Chapter 40 Luca
Being “just friends” with Matilda was proving fucking impossible when I wanted to punch any douchebag who looked in her direction.
Was I always this protective over her?
I’d thought my anger toward Mark was because he was a grade-A asshole. But now, when I saw him around the studio, my blood simmered at the reminder that he’d once had Matilda in all the ways I couldn’t.
It pissed me off.
Not only had he thrown her away when he hadn’t deserved her in the first place, but he’d also slept with her sister.
What kind of arrogant asshole would do that?
While I could almost empathize with why Matilda had chosen to stay in Taylor’s life over calling them out for their bullshit, I certainly didn’t have the same virtue.
Her mother’s excuse that she “didn’t want to get involved” was pathetic.
I hated all of them for causing her any pain.
Across the rink, Matilda was chatting away with her ice-skating buddies, and I was hyperaware of the appreciative glances toward her in those fucking shorts.
Maybe I’d just hide them all—that would solve a lot of problems. Then, I might be able to drag my eyes away from her for more than one minute, while simultaneously stopping myself from feeling like I might snap every time someone looked in her direction.
It was the Tuesday before the final, and anticipation buzzed through the studio.
The past two weeks had gone well—the public had loved Matilda’s mom’s skate, and we’d nailed our fire-inspired performance for Elements week.
But things felt different between us, as if we were both trying to bury our feelings and pretend they weren’t there. Which…they were.
It was quieter now, with only three pairs left—Matilda and me, Asha and Alice, and Noah and Sophia.
The presence of camera crews, producers, and channel staff ensured it was far from a ghost town.
Sometimes, the other skaters came down to watch rehearsals, too.
They were still being paid until the end of the season, so it killed some time for them to watch us practice.
Matilda was on the other side of the ice, resting her arms on the edge. Her oversized hoodie bunched around her waist, highlighting the round curve of her hips and ass. The other skaters were clearly eating up every single word she was saying. Morons.
Join the back of the moron line, buddy.
At least she had her back to me so she couldn’t see me staring.
My phone buzzed, dragging my attention away from my partner’s perfect ass. It was one of the Dirty Dancing producers. I clicked accept and held the phone to my ear, trying to ignore the rush of nerves tightening in my chest after a couple weeks of silence.
“Hi, Jeff. Great to hear from you.” I stood and weaved through the seats.
“Hey, Luca. How are you holding up?”
“Good. How about you?”
“All good here. Apologies for not getting back to you sooner. Your agent has been chasing us, but we just needed to line up a few things.”
The “few things” they “needed to line up” was code for how they “wanted to make sure I would keep myself in check.”
“No worries—I understand,” I said, although the pleasantries tasted sour on my tongue.
“We’re in London this week to meet the potential female lead. Do you think you could make it for a script reading?”
Hallelujah.
A weight lifted off my shoulders as I dragged a palm across my face. “Definitely. When would you like me there?”
“It’s a stopover, and she can only do it on Friday night. I’ve checked the show schedule, and the final isn’t until Saturday evening, so that should be OK?”
My steps slowed, and I paused.
Friday night was the end-of-season press event—the partner to the one I’d missed at the start, the one I’d stood Matilda up at. We’d moved our takeout night to Thursday so we could both attend the second one together.
I couldn’t miss this press event. Not again.
He must have read my pause as a hesitation. “It’s the only time she can do it, so we can’t move the time.”
“We have a press event on Friday.”
“When I spoke to the producer, he said it wasn’t mandatory.”
Fucking Mark.
Pushing through the double doors, I exited the rink and paced toward our dressing room.
The show would have been for nothing if I couldn’t attend this reading and lost my opportunity to secure the role. And Jeff was right: It wasn’t a required event, so the channel wouldn’t care.
But Matilda would.
I’m just so happy you’re going to be acting again—doing something you love.
For fuck’s sake, I needed the part. Skipping the script reading to attend an optional event wasn’t the action of someone who wanted the role.
But Matilda had had to face the last event by herself, and just because my goal was within reach didn’t mean hers was. She also needed to win the show.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as images of my mother played through my mind. Her shaking hands, the shadows underneath her eyes, the way she struggled to swallow.
My mother was dying.
And this script reading could be my only opportunity to make her proud one final time.
“I’ll be there,” I said quickly as I entered our dressing room. My stomach churned with a sickening mix of dread and anxiety. “Send the details to Jack, please.”
“Good choice, Luca.”
I stopped in the center of the room, but my eyes were drawn to the photograph taped to the mirror just above the picture of Lily and Matilda.
