Luca, as always, said nothing atall.
Neither Jack nor I couldtear our eyes away from the tapes.
We were watching reruns of the first week’s skates from the past three years to gauge the level we’d be competing against. We didn’t watch everyone, mainly the pairs scoring in the top five. Matilda explained that because I’d had some skating ability before training, she didn’t doubt that we’d already be somewhat ahead of the group.
Jack and I lounged on one of the sofas directly in front of the enormous flat-screen TV, while Matilda sat cross-legged on the one with a side view. Paper scribbled with her handwriting littered the empty space on the sofa besideher.
Since our first visit to the dressing room, the atmosphere had felt…different. Matilda’s infuriatingly bright presence tainted every room she entered, her easy smiles and laughter making the space feel lighter somehow.
I’d scoffed at how others always watched her, how the room leaned in to her when she was around, but I was starting to understand.
Tiny trinkets of hers decorated the room; sunglasses, a hairbrush, and a few pieces of jewelry sat tidily on the vanity. A photoof her hugging another girl was taped to the mirror, Matilda’s trademark smile plastered on her face while the other girl looked at her adoringly. Maybe they were girlfriends. Or just best friends.
And then there were the tapes.
Off the ice, Matilda was a knockout.
On the ice, Matilda shone like a fucking star.
I’d learned from Hollywood over the years that some people had show presence and others didn’t. But anyone who denied that Matilda was born to be in front of the camera was blind. The actor in me felt almost giddy at working with someone who was so obviously talented.Almost. A prickling of distrust still bubbled beneath the surface whenever she was near.
Matilda was holding back in the routines, especially from the earlier weeks of the show. They had been tailored to the celebrity’s skill set, and there were a few years when her dances were the simplest compared to the other skaters’, but somehow she still managed to outshine themall.
I thought back to that producer’s remark about her being boring and wrote him off as fucking delusional. Matilda’s reaction when he’d called after her yesterday floated into my mind. It screamed that something had gone down between them, but of course she had just brushed it off. Settled on a clear lie and pretended it was nothing.
I pushed her dishonesty to the back of my mind.
Biting into one of the croissants she had brought us this morning, its buttery flakes coating my tongue, I couldn’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you get this? It’s good.”
Matilda raised her brows before a soft grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “They’re from Vinnie’s. It’s a bakery about a twenty-minute drive from here, but it’s worthit.”
“Thank you.” Taking another bite, I barely withheld my moan.A glance at Jack revealed he was enjoying his,too.
“You have to try it dunked in their signature mocha; it’s the best. I didn’t want to risk getting you both one today, because I know you had a black coffee the other day, but you have to try it next time.”
“We definitely will,” Jack mumbled between bites of his croissant. “Thanks again.”
A pretty rosy hue crept up her cheeks. I looked away.
As the last clip ended on the TV, she pressed pause on the remote and whirled in her seat to face us. She shuffled the papers in her hands, organizing the notes she’d been taking, and looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
“Any thoughts on our plan of action? If you tell me your expectations after watching the tapes, I can advise on the best attack.”
I didn’t need to think too long before I answered, “I need to win.”
Her smile widened, mirroring the excitement that danced in her eyes. But there was also intrigue written across her face; she wanted to ask why. She was too polite, so she settled on: “Brilliant, so doI.”
I, however, was not too polite.
“Why do you need to win?”
“Well, it’s my job to try and win, which is incentivized with a bonus.” She bit the corner of her lip before continuing. “My mother really wants me to win, too.”
“Oh, really?” Jack’s last bite of croissant froze in midair.
“Yeah, she’s always been super supportive and…” She paused, searching for a word. “involvedwith my ice-skating career. She wants me to win the show and carry on her legacy, blah, blah, blah.” She took another bite of her own croissant, the blush on her cheeksgrowing brighter.
