The dress was sofuckingshort.
No wonder it hadn’t been ready earlier; it looked like it had taken days to make. It was an almost transparent white dress shimmering with thousands of tiny crystals. The delicate spaghetti straps led into a neckline that highlighted the curve of her breasts. Her hair, which was often secured in a ponytail, had been left down in long blond waves and embellished with a few of the same crystals that covered her dress. I was pretty sure I was drooling.
Unaware of my mental breakdown, she twirled and said, “What do you think?”
The back was almost better. The skirt fell over the tempting swell of Matilda’s ass and hung around her upper thighs. As she turned, the skirt whooshed at the highest point of her curved legs, and blood rushed straight to my dick.
I forced my gaze up to meet her dimpled smile. If I ever metanyone who said Matilda Stevens wasn’t the most beautiful woman in any room, I would write them off as completely deluded.
“You look incredible.”
“Luca, you flirt.” She laughed it off, pushing my arm lightly as she passed to refresh her lip gloss.
This was my life now: tracking every smile, every toss of her hair, noticing every ridiculous detail about her. It was driving me insane. Yet I couldn’t stop.
Since that night at the bar earlier in the week, images of her sprawled on my bed had been driving me fucking crazy. Naked. Tanned skin, curves, and a halo of blond hair. I wanted her lips against mine, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I’d spent far too much time in the shower last night with my hand wrapped aroundmy—
She waved her hand in front of my face, laughing. “Earth to Luca. YouOK?”
I cleared my throat and grabbed the water bottle off the vanity, chugging it down.What the fuck’s wrong withme?
“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” she confessed. I wore a simple outfit—black pants and a white shirt that was only buttoned up halfway. I didn’t miss the way Matilda’s eyes lingered on the exposed skin.
I’d take it to the grave before I’d admit it, but I was glad I’d worked out that morning.
“Your hair looks perfectly messy, too. They’ve done a fantastic job of making you every girl’s wet dream.” She chuckled, a subtle curve appearing at the side of her lips. “Want to know a secret?”
“Always.” I took another swig of water.
“Lily had a poster of you on her wall as a teenager, and we used to pretend to kissit.”
Water burst out of my mouth; I was unable to contain my laugh, and Matilda joined intoo.
“You didn’t.” I threw the empty bottle in the trash.
“We did.” She hid her face behind her hands. “Everyone was obsessed with you when we were at school. God, I’d love to go back and tell my preteen self that we’d end up on an ice-skating show together. I think she’d die.”
We continued laughing and reminiscing about our awkward teenage years—and how different they’d been. My first kiss had been on a set with fifteen cameras and a whole crew watching, and hers had been in a game of truth-or-dare at the park. She had only missed her strict curfew once, when she was sixteen on vacation (she’d never done it again, because her mom had found her kissing a boy behind the beach bar), and her family dinners hadn’t been family dinners unless there was an argument. I told her that I’d never had a curfew and, when my mother was visiting the UK, my father wouldn’t even notice if I’d been gone for days.
A quick knock sounded on the door, as someone with a headset and clipboard stuck their head into the room. “Backstage in five.”
They darted away before we could reply. I stood and held out my hand. Matilda took it, letting me drag her up off the sofa.
“It’s showtime,” she said with a dazzling smile. “Let’s go show those producers who their Johnny Castle is.” I grabbed our skates from the floor and led the wayout.
I tied Matilda’slaces as part of our pre-skate ritual. The heavy beats from the performance before ours calmed my nerves.
Patting her foot to signal they were done, I moved on to mine and followed Matilda to the backstage part of the ice. I stepped behind her and grabbed her hands, as I always did. Arguably, it was earlier than necessary, but I wasn’t getting into semantics.
A minute or two later, once the judges had commented on Asha and Alice’s performance (which scored one point lower than their skate last week), the host’s voice echoed through the studio. “And now, welcoming to the ice Luca Vasvault and his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
We pushed off and skated onto the rink, the slicing of our skates silenced by the crowd’s cheers.
Looking out, I saw the same dark curtain of the crowd, the same cheering, the same rink, butsomethingfelt different.
We glided to a halt at the center of the ice, turning to the crowd and opening our arms wide, introducing ourselves before twisting to sit on the ice in our starting position. I caught Matilda’s gaze for a few seconds and any lingering anxiety from wanting this skate to go well evaporated. We were going to kill it. I trusted her, she trusted me—and, looking into her eyes, I knew we felt completely in sync.
The soulful notes of “At Last” floated through the studio, smooth and rich, and the crowd cheered when they recognized the timeless love song.
