Chapter 11 Luca
Three weeks in, and our mirror sequencing looked good, even though I tripped us over numerous times during practice.
Last week, Matilda had taught me the basic glides, forward crossovers, twists, and backward crossovers; this week had been spent perfecting them.
It wasn’t difficult per se, but it was fast due to the upbeat music.
When we were perfectly in time, it looked good.
But when we weren’t, it looked hideous. And with every pass and movement, it became impossible to ignore how close Matilda was—the warmth of her hand in mine, the focus in her eyes, the soft curve of her waist. It was unsettling how much I noticed.
“Let’s go once more, and then we can break for a bit.” Matilda gestured to our starting position, and I took her lead.
“Five, six, seven, eight…” We pushed off and started the sequence.
It was only about thirty seconds long. As we finished our last crossover, she spun and placed her hands on my shoulders, preparing to go into the lift we had yet to practice.
Her touch was soft, but it lingered, her fingers warm against the fabric of my T-shirt.
Her breath brushed my ear, fast and shallow.
It was just part of the routine, but something about the way she felt in my grasp had my pulse picking up.
She released me, her lips stretching into a radiant curve as her eyes lit up. She was clearly unaffected by our proximity. “That was so much better,” she said. I nodded, acknowledging the compliment. Her joy was overwhelming sometimes.
“We’ve got two hours left on the ice if we want it. Do you want to take a break for twenty and meet back here?”
“Sure,” I answered as we skated across the rink to the seats where we’d left our bags. Jack’s space was empty, as he was helping out with an incident at his parents’ summer camp.
Stepping off the ice, I unlaced my boots and pulled on my trainers.
Matilda was scrolling around on her phone when I exited through the double doors to get a drink from the café.
I picked out two bottles of water, an apple, and a brownie for her because she seemed to inhale anything sweet and barely ate when we were practicing.
Muffled voices echoed around the rink as I returned to the studio. I hadn’t realized anyone else was there today.
I searched for where the voices came from, and my jaw clenched.
Matilda was skating backward while holding a woman’s hands, the woman’s male partner watching and mumbling instructions.
He said something that caused the woman to stumble, but Matilda stopped her from hitting the ice and kept guiding her.
They paused, and Matilda slowly demonstrated how the skate should slide on the ice, picking up on the problem spot for the other woman.
They repeated the same sequence until the woman managed to execute it without stumbling.
I watched from the sidelines, counting every minute that passed—minutes we should have spent practicing.
Is she seriously training our opponents? Why the fuck is she helping them?
She said she wanted to win the show, and teaching our competition to skate better seemed like the worst way to ensure that happened. I could have bet my last dollar—or pound—that they wouldn’t be helping us if it were the other way around.
Matilda spotted me, and she smiled. My fingers tightened around my phone.
I dumped the packaged brownie into her bag and met her at the entrance to the rink. I ran my hands through my hair, annoyed.
“Were you helping them?” I asked flatly.
“They’re my friends.”
“They’re also our competition.” I crossed my arms. “Do you honestly think they’d help us if it was the other way around? Why would you want them to get better?”
“Because that’s what people do when others ask for help?” She tilted her head, puzzled. Was she being serious? I felt like someone could hit her with a five-ton monster truck, and she’d still climb out from the wreckage and offer them a smile.
“Helping the competition could be the difference between us and them winning the show.”
“They won’t win the show because I guided them through a small beginner’s sequence, Luca.” She copied my stance and crossed her arms, her smile shrinking by the second.
“It’s a waste of our practice time.”
“I couldn’t not help them,” she whispered, not wanting them to overhear. “They came over from their practice rink to speak to me. What was I supposed to say?”
“How about ‘no’?” I said, meeting her gaze head-on.
Matilda bit her lip and pulled her long blond ponytail over her shoulder. “I get what you mean, but I promise I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it was to our detriment. I need to win the show too.”
“Is it even worth the risk?”
“They’re my colleagues. Why are we even bickering about this?” A hint of frustration trickled into her tone, but then she released a resigned sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve said it won’t affect our chances, and I promise it won’t.”
