Chapter Seven
Toby
“Morning, are you ready for us to come and set up?” a man I didn’t recognise asked as he opened the studio door, holding a black equipment box in his hand. I frowned because I had no idea who he was or how he’d gotten here, but as I opened my mouth to ask what the hell was going on, Nico spoke.
“Morning, Craig. Yeah, come on in and set up. There’s plenty of space.”
“Cheers, are we okay to put everything down over here? We don’t want to get in the way.”
“No, you’re fine.”
The door swung fully open and a small crew of three entered, cases in hand.
It was only then that it clicked that they were from the Come Dancing With Me crew, here to film some footage for our training montage.
Malcolm must have given them all the details and liaised with the reception team of the building so they could get in.
And on a day when I was wearing a scraggly old Underground Dreaming T-shirt too! God, that was going to look so pretentious when it aired because who the fuck wore their own merch?
Especially merch that was faded and starting to get a hole in the armpit.
And that was without considering what the fandom might think.
“Are you okay?” Nico asked, looking at me with suspicion, his eyebrow slightly quirked.
“Mm, yes, I’m fine,” I said as I casually wandered over to my bag to fish out the jumper I’d been wearing first thing. I’d be too hot and it would probably make my face as red as my hair, but at least the jumper was presentable.
I did give it a quick once-over before I pulled it on, just to check for stray breakfast stains. Luckily I seemed to have avoided smearing myself in jam for once.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my jumper on.”
“Why? You’re going to roast.”
“Because I can’t wear that T-shirt on tele,” I said under my breath, tugging the jumper down and rolling my sleeves up.
My new hairband had gotten lost on the inside of my jumper, but it was easy to retrieve and redo, my fingers combing my sweaty, slightly lank hair into place as best I could.
Thank God we had the large training mirror.
I did look very pale, though, because I hadn’t had my requisite Come Dancing With Me spray tan yet. And I had dark circles under my eyes.
Why on earth had I not remembered to put this in my diary? Then I could have washed my hair and brought some make-up with me. Or at least remembered to put some concealer on before I left the house. I did have some tinted lip balm, but that wasn’t going to do much.
“Why not?” Nico asked. He seemed totally unbothered about his appearance. Not that he needed to worry; he always looked gorgeous. And the sweat seemed to give his skin a sexy glow, not make him look like a deep-fried ghost.
“Because it’s faded and has a hole in it.”
“So? Nobody’s going to notice.”
“And it’s an Underground Dreaming one. People might think I’m hinting at a reunion tour or something.”
“Would they really?”
I looked at him witheringly. “You haven’t met many pop fandoms, have you?”
“No.”
“Then trust me, they’ll definitely think it’s deliberate,” I said. “It’s been four years, and I still have to be careful with what I wear in public. When we were actually together, every single thing we did, said, wore, posted would be scrutinised under a microscope.”
“That sounds fucking horrific,” Nico said. He looked shocked, which was new. The only other time I’d seen him ruffled so far was the first time he’d seen my posture.
“It was. I think the worst part was the fact it became second nature. Obviously, it still is. Although maybe not as much. Otherwise I’d have worn something better, washed my hair, and put make-up on.”
“You don’t need make-up for training. Anyway, you’d just sweat it off.”
“Even with setting spray?”
“Maybe. Depends which one you’ve got. Although hairspray is a good alternative.”
“Good to know,” I said, trying to smile. Glancing over at the camera crew, I realised they were nearly all set up. “Do I need to put my shoes on too?”
“No, your socks are fine,” Nico said. “They don’t have any holes in.”
“Okay, cool.” Nico had said I didn’t need to wear my shoes all the time, that socks or trainers were fine, but I was still tempted to put them on. Would it look bad if I was in socks? I didn’t want to look unprofessional or not put together.
“Okay,” Craig called from the other side of the studio. “We’re ready when you are. We won’t take up too much of your time. Go on with your rehearsals and pretend we’re not here.”
“Are we doing the interviews today?” Nico asked, taking my hand to gently lead me onto the floor.
“We might ask you a couple of questions if we have time, but it’s not really a formal interview,” Craig said. “We’ll do that next week when we come to get more footage. Are you two doing an out and about bit?”
I looked at Nico in horror. I knew sometimes the couples were filmed out in the wild, usually doing something fun to do with their routine or the celebrity’s job, but as far as I was aware, it wasn’t on our agenda. Unless I’d missed a memo from Malcolm.
“No, we’re not,” Nico said. “Not unless something’s changed.”
“I haven’t heard anything,” I said.
“Then no. Just in the studio.”
“Sounds good,” Craig said, gesturing at another guy holding a boom. “Ignore us and do whatever you’re meant to be doing.”
“We’re going to do some of the hold work,” Nico said as he pulled me against him. He smiled softly and whispered, “It’s okay. Don’t think about them. Focus on me. I’ve got you.”
His words caught me off guard and all I could do was nod. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle. So protective. I doubted I was the first to be nervous about being filmed, but the way he held me and directed my focus back to him made it feel like I was suddenly the centre of his universe.
“Let’s start with the waltz steps. Ready? One, two, three. One, two, three,” he counted as he began to lead me. We’d practised the steps before many times, but this was the first time it felt easy. I didn’t know what had changed or what had finally clicked, but something had.
Maybe I’d just done it so many times that it had finally become ingrained in my brain.
But as we transitioned from the waltz into the next part of the routine, I felt myself starting to relax. It almost felt fun.
