There was no polite amount of space between them. Not with her camera clinging to her chest. Elise smelled of bergamot. Since her hair was up, Harper could spot three freckles in a semicircle just under her hairline. Then Harper wondered about all the other little spots on Elise’s body she’d never get to see. And the ones she had: the crescent moon scar on the back of her ankle, the slightly suspicious mole on her stomach, which the dermatologist had called a junctional nevus and told her not to worry, and the faint pale line across her forearm from a hair straightener injury. The thought of never seeing them again sent a jarring shock through her veins.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Harper muttered, feeling an emptiness roar in her stomach. She put it down to missing breakfast because she’d been too busy packing and then unpacking. “I thought Gillian was stepping in for you.”
“She is,” Elise muttered, or it only sounded like that because she was facing away from Harper. “But I need to supervise. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”
“I have heard part—”
“Please listen to me now,” Antonio said, cutting her off. He tapped the two steel handles hanging above their heads. “You hold these the entire time. Do not let go. Do not touch the cable. Knees bent. Feet slightly up.” Then he gestured toward the platform’s edge. “When I say avanti, you walk forward together until the ground is gone. Do not jump. The cable will take your weight.”
Harper heard Elise take in a shuddery breath. For the first time, she wondered if Elise was actually scared of heights. And then, just as quickly, she wondered why she didn’t already know that. For a second she wondered what else she didn’t know, but then realized maybe it really didn’t even matter anymore.
“Ready,” Antonio said, and together they walked toward the edge. “Avanti.”
Both Harper and Elise stepped forward. For half a second, maybe even quicker, there was nothing, just the sick, exhilarating drop of the earth giving way. Then the trolley engaged fully, the harnesses took their weight, and the cable hummed as they accelerated. Wind rushed up to meet them and flattened everything. The gorge beneath them was a jagged slash of green cliffs and, far below, the fjord flashed blue. Boats were little specks. Trees were patterns. And people were imaginary. Harper felt the familiar sensation of her heart leaping out of her chest. Then, and she had no idea why, she was shouting, “I GOT AN EMAIL LAST NIGHT!”
“WHAT?” Elise called back. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”
“AN EMAIL!” Harper shouted even louder. “FROM MY OLD BOSS, JACK. AT NAT GEO. THEY GAVE ME MY JOB BACK!”
“IT’S TOO LOUD!” Elise pointed to her right ear.
“I ACCEPTED!” Harper’s voice nearly cracked. There was no reason to carry on shouting because Elise obviously couldn’t hear, yet the words tumbled out one after the other. “I LEAVE AFTER PRODUCTION IS DONE. I’M MOVING BACK TO LONDON.” Did it feel good to say out loud?Yes, Harper thought. Even if the wind swallowed her words. Even if she’d have to repeat herself when the time was right.
The platform rushed up. A woman in a navy polo shirt waved a gloved hand in their direction. The next moment, the braking system engaged, and their speed slowed in jerks, and then suddenly their feet hit the platform just as the woman reached for their harness lines.
Harper’s hair was a mess as it whipped into her face. Her ears rang with a faint swoosh. She turned toward Elise, eager to see her face-to-face. She wondered if she had heard anything. But Elise had her back to her, already unclipping her harness.
“Elise,” Harper started. Her voice sounded too loud. She cleared her throat and lifted a hand. She was just about to touch Elise’s shoulder when Elise stepped away. She walked to the other end of the platform and then bent down to fiddle with her laces that didn’t require any fiddling. Harper followed and hovered uselessly behind her. “There’s something I need to—”
“You got your job back,” Elise cut in, smooth as silk, still looking at her laces.
“So, you heard me?”
Elise stood up and faced Harper. “That’s really great,” she said, smiling. “I’m happy for you. It’s what you wanted, right?”
This caught Harper off guard. Not just Elise’s smile—it was unsettlingly genuine—but also, was that really what she wanted? No, Harper wanted Elise.
“I don’t have to go,” Harper said quickly. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”
“No, you should go,” Elise said, stepping past her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elise couldn’t quite believe it. They had made it. They’d fucking made it.
The final rose ceremony was actually happening for the first time in forever. Elise was practically floating with relief. Her jaw hurt from all the smiling. Over the last few ceremonies, Amelia, Elena, and Rebecca had all said their tearful goodbyes, narrowing the field in a way that still felt almost suspiciously orderly by this show’s standards.
Despite the evening being so young, a lot could happen.
But still, this was the moment of all moments that justified every sleepless night, every crisis call, and every time she’d heard the wordsNever Rose Showwhispered like a curse under their breath. No one would ever call it that again.The Sapphic Matchwould be the headline from coast to coast, from New York to Los Angeles, splashed across queer media, dissected on podcasts, and immortalized in think pieces Elise would only pretend not to read. Stanley would send her a bouquet of roses congratulating her. Her sister would call and tell her she’d always known the show wasn’t cursed, that Elise would turn it around. She’d finally tick it off her to-do list.
Below her, the ceremony glowed in the garden of the neighboring villa they were renting just for the night. The event was taking place in a terraced amphitheater carved into the cliffside just above the sea. Hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny lights were strung between olive trees and stone columns. Linen-draped pedestals lined the aisle, and yellow banksia roses marched down the path. The ocean beyond the cliff was asheet of dark silk, the waves catching just enough moonlight to shimmer like sequins.
At one end stood Megan. She mirrored the ocean with her Swarovski sequin dress that clung bravely to her chest. Her hair was straightened, falling gracefully down her back. Her neck was bare except for some glitter the stylists had dusted, and the final rose—bright yellow, almost as bright as the sun—rested on a marble plinth beside her. Its stem was wrapped neatly in a silk ribbon. A tear nearly fell down Elise’s cheek at the sight of it.
“Is Megan ready?” Elise asked into her headset.
Gillian was on the other end. “She’s ready.”