It was a photo of us—from that day at the beach.
Matilda looked so beautiful. Her damp and wavy hair clung to the curve of her shoulders and cleavage. Her smile was wide and genuine, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
She might not believe it, but she was a star and never failed to shine brighter than anyone else around her.
She’d printed the photo and stuck it here at the start of week two, declaring that it would keep us on track for the season ahead.
Maybe it was for the best that I did this. It would put the distance between us that we both needed. We could finally face the reality that we wouldn’t be able to make it work, with everything pulling us in different directions.
Later that day, I was lying across the sofa in our dressing room, watching replays of our rehearsals, when Matilda strutted in, her steps confident and purposeful.
Her cheeks were rosy, and stray strands of hair danced around her face, leaving her looking a little wild, like she always did when she stepped off the ice.
“I brought you your favorite crisps.” The bag of pickled onion Monster Munch crinkled as she launched it at my head.
“You mean ‘chips,’ ” I retorted, opening the bag and throwing a monster claw into my mouth. “Thank you.”
“I guess four years in the UK isn’t long enough to acclimatize you to our superior choice of words,” she quipped.
I threw the next claw at her.
And she fucking caught it in her mouth.
“Oh my god, did you see that?” she screeched, covering her mouth with her hand. “You are so lucky to have me as your skating partner.” She performed a small victory dance, earning an eye roll and laugh from me.
“I’m so lucky to have you as a partner because you caught a chip in your mouth?” I deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.
A burst of laughter escaped her. “God, I didn’t realize you were such a jealous person.”
I almost choked on the chip. Fuck, was I too obvious, looking daggers at the rink earlier?
She folded her arms across her chest. “Just because I’m more talented than you doesn’t mean you need to put my achievements down.”
She was talking about catching the damned chip.
Instead of answering, I threw another at her, aiming too low for her to catch it. It hit her stomach and fell to the floor. I raised my eyebrows.
She ducked quickly, collecting it from the floor before popping it in her mouth.
“Oh gross, Stevens.” I grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
She fell onto the sofa beside me, her coconut scent wafting through the air as she rolled her head along the back of the cushion to look at me.
“We need to get on the ice in twenty.”
“I know.”
Neither of us was thrilled by our skate this week.
As it was the final, we had to perform one of our previous skates again.
Despite much back and forth, we’d been pushed into the skate inspired by her mother’s Olympic performance.
The producers had already approved it, thanks to Julia’s contacting Mark, insisting that while the last time we’d performed it had been “adequate,” there was still room for improvement in order to “wow” the viewers.
Neither of them was taking no for an answer.
I’d initially refused, reasoning with Matilda that she didn’t have to do it for her mother.
But she’d said that when we won, it would be the “cherry on the cake” to get her mother to leave her alone for good, and I couldn’t argue with that.
A sudden thought jolted me—I needed to discuss the phone call with her.
“The Dirty Dancing producers called,” I started, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Matilda sat bolt upright and spun to face me, eyes bright with excitement.
“And?”
“They want me to go in for a reading with the female lead.”
“Oh my god, Luca! That’s amazing! When did they call, and why didn’t you open with that? Friends are supposed to tell each other stuff immediately.” She gave me a “duh” look and lightly swatted my leg. “When’s the reading?”
Friends.
My mouth felt like sandpaper as I spoke. “That’s the problem. It’s this Friday evening.”
Her brows knitted for a moment before realization dawned. Disappointment flashed in her eyes, but she exhaled, a soft smile gracing her face.
“You have to go.” Her eyes sparkled with warmth and excitement for me.
“But I want to go to the press event together,” I said, even though I knew I couldn’t.
“I know you do, Luca. But you need to go to the reading.” Her words wrapped around me like a suffocating embrace, shouting at me that I was making the wrong decision. “This is why you joined the show in the first place. You can’t miss it for a press event.”
“I spoke to the producers, but they won’t move it.”
“And that is absolutely fine.” She placed a hand on my leg. I ignored the way my skin prickled underneath her touch. “We’ve still got this win in the bag. We will post loads of stuff on social media in the run-up to the final to make up for it.”
I still felt like a dickhead; I couldn’t believe I was bailing again.
“It’s different from last time,” she added, as if reading my thoughts. “You’re not avoiding it because you don’t want to go. You’re getting the part you deserve.”
The conviction in her voice eased the knots in my stomach slightly, but it still didn’t feel right.
Ever since we’d talked about staying just friends, nothing had felt quite right.