“I don’t know.” She bit her bottomlip.
Stop looking at her lips, dickhead.
“So, despite Jack’s damage control, there might still be speculation around why I didn’t turn up, right?” At her nod, I paused, aware that I couldn’t take back what I was going to say next. But I’d thought about it long and hard since the press event, and I couldn’t think of another solution. “Let’s give them something else to focus on—a bit like Alice and Asha are doing.”
“Like what?” The crease between her brows deepened.
“A distraction.”
“I’m still not following.” She tilted her head.
“Let’s flirt.”
Her brows shot up, her mouth parting wide. “Flirt?” she whisper-shouted.
“It ties in with what you and Jack said our first week of training. We choose some romantic songs, flirt for the camera, and give the audience something to speculate about.”
“I’m sorry…” She shook her head, blond hair flicking with the movement. “I’m just really struggling to reconcile this person with the person six weeks ago who wouldn’t even look atme.”
“I’m still the same person. But I fucked up, so I’m rectifying the situation.”
Skepticism splashed across her face, and I didn’t blame her. Itwasa one-eighty, but given the radio silence from the movie producers, I needed to do something.
She tilted her head, uncertainty etched across her features.
“I haven’t heard from theDirty Dancingproducers in weeks.” I hoped she didn’t hear the edge of panic in my voice. “I hate the press, but maybe we need to use them to our benefit. We both need to win, and I fucked up an easy opportunity to give us an advantage.”
She nodded slowly.
“If we flirt on camera, the public will go crazy. If they’re obsessed with Asha and Alice’sfriendship,imagine the buzz if they thought we were dating.”
“OK.” She straightened her back, eyes sparkling with determination.
“Only if you want to, though, Matilda. Don’t agree to this unless it’s something you’re happy todo.”
“I mean, I guess it’s a win–win. You make the producers happy, and we increase our chances of winning the show.” Her mouth was set in a straight, determined line. “Let’s do it,” she whispered, more to herself than tome.
At that exact moment, the Tannoy played backstage: “Welcome to the ice Luca Vasvault and his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
“Are you ready?” Matilda asked, holding her hands up and spinning around, motioning us into position.
I stepped closer so that my front was almost flush with her back and held her hands from behind.
I couldn’t count the number of times we’d been in this position over the past six weeks, yet somehow it was different. The familiar warmth of her skin felt intimate and charged with a quiet tension—like we were in sync even though we hadn’t started skatingyet.
It must have been the adrenaline.
The opening beats to “You’re the One That I Want” echoed through the studio. Matilda’s hands squeezed mine, and we pushed off onto the rink.
“We’re happy withthe dress rehearsal,” I told the interviewer oppositeus.
That wasn’t true, but I wasn’t telling them that. There had been a few wobbles here and there that needed to be ironed out. Jack had recorded the rehearsal on Matilda’s phone so we could watch it later.
An assistant producer had dragged us into one of the conference rooms and told us that they needed footage for cutaways. A green screen adorned the back wall, a leather sofa in front of it, and blinding studio lights illuminated the whole room.
“And how have you found the partnership so far?” the interviewer asked.
I settled into the seat, resting my arm behind Matilda’s back. The interviewer followed the movement, and interest flashed in her eyes.
