On thin ice, p.4
On Thin Ice, page 4
“Definitely. Right, Luca?” Jack prompted.
“Right.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone as he looked around the room, disinterested.
“We could go over them on Friday evening; it might be nice to grab some dinner and watch the tapes.”
“We only need to do the dinner if the cameras are present. If they aren’t, there’s no point.” Luca’s voice was clipped.
I quickly weighed up my options. Should I let it go to avoid pissing him off even more? That was my first instinct, yet I could almost hear my mother’s resigned disappointment if I didn’t win another season. Sharing a dinner wasn’t going to make or break our performance, but it did have the potential to help.
“I get what you mean, but if you look back at the previous winners, they’ve all been genuine friends and actually got to know each other beyond just skating on the show.”
His brow furrowed deeper.
“Do you want to win?” I offered, hoping to hide the impatience in my tone. “Most of my other partners haven’t been bothered, but we need to decide what our goal is so we can plan how we move forward.”
“I need to win.”
“Then I can’t stress enough how important it is for us to show a united front. The public love to have people to root for.”
“Why does that matter? Surely, they’re just judging us based on our skating.”
“A huge part of the vote is popularity, not just skill, and it can be the difference between making it to the finals or not. The more we know each other outside the rink, the better our chemistry will be on the rink and in the cutaways.”
“We don’t need chemistry.” He spoke with disdain. “It’s a two-minute dance where we skate around each other and pretend to get along. We don’t need anything more than that.”
Fire burned in my chest and up my neck, but I doused it quickly. I would not let my hurt feelings get in the way of our winning. He just obviously didn’t like the idea of pretending we had chemistry. So what if he belittled figure skating or my expertise? I knew its worth, and starting an argument about it would only make matters worse.
“Winning the show is more than that.” I brushed off his insult, which, judging by his clenched jaw, angered him more.
“You didn’t mention this was part of the deal,” he accused Jack, who held up his hands in surrender.
“It doesn’t have to be part of the deal,” I reassured him, not wanting to cause an argument. “We don’t have to do this, but if you want to win the show, it’s important.”
“I’m only on this show to win. I won’t accept anything less.”
He spoke with such determination that I couldn’t help but wonder what was driving him to want to win the show when he seemed so unhappy to be there.
“Then we need to consider publicity. It’s no different to when you’re acting in a film and need on-screen chemistry.”
I tapped my fingers on the side of my coffee cup, searching for anything to break the quiet stretched between us. I flicked my gaze to Jack leaning back in his chair, watching Luca with an unreadable expression.
Obviously, they were comfortable with awkward silences.
I was not.
“Look, I am fine with just meeting for training,” I added quickly, though inside I screamed at myself for even offering it. “But if we were at least friendly with each other—”
“No. I want to win the show, but we don’t have to be ‘friends’ to do it. Surely people have won from skill alone before.” The rejection stung even though his voice had lost its sharp edge.
He was within his rights to not want to be friends, and it hadn’t bothered me in other seasons when I’d been kept at a distance.
But this is the first season you’ve actually got a shot at winning the bonus.
As an incentive, the winning professional skater received a juicy bonus. It ensured that we put everything into making it to the final—and didn’t take the easy route by being voted off in the first week.
I’d never stood a chance of winning the bonus before, but this year it didn’t feel so out of reach. Winning the money would mean that I could afford to quit the show, which I’d been even more desperate to do since the mess with Mark last season. My mother would probably disown me if I did leave, but it would be nice to have the option.
Luca’s attitude was already complicating matters.
I wasn’t losing all hope yet, though. His celebrity status might be enough to help us win without the added publicity. Using the media would just make our job so much easier.
And to be honest, my ego couldn’t take any more rejection at that point, either.
“That’s fine, Luca. We’ll meet for training and then watch the videos. That’s all.”
That seemed to placate him long enough to wrap up our meeting civilly.
After agreeing to meet back at the studio tomorrow for our first “official” meeting in front of the cameras, Jack and Luca headed out.
And I was left wondering how on earth I was going to get us to the final.
I knew I was an asshole.
Since the Nancy ordeal, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t trust anyone so readily. She wasn’t the first person in Hollywood to fuck me over, but I’d make sure she was the last.
It didn’t matter if Jesus himself invited me to join his Last Supper in the hopes of becoming friends. It’d still be a no.
I knew Matilda was right about giving the public a couple to root for, and it would increase our chances of making it to the final. But we had a good chance without the added “best friends forever” publicity stunts. And then I wouldn’t have to worry about her selling me out, or doing anything to jeopardize my chances of rebuilding my image.
Jack knew it was futile to push me. As my only friend, he gave me a lot of shit, but he knew when to leave it.
Competing in a celebrity skating competition? Sure, go ahead and push.
