Chapter 27 Luca
I glanced across at Matilda in the passenger seat, her wrist cradled in her lap, wrapped and on ice.
“Do you think we’ll make it through this week?
” I asked nonchalantly, ensuring none of my internal worry seeped into my words.
We couldn’t be voted out this week—I hadn’t been invited by the Dirty Dancing producers for an audition yet.
I needed more time to prove I had changed.
I couldn’t shake the memory of the nurse’s voice over the phone, the BiPAP machine sounding in the background, telling me my mother wasn’t well enough to talk at that moment. Just as clear, my mother’s own words from our previous conversation kept circling back, refusing to let go.
I’m just so happy you’re going to be acting again—doing something you love.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What would happen if we got voted off the show? Had I done enough to prove to the producers that I’d changed? And if I hadn’t, would I be able to find another opportunity to make my mother proud?
I could always do another movie—but no movie would have as much meaning as Dirty Dancing. My mother was dying, for fuck’s sake. I needed to be in this film.
“We’ll be fine.” Matilda sighed. “We won’t make it into the top three, but we definitely won’t be at the bottom—despite the fall, our skate was still technically challenging and really strong otherwise.”
Matilda was right, but there was a nagging voice in my head saying our chances had been ruined.
And it was my fault.
No matter what Matilda’s mother said, I had dropped her. The responsibility lay with me.
I parked outside Matilda’s apartment complex in a short-stay bay, not bothering to go to the underground parking lot. It was close to midnight, so I wasn’t staying long.
“I’ll walk you up,” I said, climbing out of the car to meet her at her side. The door slammed shut at the same time I heard the sharp, incessant click of camera shutters. To my right, a horde of paparazzi swarmed from behind the bushes. There must have been at least twenty-five of the vultures.
“Luca, can you tell us what happened tonight?”
“Are you two dating?”
“Matilda, how do you feel about rumors of Luca still dating other women?”
Voices shouted over each other from every direction, paparazzi pressing around the car.
“Move,” I bellowed, pushing a camera lens from my face as I searched for Matilda.
She stumbled back against the car door, her chest heaving as she held her bandaged wrist to her body protectively.
Her head whipped around, looking for an escape from the circle of paparazzi that was tightening around her.
I didn’t think—my body moved on instinct, shoving people out of the way.
“Luca.” My name on her lips as her panicked gaze squinted against the flashing lights flipped something in me I hadn’t even known was there. “Stop. Please,” she begged, and I snapped.
“Out. Of. My. Way.” Blood roared in my ears, a hot surge of anger pulsing through every vein. I pushed through the people, not caring who was in my way.
“Matilda!” I called. Her wide, frantic eyes immediately found mine. She shouldered her way through the throng. I held out my hand. She reached forward.
Her small palm gripped my wrist, and I pulled her toward me, using my body to create a barrier between her and the horde.
“Back up!” I shouted, hoping to spook them out of the way.
“Matilda, is it true Luca isn’t the first celebrity you’ve dated?” a voice shouted.
“Luca, look over here!” another called from the back of the crowd.
I pulled Matilda from the throng, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. We just had to get inside. They couldn’t trespass, so once we were inside, we were safe.
They followed us, their shouts getting louder and more desperate as we neared the door.
“Hey!” someone shouted, and Matilda was yanked out from under my arm.
Everything unraveled in a blur.
Matilda let out a shriek as a paparazzo grabbed her arm—the one clutched against her chest. She tried to wrench it free, but his grip slid down, tugging at her bandaged wrist.
My heart cracked at the muffled sob that escaped her lips. The pained sound was worse than if she’d cried out. It wasn’t loud; it didn’t need to be.
“Get your fucking hands off her right this second.” I pushed forward, gripping his wrist. If I hadn’t been so intent on getting Matilda inside, I’d have made sure he was never able to use that hand again.
He cried out, the sound music to my ears, and dropped her wrist. I barged him out of the way and wrapped my arm back around Matilda, ushering her toward the door.
“Do you have your keys, sweetheart?” I kept my voice gentle, despite the tight clench of my jaw. She reached a hand into her hoodie pocket and tossed me her keys. I buzzed us into the building and slammed the door shut behind us, locking the paparazzi out.
I spun, needing to see her face—check that she was OK.
She wasn’t.
Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she didn’t make a sound. She’d gone back to cradling her wrist against her chest, but now it trembled. No—it wasn’t just her wrist trembling, her whole body was.
