Chapter Four
NOVEMBER
Nico
“Shit, this is fancy,” I said with a whistle as I walked into the dance studio Toby had hired for us, nodding approvingly at the wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors with a bar across them as I gave the sprung floor a little test stamp.
There were windows on the wall next to the mirrors, so we’d get a nice amount of natural light, but there were curtains we could pull across them when we wanted privacy.
Although since we were on the third floor on a residential street, the only way people were going to see us was if they got a ladder.
Toby hadn’t arrived yet, but the receptionist of the building had been happy for me to come up after equipping me with a digital access pass. It seemed like the whole place was just private rehearsal spaces, and I wondered if all of them were as nice as this.
I took my coat off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door before sliding off my trainers and slotting them into one of the provided cubbies.
Pulling my dance shoes out of my bag, I quickly slid them on and did a few steps across the polished floor.
The shoes were a comfortable, worn-in pair I’d used for training with Jean and knew wouldn’t hurt my feet.
Breaking in new shoes was always the worst part of getting them, because they were always so stiff.
At least they weren’t ballet pointe shoes where I’d have to break the shank and smack the box against the wall to make them useable.
There was a sound system set up next to the cubbies, with various ways to connect my phone.
I gave it a quick test, cycling through a few of my favourite warmup tracks to get a sense of the volume as I moved around the studio.
It needed to be audible from the other side of the room, but not so loud that it irritated other people in the building.
Nobody wanted to listen to the same Christmas track for three days a week, four weeks in a row.
Not even me.
“Good morning,” Toby said as he strode inside, his cheeks flushed from the sudden change in temperature. He was smiling eagerly and it set my teeth on edge. I still wasn’t quite sure what it was about him that irritated me, but something did. And it didn’t help that he was cute as fuck.
“Morning,” I said, walking over to turn off the music.
“Oh, this is nice, isn’t it?” He looked around the studio with a pleased eye, and I tried not to focus on how good being flushed looked on him. “Did you find it okay?”
“Yeah, nice and easy. Bit of a walk from the bus stop, but I don’t mind that. It’s a good warmup.”
“Well, if you ever need a lift anywhere, then just say. I had to hire a car, so I can take you.”
I frowned. “I didn’t think there was parking here?”
“I think there’s some down the road, but I actually meant I hired a car with a driver. But the offer still stands. I’m sure Mo won’t mind, and he’s far less likely to get lost than I am.” His smile was so easy, and I blinked slowly. He really did exist in a completely different world to me.
I didn’t know why I was surprised, though. London would explode if he tried to take the bus.
“Do you get lost easily then?” I asked as Toby shrugged off his coat, revealing a pale blue jumper and a pair of slim-fitting dark jogging bottoms that were obviously new.
They looked good on him, though, and they’d give me a good idea of his posture.
His jumper would need to come off, but that could happen as soon as we got warmed up.
“Not always. My sense of direction isn’t as bad as some,” he said, tipping his head forward to scrape his hair softly up into a tiny, messy bun.
It was a beautiful deep red that hung just above his shoulders in a soft wave, reminding me almost of Ariel from The Little Mermaid.
A few shorter strands stuck out awkwardly, but as he straightened I got the perfect look at his face.
It had been obvious as soon as we’d met a few weeks ago that Toby was gorgeous.
Stunningly pretty, in fact. With high cheekbones, an angled jaw, a slim nose, and these bright eyes that seemed to pull me in, it was the sort of face you couldn’t just look at once.
If you saw him on the street, you’d probably stop and stare.
I’d Googled him as soon as I’d found out we’d be partnered together, as well as done a deep dive through his Instagram, and it hadn’t surprised me to see him modelling.
It didn’t seem like the first-choice career for an ex-pop star, but with a body and face like that, I could see why he’d been picked up.
“Oh, I forgot,” he continued, bending down to rummage in the large leather bag he’d brought with him.
“I brought you a present. Well, it’s not so much a present as a thank you.
Anyway, these are for you.” He held out a white box tied with red ribbon, like the sort you might get from a chocolate shop.
I frowned as I took it. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know. You don’t even have to consider them a gift, or for you.
I mean we could share them. And if it helps, I did very little in the way of making them.
I tried, but Mrs Nolan caught me in the kitchen and insisted on taking over.
I think she was worried I might make a mess or something.
Also, she’s a very big fan of yours, so maybe she wanted to make them to ensure they’d be edible. I—”
“Toby.”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking,” I said, giving him the tiniest wry smile as I slid the ribbon off the box and opened the lid.
Inside, neatly packed in some kitchen roll, were some thick shortbread fingers, each heavily dusted with sugar.
They smelled fucking incredible, and my mouth watered.
I’d always had a fondness for biscuits. I was that guy who’d devour an entire packet of Hobnobs in one sitting and thought gingerbread houses were for eating, not keeping.
Fuck it, I’d rather have the pieces of gingerbread as they were than waste my time faffing around sticking the bloody things together.
