Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 302

**TITLE: Wrong person 302**

**Chapter 302**

My legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, a quivering mass of fatigue and exhilaration. The bun atop my head is slipping free, strands of hair escaping like wild dancers. My ribs still ache from that last pas de deux, but in this moment, none of it matters. I’m riding the exhilarating wave of a post-rehearsal high, a cocktail of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through me, still buzzing from the thrill of almost nailing it.

Luc stretches out beside me, one leg pulled up to his chest, his expression relaxed yet focused. “Your fouettés were solid today,” he remarks, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Solid?” I scoff, bending down to untie my pointe shoes, the ribbons slipping through my fingers. “I was practically levitating!”

He chuckles, a warm sound that fills the space between us. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just trying to keep your ego in check.”

With a playful swat, I flick the ribbon I just removed at him. “Please. My ego lives in a constant state of fear.”

“You hide it well,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips.

We continue our lighthearted bickering about counts and landing angles when the studio door suddenly swings open. A whirlwind of velvet and an intoxicating cloud of perfume bursts into the room.

“Penny freaking Vale!”

I don’t even need to turn around; I recognize that exuberant voice instantly.

“Mila!” I spring to my feet, a grin spreading across my face so wide it almost hurts my cheeks. I barely manage to brace myself before she collides with me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a fierce embrace.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” she exclaims, her voice muffled against my hair. “That’s emotionally damaging!”

I hold her tightly, my heart swelling with affection. “I missed you too.”

—

As we pull back, I notice her mascara is smudged just enough to suggest she’s either been crying or laughing far too hard. Her hair is styled in a wild ballet bun, reminiscent of her performance days, with pins barely holding it together and rebellious curls escaping in every direction.

She’s still in her dress rehearsal leotard—

—black velvet with a deep V neckline, little rhinestones scattered across it like stars in the night sky. She looks fierce, radiant.

“Wait,” I blink in surprise. “Your dress rehearsal was today too?”

“Just wrapped,” she replies, dramatically fanning herself as if the memory of the performance is still too hot to handle. “My feet are broken, my back’s gone, but I received a standing ovation from my instructor, who is basically allergic to compliments.”

“That’s huge!” I exclaim, genuinely thrilled for her.

“It is,” she confirms, then nudges me with her elbow, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “Yours was today too, huh?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks flush with the memory. “It was… a lot.”

She gives me that knowing look—the one that says she understands exactly what I mean by “a lot.” The weight of expectations, the pressure, the exhilarating thrill of being so close to our dreams.

“Luc?” she asks, tilting her head toward him.

“Injured but alive,” he responds, offering a graceful little wave. “Madame only crushed my soul like, four times.”

“Sounds like love,” Mila says sweetly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Before I can roll my eyes at her playful jab, someone clears their throat near the door. I glance up, and my heart skips a beat.

Boomer.

My entire face lights up.

“Booms!” I exclaim, rushing over to him and throwing my arms around his sturdy frame. He catches me effortlessly, his big arms wrapping around my back, warm and steady. His hands linger on my waist for just a moment longer, a comforting reminder of how safe I’ve always felt in his presence.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify