On thin ice, p.17
On Thin Ice, page 17
The drive gave me time to reflect on how much had changed since our argument. It had become easy talking to Luca over the last week because, like with Lily, I felt I could speak freely. Words tumbled out without hesitation because I never found a trace of judgment in his eyes. The longer we spent together, the more the tight knot of anxiety I carried loosened. I found myself less and less obsessively worrying about whether my opinion was the right one. I felt like myself.
And I thought Luca enjoyed talking to me, too. The one-word answers had disappeared, replaced by full sentences and even the occasional laugh. Sometimes, when he told me a story, I’d even catch this tiny spark in his eye, one that had never been there in the first few weeks of training.
We arrived at the beach; as I’d predicted, only a few surfers and two cars were in the car park.
“Are we crazy to be at the beach in the rain?” I turned in my seat to look at Luca across the console.
“We’re already going to be wet from the sea,” he pointed out.
“I guess you’re right.”
We made our way out of the car and toward the toilets and changing rooms to the left of the car park. There was a small shop that rented surfboards and served hot drinks. The smell of fresh coffee and sea salt floated through the air, wrapping around me like a tight hug after a long day at work.
Which was ruined by a big sign on the toilet door—Out of Order.
My head snapped to Luca and he just shrugged, flopped his wet suit and swim shorts over the wooden fence, and removed his T-shirt in one smooth movement.
Oh my god, the abs on this man.
I hadn’t seen anyone sculpted quite as beautifully as Luca before.
He turned, his fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his jeans, and I squealed.
“What?” Luca’s head flicked over his shoulder, brow furrowing as his movements paused.
My eyes widened as I looked around the empty beach and whispered, “You can’t get changed here!”
“Why? There’s no one around.” His gaze searched the beach, revealing no paparazzi or crowds of fans.
“I’m here!” I whisper-shouted again as he moved to the front of his jeans and unbuttoned them. His back was equally as delicious as his front, all broad and muscular. His jeans were already hanging dangerously low, and I was struggling to drag my eyes away.
He smirked over his shoulder, a small dimple creasing his face boyishly. “No one’s forcing you to watch, Stevens.”
Caught red-handed.
I spun around on a small squeak, but despite my best efforts, I caught a flash of his bare, sculpted cheeks.
Heat crawled up my neck as I stared at the wall of the toilets.
After a minute or two, a pair of hands landed on my shoulders and slowly turned me around.
I glanced up and warmth spread through my core.
Luca looked so relaxed.
He was still smirking, one eyebrow raised as he searched my face. I ignored the heat spreading from his hands on my shoulders as a grin crept onto my face, unbidden but unstoppable.
He released my shoulders and grabbed the towel that hung over the fence. Turning back to me, he held it up horizontally across my body.
“What’s that for?”
“For you to get changed behind.”
I laughed. “Ha! Good one, buddy. No chance.”
“I’m surprised you’re such a prude, given that you waltz around the studio all day in those things you call shorts.”
“They’re dancer’s shorts,” I gasped, my lips parting in mock outrage.
“You say ‘dancer’s shorts,’ and I say they should be illegal.” He shrugged, and butterflies flapped around in my stomach at his words. “Get changed. I won’t look.”
He closed his eyes, and I studied his face for a moment. He really was God’s favorite.
“Stop staring at me and get changed, Stevens,” he said evenly, but his lip twitched upward.
That kicked me into action. With one final glance around the beach to check there were no onlookers, I lost my clothes, slid my bikini on, and squeezed into the wet suit. Fortunately, it was relatively easy to get on and zip up. I threw my clothes into my tote bag and hooked it over my shoulder.
“Done.”
Luca’s deep brown eyes opened, and he lowered the towel. I shivered as his gaze swept down my body, but I told myself it was because it was a little bit chilly out. Not because I liked the appreciative gleam in his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He cleared his throat and spoke an octave lower than before.
We headed to the shop to collect our rental surfboards. The older man behind the counter was quiet and polite, barely looking up from the till other than to point us to our boards and tell us that the sea was choppy but not unsafe today.
Luca carried both boards as we descended the cobblestone stairs to the sandy beach before walking to the edge of the sea. We strolled in comfortable silence, appreciating the crash of the waves and the gently falling rain.
“Would now be a good time to tell you I’ve never surfed before?” I announced, interrupting the peace.
Luca’s head swung around to look at me.
“You’re joking.”
I just shook my head.
“Why d’you own a wet suit?” His gaze flickered down my body before reaching my face. “It fits you too…” His brow furrowed before he continued, “Well, to be someone else’s.”
I ignored the way my heart thumped at the almost-compliment.
“I bought it, obviously.”
“Just for today?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, grabbing my surfboard from his arms. “I watched some videos, so I think I’ll pick it up quickly.”
He smirked. “Sure you will.”
* * *
Safe to say, I did not pick it up quickly.
I could barely stay on the surfboard, let alone ride any waves. It was humbling.
