Chapter 10 Luca
Neither Jack nor I could tear our eyes away from the tapes.
We were watching reruns of the first week’s skates from the past three years to gauge the level we’d be competing against. We didn’t watch everyone, mainly the pairs scoring in the top five.
Matilda explained that because I’d had some skating ability before training, she didn’t doubt that we’d already be somewhat ahead of the group.
Jack and I lounged on one of the sofas directly in front of the enormous flat-screen TV, while Matilda sat cross-legged on the one with a side view. Paper scribbled with her handwriting littered the empty space on the sofa beside her.
Since our first visit to the dressing room, the atmosphere had felt…different. Matilda’s infuriatingly bright presence tainted every room she entered, her easy smiles and laughter making the space feel lighter somehow.
I’d scoffed at how others always watched her, how the room leaned in to her when she was around, but I was starting to understand.
Tiny trinkets of hers decorated the room; sunglasses, a hairbrush, and a few pieces of jewelry sat tidily on the vanity.
A photo of her hugging another girl was taped to the mirror, Matilda’s trademark smile plastered on her face while the other girl looked at her adoringly.
Maybe they were girlfriends. Or just best friends.
And then there were the tapes.
Off the ice, Matilda was a knockout.
On the ice, Matilda shone like a fucking star.
I’d learned from Hollywood over the years that some people had show presence and others didn’t.
But anyone who denied that Matilda was born to be in front of the camera was blind.
The actor in me felt almost giddy at working with someone who was so obviously talented.
Almost. A prickling of distrust still bubbled beneath the surface whenever she was near.
Matilda was holding back in the routines, especially from the earlier weeks of the show. They had been tailored to the celebrity’s skill set, and there were a few years when her dances were the simplest compared to the other skaters’, but somehow she still managed to outshine them all.
I thought back to that producer’s remark about her being boring and wrote him off as fucking delusional.
Matilda’s reaction when he’d called after her yesterday floated into my mind.
It screamed that something had gone down between them, but of course she had just brushed it off.
Settled on a clear lie and pretended it was nothing.
I pushed her dishonesty to the back of my mind.
Biting into one of the croissants she had brought us this morning, its buttery flakes coating my tongue, I couldn’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you get this? It’s good.”
Matilda raised her brows before a soft grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “They’re from Vinnie’s. It’s a bakery about a twenty-minute drive from here, but it’s worth it.”
“Thank you.” Taking another bite, I barely withheld my moan. A glance at Jack revealed he was enjoying his, too.
“You have to try it dunked in their signature mocha; it’s the best. I didn’t want to risk getting you both one today, because I know you had a black coffee the other day, but you have to try it next time.”
“We definitely will,” Jack mumbled between bites of his croissant. “Thanks again.”
A pretty rosy hue crept up her cheeks. I looked away.
As the last clip ended on the TV, she pressed pause on the remote and whirled in her seat to face us. She shuffled the papers in her hands, organizing the notes she’d been taking, and looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
“Any thoughts on our plan of action? If you tell me your expectations after watching the tapes, I can advise on the best attack.”
I didn’t need to think too long before I answered, “I need to win.”
Her smile widened, mirroring the excitement that danced in her eyes. But there was also intrigue written across her face; she wanted to ask why. She was too polite, so she settled on: “Brilliant, so do I.”
I, however, was not too polite.
“Why do you need to win?”
“Well, it’s my job to try and win, which is incentivized with a bonus.” She bit the corner of her lip before continuing. “My mother really wants me to win, too.”
“Oh, really?” Jack’s last bite of croissant froze in midair.
“Yeah, she’s always been super supportive and…” She paused, searching for a word. “involved with my ice-skating career. She wants me to win the show and carry on her legacy, blah, blah, blah.” She took another bite of her own croissant, the blush on her cheeks growing brighter.
“Her legacy?”
“She’s Julia Stevens, youngest Olympic pairs figure skater to represent the UK.
” Matilda air-quoted as if she’d heard the reference a hundred times.
She stood up and moved to the other side of the dressing room.
