The opening beats of “You’re the One That I Want” started playing, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
I squeezed Matilda’s hands seconds before we skated in a quick synchronized trot onto the ice. The lights were blindingly bright, leaving the crowd in a curtain of darkness—and all thoughts of who was watching left me as I succumbed to the bouncy beats and fast movements.
We swept around the ice, weaving together and apart with an intuitive awareness of each other’s movements. The crowd’s applause rang out as we flawlessly executed the first lift. Any nerves evaporated, replaced with innate competitiveness and focus. Matilda landed gracefully, spinning to meet my gaze as I continued to push forward. Her face lit up with the most magnificent smile, making her more breathtaking, and I didn’t even attempt to hide my own smile. We were mirrors of each other, unguarded in our joy. She clasped my hands, drawing us close until our noses almost touched.
We werecrushingit.
Every movement felt sharp and deliberate. The background noise and cheers faded into a muffled blur as we skated closer and closer to our goal.
I pushed her away gently, and she twirled independently while I circled her, playing the adoring suitor. As her spins slowed, I skated backward, preparing for our next lift. She reached my outstretched arms, and I lifted her effortlessly, spinning us around multiple times.
I’d forgotten how good it felt to enjoy something without reservations or a trace of skepticism. My mind was consumed entirely by Matilda and the skate, and the freedom was intoxicating.
Matilda transitioned perfectly, and I followed suit. As we drew toward the end of the dance, I matched her movements. We hit our final position: I wrapped one arm around her waist to support her as she leaned back, leg bent and lifted. My other arm extended outward to point into the camera, while her free hand rested on her hip with attitude.
The crowd went wild, their applause echoing throughout the arena. It was the closest to euphoria I had felt in a long time.
Matilda squealed, knowing that we’d hit every beat and move perfectly. She didn’t hesitate. With a quick movement, she leaped into my arms, her arms locking behind my neck. I caught her instinctively, my hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. Her legs draped loosely as I spun us, her laughter ringing in the air, my heart racing in sync with the momentum.
“Oh my god…” she whispered as I gripped the back of her head in the embrace. The crowd was still cheering, making it hard to think straight.
“We did it, Stevens,” I whispered.
I quickly placed her on to the ice, hoping the crowd’s cheers had masked the nickname.
She laughed heartily, seeing straight through me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t hide the smile that fought its way onto my face.
We’d outdone ourselves, apparently. Themedia frenzy following the speculation around our relationship status was intense. There were close-ups of our interview touches and hundreds of replays of when I’d jumped into Luca’s arms.
One photo, in particular, stopped me in my tracks—Luca beaming down at me after our performance. He was absolutely breathtaking, his smile like something plucked straight from a golden-age Hollywood film. It was the first time I’d seen him truly,reallysmile, and it hit me like a tidal wave. I swear, in that moment, I almost forgot how to breathe.
Surprisingly, he was unbothered by the media. After that night’s show, when I’d asked him if it brought back bad memories of his last few years in America, he’d simply said it was worth it. I guessed it was a different kind of press from what he was used to. I’d never been splashed across gossip websites, and while it added another level of anxiety to my day-to-day life, it ensured we had a better chance at winning.
TheDirty Dancingproducers had also called Luca to say that they were happy with his progress, and, among her skating pointers, my mother was now showering me with compliments on howwell we were being received by the public, so we couldn’t complain.
We were hoping that our trip to the beach before the Sunday night results show would only help to fan the flames of excitement.
We stopped at Vinnie’s and the shops before leaving to stock up for the journey.
While we were queuing, Jack called to say we’d been invited on to the TV channel’s morning show the next day. Every week, they had someone from the competition sit on the channel’s Monday show, and, as I’d never been asked, it felt huge. My partners from the previous four years had been more than happy to miss out on the extra press, not wanting to stir any rumors or play into the public’s hands.
But for me and Luca? It worked perfectly.
As I sat in the passenger seat, I unwrapped a Starburst and passed it to Luca. I wasn’t sure if he actually enjoyed eating sweets or was just appeasing me, but, either way, happiness swelled insideme.
I snapped a quick picture of him as he sipped his coffee. The photo was pretty drool-worthy: dark tousled hair, a light smattering of stubble covering a sharp jawline, long dark lashes, and a long-sleeved T-shirt rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. He had one hand on the wheel and one on the coffee, the road in the background.
“Can I post a picture of you on my story?” I turned my phone to show him the photo.
“That’s what we’re here for.” We’d spoken a bit more about getting some pictures to post on social media just to cause chaos after last night’s show. I had enough followers on Instagram that the media were bound to pick itup.
“Perfect.” I added it to my story, not bothering to caption it; thepicture spoke for itself. Then another thought sprang to my mind, but I voiced it before it could fester. “Will there be paparazzi at the beach?”
They followed Luca like a pack of rabid dogs, so I wouldn’t have been surprised, especially given the recent buzz around our relationship.
“No.” A crease formed between his brows as he continued. “I told Jack to give them a fake leak, so today they’ll be swarming Bond Street looking for us shopping.”
Warmth tickled through my veins not only at how Luca had taken care of the situation, but that we’d got the whole day to ourselves. The picture I’d posted on my story was discreet enough that they’d never guess where we were, but I made a mental note to save posting any other photos until we were safely back at home.
