.
“Well, if that didn’t just rewrite the definition of intimacy, I don’t know what will!” She shoved a microphone between them, beaming like a gremlin on sugar. “Guys, that wasgorgeous.”
She gestured to the crowd, which was still howling like they’d just witnessed a proposal. “The movement! The control! Thealmost-kiss!I mean, was that scripted? Or are you two trying to kill us?”
Holly’s mouth twitched into something that looked like a smile but had the soul of a death glare.
Nate cleared his throat. His voice came out low and too calm. “I mean, what can I say? Holly’s choreography is everything.”
“Come on,” Indie crowed, like she knew a secret. “That was a moment! Don’t be humble. That was the softest, sexiest thing I’ve seen in twelve seasons of this show!”
The cameras zoomed. Nate smiled. Dead inside. RIP dignity.
Indie was still shaking her head. “I can’t deal, y’all. Okay, let’s do this. Chantreuse?”
The fashionista pursed her lips as though savoring the last bite of dessert. “Darling, I need someone to call the fire marshal because that floor issmoking.”
Laughter from the crowd.
“But truly,” she continued, “that was a masterclass in restraint. Every brush, every look. The choreography was deceptively simple, but emotionally devastating. Nate, your lines were perfect! Holly, you're a miracle worker. It’s a 9 from me.”
The audience roared.
Muffy Duncan was already nodding along with her fellow judge before the camera even cut to her. She leaned into her mic, glasses low on her nose. “When this pairing was announced, I was expecting a hot mess. But what you two delivered tonight was…real. There were some minor foot placement issues, a slight loss of axis in some of your rotations, but I barely noticed because I was busy feeling things. 9.”
Indie was beaming and nodding as the audience continued their applause. “High praise! Bring us home, Stan!”
Stan adjusted his tie. “Technically? That was your cleanest performance to date. Emotional integrity? Off the charts. I’ve been watching couples fake chemistry for this show for a decade.”
He looked them dead in the eye.
