Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Toronto
I t was funny how the nerves still ate, even though she’d been here before. Maybe that was the knowledge that Luc’s family were out there in the studio audience and she was meeting them after tonight’s performance. She’d asked her family to wait until next week, provided they got through. At least she had a far greater confidence that Luc would get the steps right tonight, and if he did what he’d done during rehearsals, then they were in with a good shot.
“How are you feeling?” Coco asked, as they waited in the wings to take their positions for the show’s opening pro performance.
“Slightly more confident than last week.” She slid a hand down her satin skirt. “I’m grateful that I’m wearing something shorter tonight.”
“Hmm. I bet Luc is too.” Coco winked.
“What?”
“Come on. Everyone could see from the way that man keeps looking at you in rehearsals these past few days that he’s halfway to being in love.”
“What?”
“You don’t think so?”
“No. He’s not that way at all.” Her chest tweaked at the lie. Okay, so maybe there’d been a time or two when she’d thought he liked her a little more than as a friend, but she hadn’t encouraged it. Well, apart from saying that almost-flirty-sounding thing about watching a movie together. And smiling and laughing so much with him. None of that had been wise. Besides, “We have contracts forbidding that kind of thing.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. People usually just keep things on the down-low until the show is over. And I get that he might not be used to women with your kind of sweet and bubbly personality, so maybe that’s part of it too. I’m just saying, you need to be careful.”
Coco went on to share a scandalous story about a dance pro and an actress that twisted Bailey’s heart. She could understand how easy it was for two people spending so much time together, touching and holding each other, in each other’s personal spaces, even breathing each other’s air, to develop feelings simply based on proximity, not on anything real. That had happened before, when she’d realized it was only one-sided on her part, and she’d determined after Mark had made her feel like a fool that she’d not leave her heart unguarded again.
But Luc with his funny mix of vulnerability and kindness had somehow tiptoed around that, to the point that seeing him was fast becoming the highlight of her day. She enjoyed practicing with him because she enjoyed him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. And all the hand-holding and hugs of this hothouse of a dance environment only seemed to force feelings to grow faster. But what would happen when this show was over, and they went back to hockey star and dance nobody? He was in this for his own motivations, just like her. He wanted to prove himself as captain-worthy material, while she’d agreed to do this for the money. It wasn’t real. She needed to remember that.
She nodded. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She snuck a look at where Luc stood with the other celebrities, waiting, watching. He gave her a thumbs-up, which she acknowledged with a nod and a smaller-than-usual smile. She didn’t want to change who she was, but Coco’s words had put a damper on tonight. Maybe meeting his family wasn’t such a great idea after all.
The assistant pointed to the stage as the music of the show filled the studio. She sucked in a breath, knowing she had to focus. She might have to support her celebrity in his dances, but now was about supporting herself. A pro dancer’s contract depended on so many factors, not least of which was her celebrity’s popularity and technical ability. Conversations with Coco and Miguel and some of the others in recent days had revealed how some pros had been cut due to factors beyond their control. A celebrity could be immensely popular, but their lack of dancing prowess or technical skills was sometimes seen as a reflection on the skills of the pro dancer, resulting in some pros’ contracts not being renewed. Others had been forced into retirement, thanks to ageing and unwanted curves. “Nobody wants to see a thicker dancer,” Miguel had said at last night’s group dinner at the hotel. “This show is supposed to be aspirational, showing what can happen if you dance the heck out of your body, and we all know the camera adds ten pounds.”
She’d put down the dessert she’d been about to consume, knowing only too well that while there were some things she couldn’t control, like whether Luc remembered his steps, there were other things she definitely could, like what she ate or how much. So, if she wanted to continue, then she needed to hit all her cues, execute all her routines perfectly, and pray that Luc’s performance was enough to see them make it through.
They were sent onto the stage, the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed. Then the music began, and she snapped into her role. Precise movements. Controlled arms. Sexy sway. Then she partnered up with Miguel as they did the 1950s-themed dance moves that would showcase tonight’s jive, rumba, and paso doble.
She grinned, settling into the rhythms of the dance, kicking, flicking, careful to keep her movements defined and clean. Tonight’s little motivational talk had only doubled her efforts to prove herself, to prove to others that she was strictly a professional, that there was nothing to worry about for anyone. And she’d do so—
Ow! Her foot collided with Miguel’s—a joint mistake—but after a “sorry!” she instantly pasted her smile back on. See what happened when she wasn’t paying attention? She finished the routine, her sitting on Miguel’s knee, arm around his neck, as she pointed her aching toe to the ceiling. She could feel the animosity coming off him.
But he also had to pretend nothing was wrong, and thanks to the fact Miguel was opening the show, she had no time to say anything but a quick “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there” to him as they departed backstage.