“They’re great, thanks,” I added as I took a piece out and begrudgingly offered him one. Because it was only polite. Even if I didn’t really want to. “But you didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to do this.” I waved my hand up and down at him.
He took some shortbread and frowned softly. “Do what?”
“Be on. You can drop the act. There’s nobody else around. Don’t worry, I won’t tell and you can turn it all back on when they come to film us for the training sequence.” I bit into the shortbread and tried not to groan. Fuck me, that was good.
“I know,” he said. “But trust me, darling, this isn’t an act.”
“Darling? Isn’t that your name?”
“Yes, but it does work so well as a term of endearment.”
I let out a low grunt. “Don’t push it.”
Toby’s smile widened and he looked far too fucking pleased with himself for my liking. It had to be an act, didn’t it? Nobody was that cheerful all the time.
It wasn’t just the cheerfulness, though.
There was something about him that got under my skin, and I didn’t know how to explain it.
Maybe it was more to do with the show than him, because I was frustrated with being stuck doing the Christmas show rather than being on the main programme with a decent partner.
Maybe it was also because I’d expected a self-centred, demanding diva, not someone who brought me biscuits.
“You like the shortbread then?” he asked sweetly, taking a bite of his own piece.
“Very good. Tell Mrs Nolan she’s amazing.”
“I helped.”
“But sounds like she did all the work.” I shoved the rest of the biscuit in my mouth. “Get your dance shoes on. It’s time to see what you can do.”
“Oh yes, shoes,” he said, stuffing shortbread into his mouth as he bent down again to retrieve a black drawstring bag and opened it to slide out a pair of soft leather ballroom shoes.
The show provided several pairs for each contestant, since for the main show at least they tended to get through them fairly quickly.
I wouldn’t insist on them for every hour of training, but it would be good to get Toby in them and see how comfortable he looked.
“I tried them on in my house over the weekend,” he continued as he flopped onto the floor to start putting them on, lacing them up tightly.
“They’re very comfortable, so hopefully they won’t rub.
But I brought some plasters just in case.
And made sure to wear black socks. I’m sure you don’t want to see my bloodied and battered toes every day. ”
“Trust me, they won’t be the worst feet I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh? Are yours like that?”
“No, my sister.” I sighed, annoyed at how easily he’d caught me off guard. Then again, Sian’s identity wasn’t a secret. “She’s a principal with the Royal Ballet. One season of The Nutcracker and her feet are a mess. She loves it, though, and honestly I’m not sure she feels pain anymore.”
Toby’s expression was suitably awed and I smiled. It was kind of how I felt about Sian. “That’s amazing. So, both of you are dancers? Any more dancing family?”
“No,” I said as Toby climbed to his feet. “My brother didn’t get on with dance. He’s a nutritionist now.”
“That’s still impressive,” he said. “I’m an only child, but I always wanted a sibling. Although I guess spending ten years in a boy band with four other guys is a little like having brothers. We certainly did enough stupid shit together. And to each other.”
“Is this where you tell me the big secret is that you all secretly hate each other?”
“Surprisingly no, we managed to make it out with our friendships still intact. Not that we didn’t fall out a couple of times, but we always made up.
I think it helped having someone like André on board, because he’s more of a peacekeeper.
And I think we all realised quite early on that if we were going to survive the spotlight, we needed each other. ”
He smiled but there was a pained edge to it, and for the first time since we met, I wondered if I was getting a glimpse at the real him. “I’m sure being on TV every year must be similar, what with the constant scrutiny. You must have someone you rely on too.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, and it felt like a knife being dug into my ribs.
I’d never had someone look at me and instantly know what things were like behind the glamour.
Most of my celebrity partners had always assumed our lives were very different, but I was still under the same spotlight as them.
My job was to lift them up, to make them look like stars, and transform them into dancers.
To be invisible but constantly observed.
One wrong move and the audience would turn on me.
“I do,” I said, giving him a tight smile.
He opened his mouth to ask more questions but I cut him off by continuing.
“We’re going to be doing an American Smooth for our routine, to ‘Christmas Without You’ by Ava Max.
It’s got quite a lot of freedom as a style, and it’s a bit more elaborate and creative.
It’s a good one for a beginner, but it’s tricky too because it incorporates steps from the waltz, Viennese waltz, foxtrot, and tango, so you’ll need to perfect each of those and they’re distinctly different.
Plus we’ll be in and out of hold, and I’ve included some lifts in our choreography too. ”
“That sounds fun,” he said, and I was glad to see he didn’t look put off. “I’ve always liked the American Smooth. Although are the lifts vital? I don’t want to drop you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be lifting you. We’ll take it day by day, step by step. But I’m not going to start with the routine until I’ve taught you some ballroom basics.” I picked up my phone and opened my warmup playlist. “But first, we’re going to warm up and stretch. Then I’ll see what you can do.”
“Let’s do it!” He grinned and strode out into the middle of the room, stretching his arms above his head.
His enthusiasm was sweet, but we’d see where we were after four or five hours.
Maybe this wouldn’t be quite the shitshow I’d first imagined.
But I wasn’t holding my breath.