years.
I took the photo. “All that matters is the dancing, dear. What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
I signed the photo. “Keep practicing those rumba walks, Amy. I hope to see you compete someday.”
The girl squealed. “I just know you’re going to win Blackpool this year. I’ll be there!” Dima also signed her photo and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
We signed a few autographs, posed for more pictures, and answered questions for our fans.
After the crowd thinned out, we made our way to baggage claim.
“Welcome to San Diego, America’s finest city,” said a man holding a big sign bearing our names. Like we needed any more attention. He led us to a waiting limousine and lifted our bags into the trunk.
When I’d first met Dima, he would never let another man carry his luggage. Now he barely lifted a finger to do anything.
I took a deep breath as the limo swiftly moved away from the airport. We were there to defend our United States Professional Latin-American Title, and we’d also be followed by cameramen as they collected filler images for the new season of the show. If it were up to Dima, we would quit competing and capitalize on our celebrity status. But I wasn’t about to let a television show get in the way of achieving my lifetime dream.
Not when I had given up everything for it.
Dima checked his phone, ignoring me now that the cameras were gone. Like always. Years ago, I’d idolized him. I was the young amateur, and he’d been the sexy dance god. Dima was a ballroom legend. He’d finaled at Blackpool with his former partner, Carrie. Twice. I never believed I’d be lucky enough to dance with him, especially since I had been such an awkward teen.
Until he transformed me.
Dima was also gorgeous—tall, black wavy hair, vibrant brown eyes. His deep Ukrainian accent used to drive me wild, the way his beautiful lips would say the word pleasure—ple-e-shore. But these days, all I saw was a Hollywood player with a freshly waxed chest.
Grateful to take a break from the dreary Los Angeles smog, I became mesmerized by the clear ocean. The aqua waves rippled in the distance as surfers dotted the coastline. I had never surfed. Dima forbade it. Why would I be so stupid to risk breaking my ankle to ride a break?
At least I could inhale the clean air.
“Selenichka, listen.” Dima broke into my reverie to read out loud from his phone.
“‘Dancing Under the Stars gains a new mystery dancer?’” Dima cocked his eyebrow at me, then focused back on his phone and read. “‘Who’s the newest male professional dancer to lace up his dancing shoes? Rumors have the cast in a frenzy wondering who will be the new dancer. Though normally the new professionals come from the troupe of backup dancers, the newest member of the cast has been recruited from a different field.’”
I rolled my eyes. “And?”
“And? Who it is?” Dima raised his phone. “No one has told to me nothing. No one on circuit has mentioned that they were asked to be on show.”
I sighed. Today was not the day for speculating on rumors. We had too much to concentrate on to get worked up about who the new professional on the show might be.
“What do I think? I think it’s probably someone we all know, maybe from another country. Or from the UK version? And gossip columnists also have nothing better to do than make stuff up. If you’re so worried, ask Benny.”
“You’re right. I’ll ask to him.” He frantically texted a message.
The limo rolled onto Harbor Drive. Cherry blossoms scented the air. As we approached the Coronado Bridge, a humongous Navy carrier slid underneath.
My breath hitched.
Was Bret on that ship?
I shook my head. It didn’t matter. We hadn’t spoken in years and likely would never speak again.
The limo pulled in front of the Sheraton San Diego. The bellman strode over to assist the driver with our luggage. I didn’t have time to wait for Dima to check us in. “I have to hurry to the spa, and then Benny asked me to run through some quick choreography for the show. I’ll text you later.” I kissed him on the cheek, grabbed my shoe bag, jumped out of the car, and rushed to the hotel spa.
But I wanted to turn and chase after the limo and hitch a ride to the beach. No more fresh air and cherry blossoms for me. From this moment until the competition, it would be