Luca was fantastic at it. Every time he managed to catch a wave, I ensured I accidentally splashed him when I fell off.
Eventually, I took myself back to the beach, deeming it safer to watch from the sand dunes that functioned as a windbreak. I took some shots of Luca surfing. He looked incredible—strong, muscular, and tanned. His dripping wet hair still fell perfectly over his forehead, adding an extra layer of drool-worthiness to his already good looks.
About twenty minutes later, he joined me. He planted his surfboard in the damp sand, adjusting the angle until it formed a barrier against the faint rain for me.
He dropped to the sand next to me, not bothering to attempt to sit under the cover of his board.
“Thank you.” I gestured to the surfboard and smiled. Luca just nodded and looked out to sea. We sat listening to the rhythmic waves crashing for a few minutes.
“You surfed well.” He flashed a knowing grin.
I pushed him into the sand.
“I got some good pictures of you,” I told him as he righted himself. He took my phone to take a closer look.
“Good idea,” he said and grabbed my arm. “Come here.”
“What?” I stuttered as he attempted to maneuver me like a puppet.
“Come and sit between my legs.”
Had he lost his mind?
“We can get a picture.”
OK, that makes more sense.
Obliging, I clumsily climbed between his legs so we faced the sea.
“Stop being so awkward.” He exhaled with a sound that was almost a laugh. “I’ve seen you hug a million people; this shouldn’t be so hard.”
We’d been flirting for the cameras already, but it felt strange doing it when no one was around, especially with Luca initiating it.
“Can you unlock your phone?” he asked, but I just told him my password so he could unlock it himself. Hooking an arm around my lower stomach, he pulled me so I sat flush against his chest. With both our suits rolled to our waists, we were skin to skin. Holding the phone in his other hand, he flipped the camera to selfie mode and took a few pictures.
Pulling up the camera roll, we scrolled through them.
They were…good. Our hair was damp, wavy, and sticking to our heads, and the camera was low enough to reveal Luca’s toned chest and my bikini top.
“They’ll do,” Luca remarked casually, while I was struggling to swallow.
He stilled for a moment, and I realized I was being dismissed.
Jesus, fuck, that’s embarrassing.
My face flamed as I pushed off his chest, hoping he couldn’t hear how loud my heart was beating.
An arm tugged around my waist, halting my movements.
“Relax,” he said, before adding, “if you want.”
Relax, if you want.
Did I want? Was it wise to continue to watch the sea with Luca’s warmth sinking into my back? We’d been balancing along these invisible lines, but this felt like stepping right over one.
I settled back into his chest, my body humming with approval.
OK, I guess I do want.
It was comfortable and, honestly, it felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been held like this—Mark had rarely let us cuddle, and certainly never in public.
The salty air wrapped around us. From afar, people might have assumed we were a couple too much in love to care about the stormy weather. I wiggled my toes in the cool, damp sand, each grain anchoring me, any remaining tension melting away.
“Have you heard from your mom this morning?” Luca asked, the rise and fall of his chest melodic against my back.
“Hell will freeze over before my mother skips her morning text.”
Mum: Good job again for last night, keep it up. I’m going to move my diary around to see if I can come to the studio and give you some pointers for next week’s skate.
Luca hummed in response as he twirled a wet strand of my hair around his finger. My toes curled into the sand. A seagull swept overhead, its sharp squawk the only sound against the waves and our voices.
My mother’s compliments weren’t dousing me with relief in the way they used to. They were just making me roll my eyes.
I’d swiftly texted back and told her that wasn’t necessary. I couldn’t imagine Luca taking pointers from my mother very gracefully. She’d found us after the show last night and offered me some “coaching” tips, and he’d seemed pretty pissed on my behalf. But I’d become used to my mother always wanting to control my career. Since I’d attended my first ice-skating lesson, she’d been molding me into her protegée, and for years she’d been proud of me. Until I’d thrown the Olympic trials five years ago. Since then, she’d always made sure to show that Lauren was her favorite—I guessed as some kind of passive-aggressive punishment.
I’d trained for the trials my whole life, even though I’d never really wanted to be in the Olympics. I enjoyed skating, but I’d never really enjoyed the competitive aspect of it. I’d told my mum, but she’d kept pushing—and I hadn’t stopped her. I’d wanted to stand up for myself, but instead of doing that, I’d just underperformed, enough to miss out. A few slips, a stumble.
I’d thought it would get her off my back, but instead her feedback had just got more and more overpowering.
I wished I had just told her.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked Luca. He was silent for only a few moments before answering.
“Lots, but I don’t dwell on them. They’ve made me who I am today.”
“Are you happy today?”
“As happy as I can be.” That didn’t feel like an answer. “Do you…?” I looked over at him and raised a questioning eyebrow, and he continued, “Have any regrets?”