“Good,” Nico said. “Very good.”
“Yeah?” I asked as he drew me to a stop.
“Yes. Your posture is much better too.”
“Awesome.” I did a little happy dance, laughing as Nico grinned. I really wished he’d smile more because it looked so good on him.
“And now we do it again,” Nico said as he held out his hand to me. “But we’ll keep going until you get something wrong.”
I thought about saying something snarky about how I never got things wrong, but then I remembered the cameras and decided against it. I didn’t want anyone taking what I said the wrong way.
Nico quirked his eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, like he’d expected me to say something. When I didn’t, he frowned but all he said was, “Are you ready?”
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
He took me in hold and we began the routine again, continuing through until I turned the wrong way in a section where we were parallel to each other and nearly smacked Nico in the face with my arm.
I burst out laughing as I realised. “Oops, sorry,” I said, almost doubling over. “It’s left there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Toby,” Nico said with a wry smile. “Left. I wouldn’t have choreographed something where you smack me in the face.”
“You might. It would be different.”
“It would, but not the sort of different we want.”
“I suppose.” I stood up and took a step or two back. “So it’s left, step, then… wait, I’ve forgotten what comes next.”
Nico moved in front of me so I could watch and follow as he demonstrated what I was meant to be doing. I tried not to look at the way his T-shirt clung to his shoulders or how his joggers hugged his hips, arse, and thighs. I really didn’t need millions of people watching me ogle my dance partner.
Hopefully, it would just look like I was being serious and studious.
Part of my brain must have been vaguely concentrating, though, because when Nico asked me to try it myself, I did manage to stumble my way through the steps.
“Okay, I think we’ve got it,” Craig said after Nico and I had gone back through the routine again. “It’s looking great.”
“Thank you,” I said, more pleased they were leaving than at the compliment. “Nico is a wonderful teacher.”
“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself,” Nico said with a smile so teasing it nearly flattened me. “We’ll sort those shoulders yet. And your toes.”
“My poor toes, they’ll get a complex with how rude you are about them.”
“Not my fault they don’t know how to point themselves.”
“Is this why you don’t want me to wear shoes? So you can see them?” I raised an eyebrow.
“It helps.”
“I’m not sure what that says about you, but it’s certainly interesting,” I said quietly, leaning in closer as Craig and his team began to pack up their equipment.
“I thought you had to behave when there were cameras around?” Nico asked, that teasing smile still causing havoc in my stomach. There was a glittering mischief in his eyes as well, twinkling like Christmas lights, and it made me want to find a way to keep him like this.
“Technically they’re packing up, so I’m off the hook again.”
“Good. I prefer this version of you.”
My forehead wrinkled as I stared at him, confused. “What do you mean? I’m still the same person.”
“No, you’re not,” he said with the tiniest shake of his head. “You’re different. You put an act on.”
“It’s not an act,” I said. “It’s media training. Don’t you have that?”
“We’re off,” Craig said, interrupting us as the three of them headed for the studio door. “We’ll see you next Thursday. We’ll probably be here a bit earlier since we’ll need to set up the lighting for the interviews too.”
“No worries. See you then,” Nico said as he raised his hand, giving them the tiniest wave before he turned back to me.
The door of the studio closed with a gentle thud leaving us alone again.
There was a moment of silence which stretched out strangely before he added, “I do have some media training. But that’s different. ”
“I suppose.” I shrugged. I knew I had a performing “boy band Toby” persona—he’d been a part of my life ever since I’d joined Underground Dreaming—but nobody had ever really called me out on it before.
“Surely you have one too? Like a TV Nico persona? I mean, you can’t always be that snarky, defensive bad boy everyone thinks you are? ”
“Bad boy?” Nico’s amusement was obvious, and it made my face heat.
“Well, yes. Surely you know that’s what the public thinks of you?”
“I guess. I’ve never really cared about that part of it,” he said.
“I mean, if people are going to criticise my choreography for no fucking reason or say something shitty about my partner, then I’m going to push back.
If that makes me an asshole, then that’s fine with me.
Plus it makes me memorable. And it shows I’m passionate. ”
“I suppose that’s helpful.”
“It is when you want people to come to your shows or your studio.”
“Ah, the ‘all publicity is good publicity’ thing.”
“No, that whole saying is bollocks,” he said, his mouth settling into a firm line. “Sensationalism might sell things to start with, but it doesn’t keep a business afloat. And I won’t be able to do the show forever.”
I looked at him carefully, seeing, for the first time, the man behind the dancer everyone thought they knew.
He might not have a persona in the same way I did, but he was mindful about the way people saw him.
I couldn’t say whether it was calculated or just clever, but I was leaning towards the latter.
After all, he’d obviously thought about his future and the way he wanted his career to go, and the way he acted on TV was intentionally shaping that.
Shrewd. That was probably the word I’d use to describe it.
Definitely different to mine.
My persona was to protect me, to give me a bubble to exist in and a way for people to view me.
Like I was an exhibit in a zoo or something.
Giving them pieces of myself but not everything.
Enough to keep them satisfied without risking who I was.
To keep my life private but still let people feel like they knew me.
I’d been doing it for so long, I’d almost forgotten that I did it. But Nico had seen straight through it, zeroing in on the person underneath. The one he wanted me to be.
I very rarely let people see the real me. There were probably no more than a dozen people who knew who I really was.
But maybe, just maybe, I’d let Nico be one of them.