Matilda was alone, leaning against the vanity, reading something on her phone. When she looked up and saw me, she put herphone down and assessed my outfit. I took the opportunity to do the same.
Her hair was curled into tight, wild corkscrews that framed her face, and her lips were painted bright red. She was clad in a black puffy skirt and a snug black crop top that covered her arms. Her white skates hung loosely in her hands. Despite the heavy makeup, her naturally beautiful features still shone through. She looked as though she had walked straight off the set ofGrease.
“You look great,” she said casually, her voice carrying a hint of excitement beneath her calm exterior.
“You look good too.”
Understatement of the year.
Silence filled the room, which seemed to kick Matilda into action. “Are you ready?” She rushed across the room, collecting my black skates and passing them tome.
“Yes, let’sgo.”
I took my skates from her hand and reached for hers. Her brow furrowed, but she passed them over. “Why do you need those?”
“I don’t.” I nodded toward the door. “Go.”
I didn’t miss the blush that rose to her cheeks before she turned and led me out of the room.
Adrenaline coursed throughme as I anticipated our first live performance, igniting a fire within me. Matilda and I were seated in the live lounge area alongside ten other pairs. Between skates, the hosts would ask us how our training had gone and what we’d thought of the last performance. Although it was reality TV, it felt similar to stage acting—we only had one chance to get it right.
“How are you both feeling about Asha and Alice scoring sohigh in their first week?” Tamara, the TV host, addressed me and Matilda. “Considering the average for week one is around sixteen or seventeen out of forty, they’re going to be the ones to watch.”
The judges’ votes were important in guiding the audience to decide who should advance to the next round, but ultimately it was up to the public to decide. The results show was always filmed and televised on the Sunday after the performances to give people time to vote, with the exception of the final, which would all happen on the Saturday night.
“We’re happy for them.” Matilda’s smile widened. “They’ve been working so hard this season; it’s good to see it’s paying off.”
“And do you think your hard work will pay off? We’ve seen from the promo videos of you two that things are looking…intense.” Tamara smirked knowingly at us. That was exactly what we wanted. Despite last night, I assumed we were still pretending to flirt. We hadn’t defined the boundaries, which made things tricky. I didn’t want to cross any lines.
Matilda offered a perfectly coy laugh. She turned to me, placing a hand on my thigh.We’re still pretending, then.“They have been quite full-on, haven’t they, Luca?”
I casually draped an arm around the back of her shoulders, playing with one of her bouncy curls. “Matilda runs a tight ship. I’m exhausted from all the hours we’ve been putting in, so I sure hope it pays off.”
Matilda laughed and squeezed my thigh. It took superhuman strength to resist looking at her hand, for fear I’d start imagining what it would look like moving further up and wrapping—
You’re on live TV, asshole.
Despite my former reluctance, I’d accepted that we would be in the press. Like Matilda had said weeks ago, it would work in our favor. Hopefully, the producers ofDirty Dancingwould see it and trust that I was the right choice.
Nate and Rebecca Hart finished their performance, which meant we were next. Matilda grabbed my arm and pulled me through the backstage hallways, eager to get on the ice. She looked back at me, excitement in her bright eyes, and I felt an echo of her enthusiasm. Once we arrived at the backstage rink entrance, I placed Matilda’s skates down and slipped mine on quickly as she spoke to the backstage coordinator. He nodded at her and pointed to the X etched into the ice where we were to stand.
By the time she had started putting her skates on, I had finished mine. So I stayed crouching, pulling her booted foot toward me so I could lace itup.
“I can do that,” she said, attempting to pull her foot out of my grasp.
“I know.”
Her smile was warm and grateful, and it only fueled the buzz pumping around my veins.
We stepped onto the ice and skated to our spot. Unlike during the dress rehearsal, the studio was packed, the crowd loud and pulsing with excitement.
We stood in position, waiting for our introduction. Holding Matilda felt natural, but for the first time in years, I wasnervous.
There was less than an inch of space between her back and my front, but it felt charged with intimate electricity. Her palms were soft in mine, but the graceful arc of her arms was strong and steady.
Matilda had just as much riding on the next few months as I did, and I didn’t want to let her down—not like I had at the press event. But it was more than that. I actually wanted to make her happy, to see her smile again, as brightly as she had last night.
“It’s time to welcome to the ice Luca Vasvault and his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