Befriending Little Miss Sunshine? Absolutely not.
Something about her didn’t sit right. She was accommodating, friendly, and beautiful, but something felt off. I was intentionally difficult and short with her, yet she barely faltered at my attitude.
Besides a slight frown when I talked shit about ice-skating, she remained pleasant, and the longer Matilda’s perfect, white-toothed smile held despite my bluntness, the more my apprehension toward her grew. People don’t put up with crap like that unless there’s something in it for them—no one swallows their pride for free.
So no, we didn’t need to be friends, and I would do my best to ensure that remained the case.
Despite working out after the meeting with Matilda to blow off some steam, I still woke up the next day feeling on edge.
My mother’s care home was too far from the rink to get there and back during visiting hours, so Jack had told the channel that I would be late for training on Tuesday and Friday mornings. The clean, bright hallways of Sycamore Lane Care Home were familiar enough that I easily navigated my way through them as I had done for the past four years. The paintings that decorated the walls were more comforting to me than the ones in my own home.
I reached my mother’s room and smiled for the first time in a few days.
“My lovely boy,” she cooed as I approached her armchair. Her open arms welcomed me into an embrace as I leaned down.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered, kissing her cheek as I took my usual seat and gently held her hand. The room was spacious, larger than most we had seen, with a bay window that overlooked a beautifully landscaped garden. It was warm, lit by natural light and a few lamps dotted around it. My mother’s paintings decorated the walls, making the room feel like we were still in my childhood home in L.A.
Mom adjusted her position in her chair, the sound of leather bringing my attention back to her. She looked more exhausted than usual, with deep purple shadows underneath her eyes. Her smile was still warm and wide, but soft in a way that I knew meant she hadn’t been sleeping well.
“A tea for you, my love.” She held out a china mug, and I rushed to take it from her shaking hands. “I know you prefer coffee, but you were stressed last night, and caffeine fuels stress.”
“I didn’t say I was stressed,” I said, then sipped the hot herbal tea. It was fucking delicious, but I couldn’t admit it out loud. I’d refused to drink it in favor of coffee for too many years.
“A mother always knows.” Her slight smile grew as she took a sip of her own tea.
“Really?”
“When you have children of your own one day, you’ll understand.”
“Humor me,” I answered, ignoring her comment.
“I can’t explain it.” She gestured to my face. “You can just tell when your child is unhappy. So tell me, what’s getting to you?”
Not wanting to delve into it too much, I settled on: “I’ve got a new job.”
Slack-jawed, she stared at me, then placed a hand over her heart. “Luca! That’s so brilliant. What is it? You haven’t shown any interest in acting since we left L.A.”
And I still wasn’t interested. I had only my mother in mind when I’d agreed to go on the show with the aim of rebuilding my image to land a role in a Dirty Dancing remake. It was my mom’s all-time favorite film. We’d watched it together so many times I could practically recite the script in my sleep. So when the producers had contacted Jack about considering me for the lead in the remake, I knew I had to get it.
But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“I’m going to be a contestant on Stars on Ice.”
Her eyes widened, her hand flying to cover her shocked smile.
“I’m sorry…what?”
“I know.”
“This was Jack, wasn’t it?” She had known Jack almost as long as I had, since we had been best friends growing up. After our first year at his family’s summer camp in the UK, we’d made it a tradition to visit each other at least once a year outside of summer vacation.
“How’d you guess?”
“This has him written all over it, bless his heart. Getting to dance and put his hands on some figure skaters? I feel like that’s the boy’s wet dream.”
I scrunched my face in disgust. “Mom, gross. Don’t say shit like that.”
“You mind your language with me, Luca.”
“You just said ‘wet dream’—that’s worse.”
“I’m an adult.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her brows.
“And I’m not?”
“So, you really want to get back into the industry?” She changed the subject, her voice suddenly bouncing with excitement. Her eyes were bright as she searched my face, looking more awake than she had moments ago.
I nodded, taking a sip of my tea.
“But why Stars on Ice? That show isn’t like your usual projects.”
It went against everything I stood for, but it was time to tell a little white lie.
I didn’t want to tell her about Dirty Dancing in case I didn’t get the part—there was nothing more crushing than false hope, and I also didn’t want to go into detail about how I was having to prove myself to get a role. As someone who wasn’t famous herself but had married into fame, she was too familiar with what it was like to jump through hoops to get people to like you.
When she and my father met, my father was already a famous Hollywood movie producer. My mother had moved from the UK and was working in a bar in Spain. He was there on business, and she was traveling. They fell madly in love, and she gave up her life to follow him wherever his job took him.
Surrounded by famous people 24/7, she was constantly trying to impress them so as not to embarrass my father. Hell, she followed him across the world, even if she didn’t want to, just because she knew it would make him happy.
