Chapter 3 Matilda
I was untying the lace on one of my skates when my phone vibrated from my bag.
Again. I imagined it had been ringing the whole time I was on the ice, too, but at least I could plead that I had been training.
After our morning briefing, I’d joined the other skaters on the practice rink as we hadn’t all had time to catch up before our partners were revealed.
We weren’t allowed to skate on the TV rink used for filming until dress rehearsals, so we’d be spending a lot of time at the different practice rinks across the studios.
The morning skate had given me time to get my head on straight about the next few months. Long enough to remember that this might be my chance to get the winner’s bonus.
My phone stopped vibrating, only to start again a few seconds later. I pulled off my other skate, zipped it up in my boot bag, and pulled my phone out of my kit bag.
“Hey, Mum.” I leaned forward on my knees and rubbed my temples, hoping to ease some of the tension building there.
“Who are you partnered with?” She jumped straight in.
“Luca Vasvault.” I tried keeping my voice light, not wanting her to detect I was stressed. “Good, right?”
“The American actor?” Her voice dropped, dissatisfaction coating her words. “You’ve been partnered with him?”
“Yeah, I think it will be good. He’s the biggest star we’ve had yet, so it will definitely give us a better chance at winning.” While I believed my words, it didn’t help the anxiety swarming my stomach.
“You shouldn’t be winning because of his celebrity status, Matilda.” She tutted through the phone. “You should win from your own merit.”
“Yes, Mum, but you know that the celebrity status helps with the public voting.” I checked I had everything in my bag before zipping it up. Hairbrush. Keys. Lip gloss. Sweatshirt.
“It just feels so cheap. This is why you should have stuck it out with the Olympics.”
“I didn’t qualify, remember?” I tried my hardest to hide my frustration.
My mother’s disappointed face as I skated off the ice at my Olympic trials still haunted me.
As an Olympic figure skater herself, one whose career had been cut short thanks to a very complicated birth with yours truly, she wanted nothing more than for me to continue her legacy.
“You could have tried again.”
“I know.” I rolled my eyes at the conversation we’d had a million times already.
The first few times, it had ended in an argument and my being excluded from family dinners.
Now, I just let her win. “Maybe I’ll try again for the next Olympics.
” After purposefully throwing the trials last time, there was no chance I was going through it again.
A soft exhalation carried through the phone, resignation and satisfaction mingling together. “So…Luca?”
“Yes, Luca. It’s a good thing, Mum.” I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to convince her or myself. I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out of the practice rink.
“I don’t condone using his celebrity to help you win, but it’s about time that you made it past week six.
” Her words hung in the air, an unease settling in my stomach at the uncomfortable truth.
“If you’re right and you can’t avoid his status helping you, then make sure to bring your best to the table. ”
“I always try.”
“It hasn’t worked yet. Hopefully, Luca might be able to help you this season.”
I stopped in the hallway and tipped my head back toward the ceiling. Frustration burned through my chest.
“Yeah, hopefully.” What else could I say? If I fought back, she’d continue to find new ways of inadvertently insulting me or she’d disinvite me from the next family event. Or tell my sister, Lauren, so she could torment me instead.
“Have you met him yet?”
“Nope, we’re meeting in thirty minutes or so.”
“Well, I look forward to meeting him at the press event.”
“Yeah, it will be fun,” I lied. The Stars on Ice pre-season press event was my mother’s way of staying relevant, years after her Olympic win. It was pretty much the only time she seemed proud of my achievements—probably because it made her look good.
“Anyway, Mum, I’ve got to go—”
“You never make time for me anymore, Matilda. Honestly, you make me feel like such a bad mother when you rush to get off the phone every time we talk.”
So, instead of having twenty minutes to decompress before meeting Luca, I spent it on the phone with my mother as I paced the hallway.
The conversation with Mum only reminded me how badly I needed to win. She wasn’t ever going to get off my back unless I did something notable with my figure skating. This could finally be the chance to start living my life the way I wanted.
God, I hope Luca wants to win too.
I had ten minutes until I needed to be in the café area to meet Luca, so I had time for a quick freshen-up.
I darted down the bright hallway, glancing at the sparkling framed images of the studio’s most successful programs as I passed.
I didn’t feature in any of the photos, but I hadn’t done anything memorable on the show.
Yet, a small voice chastised me. I haven’t done anything memorable on the show yet.
I rounded the corner, rushing into the dark bathroom and triggering the sensor light. I wasn’t late, but I didn’t want to risk making a wrong impression by keeping them waiting. I stood at the sink, splashing water as I washed my hands.
