Chapter 13 Luca
The coach, happy with our progress, left us to practice. Despite our ability to execute the moves, the lifts weren’t seamless. We mainly struggled with the transitions, as precise hand positioning was crucial.
Figure skating was more intimate than I’d anticipated. I was too aware of Matilda and how close we were. I tried and failed to stop thinking about how she responded to my hands wrapped around her, how she reacted to my touch.
My carefulness about where to hold Matilda made the lifts feel stiff and unnatural, but I needed to err on the side of caution for my sanity.
“Shall we practice the whole dance from start to finish?” Matilda suggested from beside the speaker, her fingers swiping through her phone. It was late, and we were likely the last ones in the building, but there was no rush since we had the studio booked for the evening.
“In here?” It felt odd to practice a routine off the ice.
“Sure, practicing off the ice is useful to familiarize ourselves with the sequence. We can add the lifts in, too. Then, once we’ve got it down to a T, we can move to the ice.”
“Sure,” I answered. Matilda continued fiddling with her phone, then plugged it into the speaker.
“Ready?” She looked over her shoulder, blond hair flowing with the movement.
“Go for it.”
She clicked play and jogged back to our starting place.
We began running through the sequences. Something about the late hour, combined with a long evening of skin-on-skin practice, made everything feel more charged.
The movements felt more electric than they had before, time stretching between each lingering glance and long touch.
Our bodies closed in a foxtrot hold as we came together, gazes locked.
We paused, as choreographed, the air thick with something, before I lifted her arm in a sweeping arc and guided her palm down my chest, maybe a little slower than strictly necessary.
Her lips parted and I couldn’t look away.
Our bodies met in so many places—thighs, hips, abdomen—each point of contact sharpening my focus. My skin felt almost alive.
Then the door swung open.
Mark, the asshole producer, entered.
Matilda faltered backward, surprised by the late-night intrusion. My arms encircled her waist, drawing her firmly against me before she could fall to the floor.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” Mark crossed his arms, surveying the room in a sweep. He wouldn’t find much besides our gym bags, water bottles, and a torn packet of candy I’d brought, which looked like a pack of raccoons had ravaged it.
And by raccoons, I mean Matilda. I didn’t even like the sour candies, but they were her favorite.
Once she felt steady on her feet, I released her waist but remained close. It was best we came across as a united front.
“Hi, Mark,” she breathed, a slight wobble to her voice. She didn’t move away, still flustered by his appearance.
“I just came to check in on how your little late-night training session is going,” he proclaimed, walking toward us. He kicked Matilda’s bag out of the way with his shoe, before planting himself at the front of the room. “Don’t stop on my behalf.”
“Mark…” Matilda sighed, apprehensively. “We’ve been practicing all evening. Can’t you watch on the ice tomorrow?”
“I want to watch it now.” There was a glint in his gaze, a subtle challenge. He hadn’t looked at me yet.
“But we’re in the studio. Watching it on the ice makes more sense.”
“I’m already here. Do it now.” What is his deal? Surely he wasn’t behaving like this because of what had happened at the bar the other day?
“OK.” She was resigned, placing her hand on my arm to move me into position. “Let’s go from the top.”
“No. We can show you tomorrow,” I stated, drawing his attention for the first time. I wasn’t sure why Matilda didn’t want to dance now, but if she didn’t want to do it, we weren’t doing it.
“Come on, Luca. Let’s just go through it now,” she murmured, her hand still wrapped around my forearm. She sounded so…defeated. Her tone reminded me of something I couldn’t place.
“If you want to do it tomorrow, we can do it tomorrow.” I held her gaze, hoping to convey that I was more than happy to tell Mark to fuck off.
“What was that?” Mark’s voice boomed through the dance studio. He hadn’t moved from his position, probably trying to assert dominance.
“Luca, please.” Her grip tightened on my arm.
“Let’s do it quickly and get it out of the way.
I just want him gone.” Her small, resigned smile made me want to punch Mark in the face.
I didn’t care either way whether we performed it now, but it pissed me off that we were only doing it because Mark demanded it.
“Fine.” We moved into position to take it from the top.
We began the routine anew, reenacting the dance off the ice under Mark’s triumphant gaze. When we finished, Matilda paused the music.
“See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Mark gloated, watching Matilda as she returned to my side.
“It was when we could have shown you tomorrow,” I said, not caring that I needed to keep this man on my side. Jack wasn’t there to tell me off, so fuck it.
Matilda stiffened beside me but remained quiet.
“I’m the producer. If I want to see your dance, I get to see your dance.” He stood, unbothered by my attitude. His tone had shifted since the first time we’d spoken. The warmth had disappeared, replaced with a sharp edge that didn’t hide his contempt.
He wasn’t wrong; he had us by the balls. Well, me by the balls and Matilda by the…whatever.
In a once-in-a-lifetime kind of event, I decided to kill him with kindness.
Well, as kind as I could be. I ignored the asshole.