This woman baffled me. She was knowingly helping people who probably wouldn’t do the same for her, and I couldn’t work out why.
It made me want to lash out. “Do you do that a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Jump like an obedient dog when people tell you to?”
Her smile trembled and a wave of unexpected unease washed over me. It didn’t feel good to upset Matilda at all—in fact, it felt fucking awful. I was sure she was going to scream at me for being a despicable asshole.
But she just set her shoulders back and cleared her face. It wasn’t her usual Little Miss Sunshine face, but it wasn’t annoyed either. It was sort of…nothing.
Something about her expression reminded me of my mother, and it freaked me out.
“I don’t think arguing and insulting each other will help, either.” She stepped back on the ice. “Maybe if we can try and not bite each other’s heads off, we’ll stand a chance at winning.”
She was right, of course. But why wasn’t she snapping back? I couldn’t figure out if she was hiding her feelings or if she honestly didn’t care. Either way, something about it bothered me. My lips parted, perhaps to offer an apology, when she continued.
“Shall we try the sequence again, then? If we can get it right five times in a row, we can call it a day?” She skated backward on the ice as if nothing had happened. The other pair had cleared the rink since they’d gotten what they wanted from Matilda.
“Everyone’s going to the bar after practice. Do you want to join?” she offered as we skated to our starting positions.
I looked at her blankly.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” she said as we took our places.
I couldn’t think of anything worse than going to a bar with Matilda, the skaters, and other celebrities. You couldn’t have paid me to go.
Three hours later I found myself walking into a bar filled with my competitors, and Matilda. Fucking Jack.
“It will be fine, buddy.” He’d patted my shoulder as we arrived at the on-site bar. He’d conveniently turned up ten minutes before the end of practice, asking if we were going out for drinks. He must have heard it from one of the other agents.
“I would rather gouge my eyes out than make small talk.”
“We need to do everything within our power to get you this part, Luca—and if that includes sucking up a bit, then so be it. This is for you, so stop your moping.”
“I’m not moping. I’m just saying I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Well, I do, and I’m your agent, so I get the last say. And I want a pint.” Brits and their alcohol. He paused as we approached the bar doors. “And there might be some lovely ladies who need to wind down from all the skating they’ve been doing recently.”
I shook my head.
“You can give me that look all you want, but I think getting laid would loosen you up a bit.” He nudged my stomach with his elbow.
“Sex doesn’t solve everything, Jack.”
“If you tell yourself anything enough, it becomes true…” He trailed off. “Do you think Matilda’s single?” he asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Don’t know, and don’t care.” I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of engaging in that conversation.
“Not for you, idiot. For me.” My head spun toward him before I had time to check myself.
“Really?” I didn’t bother to hide the disdainful curl of my lip.
“What? She’s smoking hot, fun, intelligent and…she’s flexible, too, if you get my drift.” He nudged me, and I fought the urge to knock his head off his shoulders. Lovingly.
The thought of Jack pursuing Matilda left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Don’t sleep with her. I don’t need to deal with the fallout when you find another flavor of the week.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! I’m upfront with them from the start, and you know it.” True. Jack might sleep around, but he was conscious never to lead the girls on.
“She doesn’t exactly strike me as someone who enjoys casual hook-ups.”
“You never know; it’s always the innocent ones that are—”
“Can we stop this conversation?” I cut him off, trying—and failing—not to think about Matilda’s tastes in the bedroom.
Jack was only trying to get under my skin, but it was working.
“Thinking about you having sex is making me nauseous, and I know you’re not going to sleep with her and risk any drama.
So whatever you think you’re doing, you’re not. ”
His laugh announced our entrance to the entire bar. “OK, OK. Let’s get you a beer.”
The bar was cramped, with nearly all the professional skaters, celebrities, and crew scattered around, drinks in hand.
I ignored the long glances and stares from the crew.
You’d think they’d be used to seeing celebrities by now.
One guy in particular thought he was being discreet by holding his phone in his crossed arms, but the camera was following us across the room.
I didn’t bother getting riled up about it, though, as everyone had signed NDAs, so he couldn’t do much with the photos.