A few too many flyaway hairs, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes with slightly smudged mascara stared back at me.
Swiping under my eyes and removing any remnants of black flakes, I dried my hands on the sides of my dance shorts. Checking myself for approximately five seconds in the full-length mirror, I gave myself a little shake to get a move on. I reached for the door—
And it barreled straight into my face.
“Oh, my Jesus—fuck.” I staggered back, my bags dropping from my arms, hands shooting up to cradle my nose and forehead, unsure which hurt more. Had I heard a crunch? I was sure I’d heard a crunch. Probably my nose. Possibly my skull.
Or maybe it was my ego cracking in half from the sheer embarrassment.
“Fuck,” a deep, American voice grumbled as I saw the door open again through my scrunched-up eyes. “Sorry, that was an accident,” he said, his tone laced with a defensive edge.
I winced in response because, quite frankly, that’s all I could do. I still couldn’t make out who had thrown the door in my face, my eyes refusing to open as tears burned behind my eyelids. Still covering my nose with one hand, I steadied myself on the wall with the other.
“Hey.” The man’s level voice was a sharp contrast to my inner turmoil. A cautious tap on my shoulder reminded me that an actual human was in front of me while I was acting like I’d been hit by an MMA fighter.
I glanced up, and my stomach dropped when I saw who the door-wielder was.
Luca.
My hands were instantly clammy, and my heart rate kicked up a notch.
“God, I am so sorry.” My voice was nasal and strained. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed long enough, this would all go away.
“Why are you apologizing?” he countered. “Besides the fact that you’re using the men’s restroom.”
That had me opening one eye, the other still pinched closed. I could only make out an expensive-looking white T-shirt, tanned skin, and a hint of gold disappearing beneath the neckline of his shirt.
“This is the women’s bathroom.” The gender of the bathroom is the least of my issues right now.
“Pretty sure it’s the men’s.”
To avoid starting an argument, I looked pointedly around the bathroom that only had stalls. The fact that it actually smelled nice should have been a dead giveaway. He peered past my shoulder, surveying the room, and his eyes briefly widened as realization flashed across his face.
“Maybe not,” he murmured, looking back to me. ’Is your nose OK?”
“I have no idea.” I moaned again as the throbbing in my nose continued. “God, this is so embarrassing. I am so sorry about this.”
“Stop apologizing,” he said. “Come here, let’s look.” He placed a hand on my shoulder but kept his distance as he guided me to rest against the sink.
His other hand circled the wrist protecting my nose, and it all happened so quickly.
His touch shocked me, causing my hand to dart away from my face. He must have been startled by my surprise because he let go of my wrist and, in doing so, flicked my hand even more.
The bright red drops splashed onto his crisp white T-shirt. In an attempt to stop them in their tracks, I managed to make matters significantly worse by smearing even more blood on him.
If I had no decency and hadn’t been wholly mortified, I would have dwelled a little longer on the absolute washboard of a stomach I felt underneath the shirt.
His eyes flickered to the stain, and he released a deep exhalation.
Please kill me now.
He turned to a stall, the light metal squeak of the tissue holder the only sound in the otherwise empty bathroom. Folding the paper a few times, he extended his arm, gesturing for me to take it and press it against my nose.
“I know you said not to apologize, but now I do have something to apologize for. I have completely ruined your T-shirt. I really am sorry.” What a complete disaster.
“It’s fine.” He let out another exasperated sigh before continuing, “I didn’t realize this wasn’t the men’s restroom. It’s my fault.”
“No, no. I should have been watching where I was going.” I pulled the tissue away from my face, surveying the mess. Although it was stained red, my nose seemed to have stopped streaming. I couldn’t quite bear to make eye contact yet, so I turned to the sink to wash my hands.
Luca’s silence from behind me was wholly unsettling.
Just as I was about to break it with some waffling, he passed me another wad of tissue, which I used to pat my face dry. I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, but Luca cut in.
“Don’t apologize again. You OK?”
A nervous laugh escaped me. Luca didn’t smile back, but I didn’t let mine fall. This was not the start I wanted.
“Yeah, I think so.” I dabbed my nose with the back of my hand, finding it clean. It still hurt like a bitch, but I ignored the pain; I didn’t want him to feel guilty for an accident.
“Good.” He nodded once, then darted his eyes up and down my body. Checking for other signs of injury? Presumably finding nothing else wrong, he nodded again.
He turned and strode to the door. With much more finesse than I’d had when I’d tried to leave five minutes before, he gripped the handle, pulled, and walked out.
What a shit show.