I placed a hand on Matilda’s lower back and knew I’d hit the mark when the producer’s eyes narrowed. I might not have fully trusted Matilda, but I trusted Mark even less.
“Ready to go?” I glanced at her.
Her bright green eyes stared up at mine, something in them freezing me in place. Gratitude and…
Mark coughed, drawing our attention to him. Kudos to his dentist, because his jaw clenched so tightly that regular veneers would have cracked under the pressure.
But then, he laughed.
“Thanks for that lovely performance on such short notice.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.
He strolled to the door and continued, “One thing you’ll learn quickly is that our Matilda is always eager to please.
” He smirked over his shoulder as if he’d served a cutting blow.
“Have a good evening, both of you. See you at the press event next week.”
He pushed the door open and exited, leaving the room in a heavy silence.
His words closely echoed the insult I’d delivered to her by likening her to an obedient dog. The similarity turned my stomach sour.
“I think it’s time to call it a night,” Matilda chirped, moving out of my hold and walking over to her bag. She quickly repacked the contents that had fallen out when the dickhead had kicked it out of his way. “You’re definitely coming to the press event, right?”
“Yes. I said I’d be there, so I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. I know it’s not your scene, but you’re really helping me out by coming along.” She nodded and smiled brightly over her shoulder. She was acting as if Mark hadn’t just come in and bossed her around.
“Are we going to ignore what just happened?” I moved to grab my bag from near the speaker. I pulled out my water bottle, taking a gulp and hoping it would wash away the odd feelings swirling around my stomach.
“There’s nothing to say. He can be like that sometimes.” The sound of scrunching wrappers filled the room as she collected the trash and dropped it in the can, not standing still for a moment. Her erratic movements set my nerves on edge.
“Like a narcissistic, controlling boyfriend?”
Her hand faltered as she grabbed her bag off the floor, but that was the only sign of discomfort. She shrugged and offered me a small smile instead. I ground my teeth with frustration.
This woman.
“Stop smiling for one damned second and be honest.”
“We used to date, up until, like, a year ago, before I realized he was like that.” The words rushed out and she signaled with a hand to the door he’d left from. “He just likes to be a pain in the arse sometimes.”
“And you just let him?”
“What’s the other option?”
“Report him? Tell him to fuck off? The options are endless.”
“That would get me kicked off the show; I can’t risk that.”
“You know that’s essentially coercion, right? He’s completely abusing his power.”
Her lips pressed into a pale imitation of a smile, the kind you give when there’s nothing left to say. My chest tightened, the silence between us louder than anything. Resigned, not bitter—that was the worst part.
“There must be something you can do,” I pushed. The tense interaction at the bar the other day suddenly made more sense.
“I need this job and the money…” She trailed off, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something. Her gaze searched my face, then she continued in a whisper, “Maybe if I get the winner’s bonus I can think about a new job.”
Some of the tension in my chest eased for a moment, but then a thought occurred to me. “Do you think he’s going to be a problem for us winning?”
Matilda shook her head. “No—well, hopefully not. It’s down to the viewers, and Mark doesn’t have control over our routines, so we can hope.”
“Good.”
Matilda hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking to the floor as she shifted on her feet. She took a deep breath before meeting my eyes. “Why are you doing the show, Luca?” she asked, almost timidly.
I debated not telling her the real reason I needed to win the show—it felt too close to home, too real for whatever this partnership was. But my mom’s face flashed in my mind, and I found myself wanting to tell Matilda about her.
“For my mom,” I offered, and Matilda’s eyes softened, encouraging me to continue. “She was diagnosed with ALS a few years ago, and we don’t really know how much longer she has.
“I’ve made some questionable decisions in the past, but I want to make her proud. I’m being considered for Johnny Castle in a remake of Dirty Dancing, but the producers want me to clean up my image first. Hence the show,” I finished and gestured around the room.
“Luca, I’m so sorry about your mother.” Kindness emanated through every syllable, but I didn’t want sympathy—it was too painful. As per usual, Matilda must have read this on my face because she smiled and dropped the sadness. “Why Dirty Dancing?”
That was safer territory.
“It’s my mom’s favorite film. We used to joke that the only reason she put me in dance lessons as a child was because she wanted her own little Patrick Swayze. It feels like fate that they’re doing a remake.”
“Oh, Luca, that’s so lovely.” She shouldered her bag again, and I gestured to the door for us to make our way out. “Is she a dancer?”
“No, but she loves watching it. She doesn’t even know about the Johnny Castle audition; she’s just excited to see us skate.
” Every time we spoke on the phone, she sounded so happy that I was restarting my acting career, probing me with questions about future projects and industry news.
It just solidified that I’d made the right decision.
I held the door open for Matilda, who flicked off the lights and thanked me as she darted through.
“Well, that’s it sorted, then. We’ve got to win now.” She smiled conspiratorially over her shoulder, as if we had some shared secret between us.
Like we were actually a team.