Coco found her in the dressing room, where they were helped out of their costumes and prepped for their celebrity dance outfits. “What happened? Miguel was fuming.”
“It was my mistake.” Her stomach grew queasy as she described her mishap.
Coco winced. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s always snarky with those he blames for getting things wrong. But we’re professionals, and as they say, the show must go on.”
The trepidation about tonight’s performance trebled as her dress was zipped up, and her makeup and hairstyle refreshed. But no. She wasn’t dancing with Miguel, but with Luc. She had to focus on him, focus on doing all she could to help him feel confident and sure. They were dancing last, which meant after their introductions at the start she’d have over an hour to keep him calm. Which also meant over an hour of trying to act strictly professionally with him, and not stirring up unnecessary feelings. Lord, help me focus.
She hurried back to the wings, finding Luc, who held out his hand then slowly twirled her as he smiled. “Looking good, Bails.”
“Thanks.” She released his hand, gesturing to his costume. “I’m loving the hat.”
“Apparently it’s called a fedora.”
“Is it now?”
Oh, it was too easy to banter like this. She needed to stop. She dimmed her smile back.
He nudged her. “What is it?”
She shook her head, they were due on…
“Now!” hissed the assistant beside the curtain, pointing at them.
Bailey pasted on a big smile as she tugged Luc to the stage, while the announcer said, “Please welcome Luc Blanchard, and his partner Bailey.”
The lights and camera and swell of applause at their entry accompanied them to their position on the stairs this week, the producers judging Luc’s height wouldn’t hide anyone standing behind them.
She stood, ramrod-straight, smile fixed, wondering where in the crowd his family sat. Luc’s hand was on her waist, and through the nude mesh she could feel his hand was already sweaty. Her toe throbbed from where she’d accidentally hit Miguel, and she hoped his wasn’t worse. Still, stuff happened, and she’d apologize more thoroughly later, and pray he wouldn’t hold it against her. And thank God that because Miguel was on first and their act was last there’d be reduced time to talk with each other.
They were released, then she returned with Luc backstage, as her toe complained. Still, a dancer couldn’t protest, and she knew if she took her shoe off now there’d be no way she could get it on later. She’d just need to toughen up—and pop an ibuprofen or two if it got worse.
“Are you okay?” Luc asked her.
“Yep!” She needed to hide her pain, not give him a second’s worry. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than last week, but still nervous.”
She straightened his collar, as the temptation grew to run her hands down his shirt and feel those muscles underneath. She stepped away. Put her hands behind her back. “Did you want to run through anything again? Going last means we have time.”
“Could we? I don’t want to seem needy, but if we’ve got time that would help.”
She nodded, and ignoring the music that signaled the start of the author’s dance with Miguel, she slowly walked her way to the corner, doing her best to not limp like she wanted. Lord, please let it not be a broken toe .
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded, looking around for one of the ever-present bottles of water. She grabbed one, sipped it, then smiled. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“You’re not going to dance with me?”
“I will, after I see if you remember the moves.” And after her toe calmed its fiery roar.
He grinned. “Is this more of your motivation? I haven’t forgotten about the movie, you know.”
Darn. The movie. Why had she suggested such a thing? She knew exactly why. Because she’d started to succumb to his charm, and thought that he might even enjoy the opposites-attract underdog story of her favorite movie, ever. She’d have to find a way to make it seem less date-like. She couldn’t afford for anyone—Luc or producers—to get ideas. Well, none more than what she’d already given.
“But first you have to get through tonight. So let’s see what you’ve got, big guy.” She perched on a stool and watched as he began his introduction, clicking his fingers for two beats, not the four as she’d originally planned, but tweaked during rehearsals. Then he spun around, in a skater move like he’d done on the ice last Monday, then skidded forward like he was skating to where she’d meet him.
He looked lost for a second when she didn’t join him, but she simply called “Keep going.”
The job of a performer was exactly that. Keep going, even when you messed up, and missed a cue or a word or a note. Redos weren’t possible with live TV, and part of the challenge was being able to sell the performance even when you knew you’d made a mistake. He was used to that anyway, so he’d said in Wednesday’s rehearsal, when she’d first had him go through this alone. He’d explained how hockey had the potential for all kinds of errors, from turnovers to icing to missed checks and missed shots and goals. That was one way training an athlete was helpful, they knew how to press through adversity.
Just like she would. With her sore heart and aching toe.
* * *
“You nailed it!”
Bailey wrapped her arms around him as the studio’s cheers filled the room.
He grinned, swinging her around, then settling her on the floor. “We got through, baby.” Her eyes widened at that last word which had slipped out, honest. “I mean, Sergeant Bailey.”
She pressed her lips together, and shifted slightly away. “That’s better.”