When she’d been diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis four years ago and my father had filed for divorce, I was outraged. She had a life-shortening neurological disease, and he couldn’t be bothered to stick by her side. But she was almost…relieved when he ended things. When I demanded she fight back, she told me about how unhappy their marriage had been, and how, after years of fixing and patching things, she’d had enough.
So we moved to the UK.
Moving made sense for both of us: I needed a break from Hollywood and she wanted to return to her home, where she felt most comfortable.
I wanted to get the part for her, as a thank-you for all she’d done for me to succeed; I wanted her to be proud of me. And since there was no guarantee of how long I had left with her, I couldn’t waste any time.
“If I clear up my image, the paparazzi might finally stop spewing nonsense about me and producers might start considering me for lead roles again. I haven’t seen the show before, but Jack thinks it’s family-friendly and there’ll be lots of opportunities to…show the people who I am.” I cringed at the last part. I didn’t give a fuck what people thought about me, but it was a sacrifice I was prepared to make.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that you feel you have to ‘fix your image.’ ”
I sipped my tea so I didn’t have to respond with another lie, but she didn’t press the point further.
“Honestly, I’m just so happy you’re going to be acting again—doing something you love. There are quite a lot of lovely skaters on the show, too.” Ah, so that was her reason for letting it go.
“Have you seen the show, then?”
“Obviously! Almost everyone in the UK has seen it.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Soooo…” she drawled. “Are you partnered with someone lovely?”
“I wouldn’t say lovely.”
“Who are you partnered with, then?”
“One of the female skaters.”
“Luca Vasvault, you will tell me who you’re partnered with—”
“Mom.”
“Why’s it a big deal? If you don’t care, why are you fussing about telling me?”
She has a point.
“Matilda? The blonde?” I asked, hoping Mom wouldn’t know who she was.
She beamed, dimpled cheeks and all.
“The smiley one?” she asked.
“Don’t say anything more. Please.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Oh, she really has got your knickers in a twist, hasn’t she, my boy.”
“She has not. She’s just another person in the industry who knows how to work people.”
One dark eyebrow raised was her only response.
“What?”
“She’s not in ‘the industry.’ She’s on an ice-skating show.” Her eyes gleamed over her mug.
“Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.” I shrugged and stole a cookie from the plate on the coffee table.
“Don’t you think she could just be a nice person?” Her gaze was tender, speaking a thousand words without saying anything. “She seems nice on the TV.”
“I’m sure she does. She’s been nothing but pleasant since we met.”
“And that makes her a horrible person because…?”
“Because I was purposefully antagonizing her! I wanted to see how she’d react, to see if she would be honest with me, but she didn’t crack. She acted as if I was the nicest person in the world. No one would pretend not to care unless there was something in it for them.”
“Luca,” she chastised, and my stomach dropped at her downturned lips.
“My methods might be unorthodox, but I needed to know.”
“And if she had told you where to shove it? Kicked off like you wanted her to? Would you have trusted her then?”
I had the sense to stay silent, and my mom’s eyes softened again because she knew my answer.
I ignored the slight tremor in her hand as she reached out and held my arm. “My love, not everyone is like Nancy.”
“I don’t want to talk about her, Mom.”
“You need to open your heart again at some point. You can’t keep walking around with ten-foot walls around your emotions—”
“Please, Mom,” I interrupted her.
“So, when do the live shows start?” she asked, squeezing my hand and dropping the subject.
As we continued talking, Mom’s reminder of Nancy cemented one thing in my head.
Matilda and I would never be friends, or anything more. I was going to try my hardest to make her aware of that.
“How are you feeling, Luca? Ready to kiss some ice?” Jack shouted from where he sat behind the safety glass. I was already booted up on the ice and, after downing my coffee, ready to tackle the day head-on. Luca was bent over, attempting to tie his skates.
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me and kissing again,” he deadpanned.
“Hey! That was one dream, one time. Actually, it was more of a nightmare. I told you it freaked me the fuck out.” Jack’s laughter echoed around the rink, and I couldn’t help but smile.
They continued bickering for another minute while I skated in small circles. Photographers and videographers were positioned around the room, ready to shoot some clips of our “first” meeting.
Luca was still lacing his skates. Deciding to take the issue into my own hands, I glided to the edge of the rink.
“Please let me help so we can get going.” I stepped off the ice.
“I am doing it.” His tone was clipped.
“Please, I’ll be quick.”
“No.”
“Luca,” Jack reasoned from his seat, “it’s just laces. Stop being so uptight.”
If looks could kill, Jack would have been bleeding on the floor from the daggers Luca threw at him. Surprisingly, he then turned to look at me and said, “Thanks.”
Kneeling on the rubber floor, I pulled his leg forward and tied the laces.