Slipping her sweater back over her head, she continued, “Or was. She was in the Olympics and won bronze, but had to stop after she had me, so she wants me to succeed for her, you know? I haven’t won the show yet, so it would be cool to. ”
“Had to stop? Don’t lots of people compete in the Olympics after they’ve had children?” Jack asked, genuine interest lacing his voice.
“She was planning to compete at the next Games after she’d given birth to me, but I was an emergency C-section with quite a few complications, so she never got back the strength and flexibility that she needed.”
Jack’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Oh, don’t worry—it’s fine. She can live through me now, anyway.” Matilda laughed but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Did you not want to go to the Olympics?” If Matilda was shocked by my sudden interest, she didn’t show it. Her lips curved upward with a grim edge, lacking the usual warmth.
“I tried but didn’t make it.” She fiddled with something in the vanity drawer before returning to her seat. It was the first time I’d seen her this fidgety; besides, perhaps, when her sister had visited. “My mother wants me to win the show so much. It would be nice to get her off my back.”
I had no idea what to say.
“Anyway, enough about me!” She shuffled the papers again, giving me whiplash from the change in subject.
“After this first week of training, I think we have a good shot at making it to at least the quarters of the show. I haven’t seen the other skaters yet, so don’t take that as a guarantee, but I’m hopeful.
We still need to work and get the audience to like us. ”
“I’m prepared to work. And as I said before, I will put on a good show when we need to.”
“That’s fine. They tell us the theme of each show three weeks in advance, so we currently only have the first three shows. The first is Musicals, the second is Props, and the third is Fantasy.”
“And we can choose our songs and choreography?”
“Within reason. We need to get approval of the music because of the rights and stuff, and the Safety team will want to review my choreography before we start practicing, but otherwise, yes.” She tightened the ponytail atop her head.
“And what are the producers like? The crew?” I wanted to kiss Jack for asking the question.
Matilda’s gaze flickered away momentarily, and a tiny crease formed between her brows before vanishing.
She chuckled. “They’re OK, I guess. Pretty standard as far as producers go, or so I’ve been told.
This is the only show I’ve worked on, so I don’t have a lot to compare it to.
The crew are super friendly, though. And nonintrusive.
They get what they need and don’t linger. ”
I didn’t bother to question her on her vague answer around the producers because it didn’t matter—she wasn’t going to offer anything more, which just solidified that it was the right decision to keep her at arm’s length.
She changed the subject again. “So, any musicals that immediately spring to mind for week one? We can pick any musical we want, but it works on a first-come, first-served basis, so I want to get our choice in as soon as possible.”
Words spilled from my lips before I could filter them. “Encanto has some good music.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she burst out laughing. I crossed my arms, raising a brow.
“You are so right!” Jack joined in next to me, sitting up straight. “I fucking love that film. I swear, I almost cried at Mirabel’s prophecy.”
“You did cry,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Fine, but I saw you well up too, big guy, so you can stop pretending you’re a robot.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re rewatching it. It’s been decided.”
“What? We only watched it last week.” I released an exaggerated sigh.
“And? You were the one who just said the music was amazing.”
“I think I said it has some good music.”
“Which is basically the same thing.”
Rolling my eyes again at the idiot, I returned to a grinning Matilda.
“We can definitely do an Encanto song. But there will probably be a Disney week at some point, so I’d be tempted to keep it for then?”
“How certain are we talking here?” Jack interjected before I could answer.
She didn’t suppress her laugh. “Well, we’ve had a Disney week three out of my four years here.”
“Hmm. Feels risky.”
“It’s fine.” I pushed his shoulder. “He’s not the one choosing, anyway.”
“I’m your agent, in case you forgot. I’m here to help you make the best choices.”
“Yes, with new opportunities and PR issues. Not whether we can risk potentially missing the opportunity to skate to Encanto, dickface. We’ll save it for Disney week.”
She scribbled on her papers. “Got it. Encanto for Disney week. Any other ideas for Musicals week?”
Silence fell over the room as we thought.
“How about Grease?” She tapped the pen against her lips.
“You know what,” Jack started, “I could totally see Grease working for you both.”
“It could work,” I agreed, knowing people loved the musical.