But her shifting away wasn’t. He grabbed her hand as they joined the other couples safe from elimination, and got hugs from Coco and her actor dude. He wished Jason wasn’t so handsome and kept his hugs to himself.
Miguel and the author lady were eliminated, which wasn’t a surprise as anyone could see Miguel was limping like a sore loser.
He’d scowled at Bailey when they’d passed before, and she’d rushed over and said “I’m so sorry.”
Miguel had muttered something back which caused Bailey to stiffen, which instantly raised Luc’s own hackles. It was funny how after dancing with her so much he was getting used to what her body said when she wasn’t talking. For a moment he could swear that she was frightened. Luc had wrapped an arm around her, which she’d left there for a moment, before shrugging it off in a move he suspected she hoped he wouldn’t notice.
But he had. He noticed all kinds of things about her. And something had been off all night, even though their dance had gotten solid sixes, and was the third best of the night. So surely she should be happy they’d gotten through. She’d get her next five thousand dollars now, wouldn’t she? She’d have to be happy about that, just as he was happy about the fact this now meant he’d get to go on a movie date with her. He couldn’t wait.
He followed her to the green room, where the reporters were ready to pounce. Ugh, this. He’d forgotten about this. The cameras in his face, the fact he’d have to pretend he was glad to talk about himself. This was all part of the performance, so Bailey had said, and Coco and the producers had made clear.
“Congratulations, Luc!” a reporter from ET said. “The judges really seemed to like your connection this week, as well as commenting on your fancy footwork tonight.”
Luc slung an arm around Bailey’s shoulder. She was looking as sparkly and happy as ever. And not just because of the silver bling in her short dress. “It’s all due to Bailey here.”
“And what do you say to that, Bailey?”
Bailey tilted her head into his chest. “I think Luc forgets what skills he brings from his work on the ice.”
“Yes, we saw the highlights package earlier. You took Bailey ice-skating, huh?”
Luc nodded. “It was a lot of fun to show her some of my world after being in hers so much lately. I can’t wait to get her to a game one day.”
Bailey stiffened. His heart froze, and he didn’t hear the next question. Didn’t she want to do that anymore? Just what had happened to her tonight?
“Luc? What do you have to say to that?”
“Sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
The reporter’s smile grew strained. “I’m just wondering how far you think you two can go in this competition?”
“In this competition? All the way.” He flexed, which drew the reporter’s laugh.
“And dare we ask, out of this competition?” The reporter winked.
Luc’s mouth dried, and he quickly glanced down at Bailey. Her smile had dropped, and she looked down at the floor. “Out of this competition?” Luc repeated slowly. He had to say something, and no way was he going to say anything that would embarrass poor Bailey. “I think it’s safe to say…” Lord? What do I say? The answer shot to him like a bolt of lightning. “Nothing.”
The reporter laughed, and Luc relaxed. But Bailey still seemed tense, even though he knew she was trying her best to keep smiling.
They soon finished that interview, then were immediately pounced on for another, then a third, so it was getting late by the time they finally finished and he could meet his folks.
“Hey,” he grabbed Bailey’s hand. “Are you ready to meet my parents?”
She closed her eyes, and winced. “I just need to go get changed.”
“Oh, but Mom really wanted to see us in our costumes. It won’t take long, I promise.”
She studied him then nodded, and he took her hand and hurried her from the room to where his folks waited.
“Lucas!” His mom opened her arms and he stepped into them, drawing her up into his hug, which pulled her off the ground. “Oh, you were so good.”
“Hello, Mr. Blanchard,” Bailey said while Luc hugged his mom.
“Mom, Dad, this is Bailey Donovan.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Bails, this is Simon and Valentienne Blanchard.”
“It’s lovely to meet you both.”
His dad was still holding Bailey’s hand like he was starstruck. “Dad,” Luc said.
His mom muscled past and drew Bailey in for her own hug. “You’re so pretty, aren’t you?”
Bailey shot him a panicked look as she was smothered in his mom’s arms. Luc laughed and drew her back. “Yes, she is. And modest, so don’t go saying that too often, otherwise you’ll get Sergeant Bailey instead of the sweet thing you’re seeing now.”
His mom looked down at Bailey’s dress. “I can see why he likes you so much.”
Luc’s neck heated. “Mom.”
Bailey laughed, and he sighed with relief. That was what he’d missed. She’d barely laughed tonight. And an evening without her laughter was like a night sky with no stars. Something had been wrong before, he just knew it.
Bailey gracefully stepped back. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to change.”
“You mean you don’t wear that out?” his dad asked.
Luc cleared his throat. “We’ll be back in a moment, then we’ll go have dinner like I promised.”
“Are you coming, Bailey?” his mom asked.