I paused, fingers stilling in the sand. “Sometimes…yeah.” The words were slow, almost reluctant. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t thrown the Olympic trials. I assumed that, with the Olympics out of the picture, I could start living my life the way I wanted, without my mother constantly living her lost dream through me. But now I feel like I’m in an equally stressful position.”
“Do you think the show is as hard as the Olympics?” he asked, brushing the sand off a shell and studying it.
“In different ways. The Olympics would have been more physically demanding. But being on the show is mentally draining; meeting new people and being switched-on all the time really takes it out of me.”
“You seem so at ease speaking to people, though. You remember everyone’s name and life story. It seems like you were born to be a social butterfly.”
“I think that’s the problem.” I picked up a stone and gently tossed it across the sand. The words flowed more easily, and I found comfort in not voicing this vulnerability directly to his face. “Being like that doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m so conscious of how I make others feel that I’ll work on overdrive to make them happy. And those things are all part of the show. You wouldn’t have that with the Olympics. You’re there for your skill only.”
“That doesn’t count as a regret.” I tipped my head back to search his face. There was a gentle rise at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the sea. “You only regret that you didn’t choose a different career to please someone else?”
I paused, refocusing my gaze ahead.
“I regret people-pleasing for so long,” I started, voicing something I’d never said aloud. “And worry that now that I’ve done it for so many years, I don’t know who I am anymore.” He remained silent, letting me sort through my head. “And I worry that if I start making decisions based on what I want, the people in my life will leave because they don’t like who I really am, just who I project.” I laughed, but it lacked humor. “That a big enough regret for you?”
“I like who you are.”
Tenderness spread inside me at those words. “You’re an anomaly. Not everyone likes brutal honesty.”
“Have you given people the chance?”
“You sound like my old therapist.” The therapist that I’d been thinking more and more about revisiting, but couldn’t quite bring myself to call. I focused on the sensation of my hair curling around his finger instead of the heavy beating of my heart. “But yeah, that’s my biggest regret. I’ve never told anyone, so don’t use it against me.”
He tugged my head back gently, his gaze searching my face for something. Happy with whatever he found, he smiled.
“You should give it a try, Stevens. I think you’ll find people like you for who you are.”
Week two passed steadily, with practice during the week, Friday takeout and tape reviews, early morning practice before Saturday’s show, then another Sunday morning surf before the results. It felt like we’d built a little routine together—and…I didn’t hate it.
After two weeks of playing it relatively safe, we decided that week three was the perfect time to take our routine to the next level—and introduce a more complex lift to differentiate ourselves from the other skaters. Although I’d have said we were “ahead” of most, Alice and Asha were easily matching us week on week in terms of difficulty and execution, with Noah and Sophia not far behind.
Training hadn’t gone perfectly that week, either; we’d had to book a session with the lift specialist to help us figure out where we were going wrong. Like during the weeks of our pre-show training, it was my hand placement that was tripping us up. It was either a mistimed grip during the entry, or slippage at the peak of the lift. But by Friday morning, we had managed to iron out any issues—and the lift looked fucking fantastic, if I did say so myself.
It was the Saturday night live show for Fantasy week, so Matilda and I were dressed like forest creatures. I wore mossy-green pants and a matching shirt (revealing too much skin, obviously), and Matilda wore a matching whimsical dress (also revealing too much skin, obviously). The tops of our arms and chests were decorated with small snippets of fake foliage.
Matilda was also sprinkled with a pretty layer of glitter, which made her glow even more than usual.
We made our way backstage, where I knelt to tie Matilda’s laces like I had the previous weeks. Feeling her stare, I glanced up to find her watching me with the softest smile. I dropped my gaze back to the skates, hoping to hide the smile tugging at my own lips.
Once we were both secured in our skates, we watched Noah and Sophia’s performance—Matilda and I wearing matching expressions. Tight-lipped, pressed into a forced smile.
They were good. Better than they’d been the first two weeks. Although arguably not as technically difficult as the skate we were about to perform, their movements were fluid and synchronized. The judges wore faint smiles as they focused on Noah and Sophia’s effortless glides around the ice.
The crowd roared in celebration as the final low notes of their music came to an end.
“We’ve got this.” Matilda squeezed my hand as Noah and Sophia waved to the audience and skated toward us backstage. Their broad smiles and bright eyes gave away their excitement—they knew they’d smashed their performance.
When he spotted us, Noah’s smile morphed into a smirk, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he was savoring the moment.
“Good luck, guys,” Sophia offered in a smug lilt.
“Let’s smash this, Stevens.” I nudged my shoulder against hers. Her face tilted up, a beautiful smile gracing it. Any hint of unease had washed away and been replaced with assured confidence.
They might have been good, but we were better.
“And next on to the ice, we have Luca Vasvault with his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
We skated into position, center rink. It looked as if I was asking for her hand in marriage as I went down on one knee and Matilda remained standing.
The fast but whimsical notes began, and Matilda set off, slicing the ice and circling me a few times. My gaze followed her movements as if I couldn’t take my eyes off the prettiest fairy in the woods.
