Chapter 25 Matilda #2
Eventually, I took myself back to the beach, deeming it safer to watch from the sand dunes that functioned as a windbreak.
I took some shots of Luca surfing. He looked incredible—strong, muscular, and tanned.
His dripping wet hair still fell perfectly over his forehead, adding an extra layer of drool-worthiness to his already good looks.
About twenty minutes later, he joined me. He planted his surfboard in the damp sand, adjusting the angle until it formed a barrier against the faint rain for me.
He dropped to the sand next to me, not bothering to attempt to sit under the cover of his board.
“Thank you.” I gestured to the surfboard and smiled. Luca just nodded and looked out to sea. We sat listening to the rhythmic waves crashing for a few minutes.
“You surfed well.” He flashed a knowing grin.
I pushed him into the sand.
“I got some good pictures of you,” I told him as he righted himself. He took my phone to take a closer look.
“Good idea,” he said and grabbed my arm. “Come here.”
“What?” I stuttered as he attempted to maneuver me like a puppet.
“Come and sit between my legs.”
Had he lost his mind?
“We can get a picture.”
OK, that makes more sense.
Obliging, I clumsily climbed between his legs so we faced the sea.
“Stop being so awkward.” He exhaled with a sound that was almost a laugh. “I’ve seen you hug a million people; this shouldn’t be so hard.”
We’d been flirting for the cameras already, but it felt strange doing it when no one was around, especially with Luca initiating it.
“Can you unlock your phone?” he asked, but I just told him my password so he could unlock it himself.
Hooking an arm around my lower stomach, he pulled me so I sat flush against his chest. With both our suits rolled to our waists, we were skin to skin.
Holding the phone in his other hand, he flipped the camera to selfie mode and took a few pictures.
Pulling up the camera roll, we scrolled through them.
They were…good. Our hair was damp, wavy, and sticking to our heads, and the camera was low enough to reveal Luca’s toned chest and my bikini top.
“They’ll do,” Luca remarked casually, while I was struggling to swallow.
He stilled for a moment, and I realized I was being dismissed.
Jesus, fuck, that’s embarrassing.
My face flamed as I pushed off his chest, hoping he couldn’t hear how loud my heart was beating.
An arm tugged around my waist, halting my movements.
“Relax,” he said, before adding, “if you want.”
Relax, if you want.
Did I want? Was it wise to continue to watch the sea with Luca’s warmth sinking into my back? We’d been balancing along these invisible lines, but this felt like stepping right over one.
I settled back into his chest, my body humming with approval.
OK, I guess I do want.
It was comfortable and, honestly, it felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been held like this—Mark had rarely let us cuddle, and certainly never in public.
The salty air wrapped around us. From afar, people might have assumed we were a couple too much in love to care about the stormy weather. I wiggled my toes in the cool, damp sand, each grain anchoring me, any remaining tension melting away.
“Have you heard from your mom this morning?” Luca asked, the rise and fall of his chest melodic against my back.
“Hell will freeze over before my mother skips her morning text.”
Mum: Good job again for last night, keep it up. I’m going to move my diary around to see if I can come to the studio and give you some pointers for next week’s skate.
Luca hummed in response as he twirled a wet strand of my hair around his finger. My toes curled into the sand. A seagull swept overhead, its sharp squawk the only sound against the waves and our voices.
My mother’s compliments weren’t dousing me with relief in the way they used to. They were just making me roll my eyes.
I’d swiftly texted back and told her that wasn’t necessary.
I couldn’t imagine Luca taking pointers from my mother very gracefully.
She’d found us after the show last night and offered me some “coaching” tips, and he’d seemed pretty pissed on my behalf.
But I’d become used to my mother always wanting to control my career.
Since I’d attended my first ice-skating lesson, she’d been molding me into her protegée, and for years she’d been proud of me.
Until I’d thrown the Olympic trials five years ago.
Since then, she’d always made sure to show that Lauren was her favorite—I guessed as some kind of passive-aggressive punishment.
I’d trained for the trials my whole life, even though I’d never really wanted to be in the Olympics.
I enjoyed skating, but I’d never really enjoyed the competitive aspect of it.
I’d told my mum, but she’d kept pushing—and I hadn’t stopped her.
I’d wanted to stand up for myself, but instead of doing that, I’d just underperformed, enough to miss out. A few slips, a stumble.
I’d thought it would get her off my back, but instead her feedback had just got more and more overpowering.
I wished I had just told her.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked Luca. He was silent for only a few moments before answering.
“Lots, but I don’t dwell on them. They’ve made me who I am today.”
“Are you happy today?”
“As happy as I can be.” That didn’t feel like an answer. “Do you…?” I looked over at him and raised a questioning eyebrow, and he continued, “Have any regrets?”
I paused, fingers stilling in the sand. “Sometimes…yeah.” The words were slow, almost reluctant.
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t thrown the Olympic trials.
I assumed that, with the Olympics out of the picture, I could start living my life the way I wanted, without my mother constantly living her lost dream through me.
But now I feel like I’m in an equally stressful position. ”
“Do you think the show is as hard as the Olympics?” he asked, brushing the sand off a shell and studying it.
“In different ways. The Olympics would have been more physically demanding. But being on the show is mentally draining; meeting new people and being switched-on all the time really takes it out of me.”
“You seem so at ease speaking to people, though. You remember everyone’s name and life story. It seems like you were born to be a social butterfly.”
“I think that’s the problem.” I picked up a stone and gently tossed it across the sand.
The words flowed more easily, and I found comfort in not voicing this vulnerability directly to his face.
“Being like that doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m so conscious of how I make others feel that I’ll work on overdrive to make them happy.
And those things are all part of the show.
You wouldn’t have that with the Olympics. You’re there for your skill only.”
“That doesn’t count as a regret.” I tipped my head back to search his face. There was a gentle rise at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the sea. “You only regret that you didn’t choose a different career to please someone else?”
I paused, refocusing my gaze ahead.
“I regret people-pleasing for so long,” I started, voicing something I’d never said aloud.
“And worry that now that I’ve done it for so many years, I don’t know who I am anymore.
” He remained silent, letting me sort through my head.
“And I worry that if I start making decisions based on what I want, the people in my life will leave because they don’t like who I really am, just who I project.
” I laughed, but it lacked humor. “That a big enough regret for you?”
“I like who you are.”
Tenderness spread inside me at those words. “You’re an anomaly. Not everyone likes brutal honesty.”
“Have you given people the chance?”
“You sound like my old therapist.” The therapist that I’d been thinking more and more about revisiting, but couldn’t quite bring myself to call.
I focused on the sensation of my hair curling around his finger instead of the heavy beating of my heart.
“But yeah, that’s my biggest regret. I’ve never told anyone, so don’t use it against me. ”
He tugged my head back gently, his gaze searching my face for something. Happy with whatever he found, he smiled.
“You should give it a try, Stevens. I think you’ll find people like you for who you are.”