“Oh! I, um, didn’t want to intrude, so I thought I’d go with my friend Coco—”
“You’re not intruding,” Luc said.
His mom nodded. “We want you there.”
Bailey’s smile wavered, then she nodded, her smile drooping before she hitched it up. His heart fell. Didn’t she want to come? Granted, his mom was a little forward, and his dad had been a bit weird, but they were his folks, and the fact she might not want to spend time with them—with him—hurt.
“It was really nice to meet you,” Bailey said, not looking at him.
“Hey, before you go, can we get a photo with you?”
“Of course!”
They gathered close for a selfie, which he took, seeing his arm was longest, then Coco walked past and offered to take a few more. He was conscious of Bailey’s slender frame as he wrapped his arm around her, her hair tickling his nose.
“I think you’ll find some there that should do.” Coco handed back his phone and he thanked her. But as he was looking through the photos—yep, just as he’d hoped, Bailey looked perfect with his family—he stepped on Bailey’s toe.
She gasped, wincing, wobbling as she drew her foot up.
“Oh, Bails, I’m so sorry!”
She shook her head, shut her eyes, but he saw a tear leak onto her cheek.
He glanced at his folks. “How about I join you at the restaurant as soon as I can?”
They nodded, and told Bailey they’d enjoyed meeting her, to which she nodded in reply, bright and happy, until he held her arm and pivoted her to the dressing room. “Hey, I really am sorry.”
She bent over, her nose wrinkling, then a producer appeared. “Bailey?”
Bailey instantly straightened, smiling bright. “Hey Erin.”
“Everything okay here?”
Bailey shot him a look and he knew he had to step in. “We’re good. Bailey was just showing me how faint she gets when she’s not fed enough.”
Erin frowned. “Didn’t you eat at lunch?”
Bailey nodded, but Luc knew he still had to do more. “I know this will surprise you, but she actually eats more than me.”
“As long as she can fit into those costumes and she’s not throwing it straight back up that’s fine with me.”
Erin winked, but Bailey had paled, like there really was something wrong, more than a sore toe. He hurried to her, drawing her to a darker corner, holding her close, saying in a quiet voice so nobody else would hear, “Bails? What is it?”
She shook her head.
“No, don’t try and deny it. What’s wrong? Is it my folks? We don’t have to eat with them if you don’t want.”
“They’re really nice. It’s not that.”
“Did I hurt you before? I’m really sorry.”
Another shake of her head. “Miguel and I collided in the pro dance, and I hurt my toe.” She winced. “I really hope it’s not broken.”
“Bails! You should’ve got that checked out right away.”
She nodded. “I know, but we needed to go over your dance, and—”
“You’re more important than my dance. Come on. Let’s get you undressed.” He cringed. “Man, I really didn’t mean that. I meant changed.”
“I know.” Her smile was a welcome beacon of light in a storm.
“Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”
“If you carry me there’ll be all kinds of other questions, and I really don’t want the producers thinking I can’t do my job.” She sighed. “They’re probably already hearing that from Miguel, and I don’t want them to fire me.”
“They won’t fire you,” he scoffed. “Stuff happens, Bails, and you gotta dust yourself off and keep going. You’re awesome,” he encouraged. “Besides, everyone knows that you’re the only reason we’re going to round three. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “The money will help, that’s for sure.”
He blinked, as hurt swirled through his chest. The money. See? He knew this wasn’t about him for her, but was about the money.
“Come on. Let’s get you changed. You can hold onto me.”
She clutched his hand, and he half-lifted her onto his back in a move for which the judges should give him a solid ten. He soon deposited her at the women’s dressing room, where Coco met her. “You two still playing?” Coco asked, with her arched brow.
He ignored the insinuation, saying, in a quiet voice, “She’s hurt her toe, but doesn’t want the producers to know.”
Coco’s eyes widened and she nodded, and he hurried off to change, where he was met with a clearly upset Miguel.
“Your Bailey cost me the competition,” he hissed.
“Pretty sure it was your low scores that did that.”
“This was my year for the mirror ball.”
Yeah, no. Obviously it wasn’t. He ignored the rest of Miguel’s words, stripping off his shirt, exchanging it for a fresh tee. He’d normally shower, but his parents were waiting, and he still really wanted to talk to Bailey. She’d been upset about more than a sore toe. He’d noticed that even before the pro dance opener. Was she worried about the rumors about them, like the ones implied by Coco, or voiced more directly, like the reporter?
They couldn’t control what others said about them. That was the price of fame. It was part of why he was careful to always tell the truth, to be honest and direct to the point of bluntness, because that way there was no having to second-guess what he said or did. That, and God wanted him to, as well. But maybe Bailey hadn’t had her shell hardened by years of the spotlight, and maybe she worried about things like that.
He really needed to talk to her, and find out.