“Come here,” I whispered, and opened my arms. She fell into them, heaved a deep breath in and out as her face pressed against my chest.
I was used to the media’s bullshit—but Matilda was not.
“I’m so sorry. Is your wrist OK? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No—no hospital. It’s fine. I just need some ice and bed, I think.”
I pulled back and gently cupped her face, my thumb brushing away a stray tear as I searched her eyes, looking for the truth. She gave the slightest reassuring nod, and I swallowed, my throat tightening painfully.
“Let’s get you upstairs.”
I pressed my hand to her lower back, guiding her toward her apartment. As we made it closer to her door, her trembling began to subside, her relief at being safe evident. I inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.
I flicked a lamp on, illuminating the small space. She looked incredibly little as she stood staring at me.
“Do you have ice in the freezer?”
“Yeah, I should.”
I started toward the freezer. “Go put your pajamas on and get comfortable. Do you need any help?” Her face instantly flushed and, realizing what I’d just offered, I rushed to clarify. “Because of your hand. Do you need any help?”
“I think I’ve got it. Thanks, Luca.” I caught the faintest smile before her feet padded across the wooden floor and she disappeared into her bedroom. Minutes later, as I was filling a ziplock bag with ice, she re-emerged in her tiny pajamas.
“They’re pretty intense, huh?” she said, grabbing a tea towel from a drawer. I placed the ice bag in the fabric for her, and she held it to her wrist. She winced, and I had to use every scrap of willpower not to storm downstairs and teach them a lesson.
“Yeah, they’re vultures. They’ll do anything to get the next big scoop.”
“It scared me. They weren’t there, and then suddenly, they were everywhere. They were so close. I’ve seen paparazzi before, but never like that.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, and she dashed to the window, splitting the curtains to peek out. “They’re still here.”
“They’ll camp out there all night,” I offered plainly, not bothering to hide the disdain in my words.
“Will you stay?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and it lacked its usual bubbliness.
There was no flirtation in her tone, no hint of seduction—just a quiet request. The color had returned to her cheeks, but she still seemed fragile—like she might break if I said no. “You can’t go back out there anyway.”
She was probably right. In theory, I could just push through the crowd—I’d dealt with them enough times in the past. But it was past midnight, and I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t punch one of those stupid assholes in the face if I went down there again.
I paused for the briefest moment, before thinking better of it. I wanted to look after Matilda, to stay and make sure she was OK—and after the evening we’d had, I couldn’t find it within myself to deny it. I didn’t care if it made things complicated. “Of course. I’ll take the sofa.”
“We’re adults, Luca. My bed is big enough for us both to sleep in without even getting close.”
She wants us to share a bed? After what had just happened downstairs, I was already fighting the urge to take her in my arms and never let go. How could she expect me to keep my hands off her?
She must have seen the apprehension written across my face, because she continued, “I’m not going to force you to sleep in the bed with me. But it is ridiculous, you taking the sofa when it’s tiny and there’s plenty of room in the bed.”
“OK.” My lips moved without my brain’s consent.
The words hung in the air, and I couldn’t help the way my chest tightened.
It wasn’t lost on me how intimate this felt, even if neither of us was thinking about anything beyond comfort.
It felt…right. I wanted to be the one to care for her, to be the one she trusted right now.
She needed someone—me—and I wasn’t going to back away.
We went through the motions of getting ready to sleep. She passed me a new toothbrush, grabbed us both a glass of water, and dragged herself to her bed. She climbed in, resting her bad arm on top of the quilt with the makeshift icepack. Her eyelids were heavy as she made herself comfy.
I didn’t have anything to wear to sleep in, but I didn’t dare ask Matilda.
Even if she had had some guy’s clothes lying around, I’d sooner have slept in my jeans than dragged her out of bed to find them.
Besides, it was too late, and I was too tired, to deal with the surge of jealousy the thought of her having another man’s clothes lying around sent racing through me.
But we were both adults and Matilda had seen me half dressed before. I stripped off my jeans, T-shirt, and socks, until I was just in my boxers. Matilda’s sleepy eyes fluttered open when the bed dipped as I climbed in. A small smile ghosted across her lips.
I flicked off the lamp at the side of the bed, bathing the room in darkness. There were a few beats of silence before Matilda’s tired voice spoke next to me.
“Are you dating other women, Luca?” There was no hint of accusation in her voice. She was referring to what one of the paparazzi had shouted at us earlier.
“No, Stevens. I’m not dating anyone else.”