6. Sophie

6

SOPHIE

I’ve flown in private planes before, but never in a private helicopter. Traveling in the predawn hours is breathtaking. The pinks and purples rising from the east are beautiful. It reminds me of the northern lights I’ve seen from my home in Scotland. Stunning. The rosy fingers of dawn stretching across the sky seem to beckon us to a new beginning. Hopefully it’s a portent of good things to come for the show.

We land on the helipad on top of the studio building and take an elevator down to the hair and makeup room. Surprisingly, Trevor is not a morning person. He’s not grumpy, just quiet. It’s weird because he’s usually such a large presence in any room, but it’s nice having his silent strength next to me.

“You okay?” I ask from the makeup chair next to his. We’re waiting our turn, and the hustle and bustle around us almost creates a little island of privacy.

He takes a sip of coffee and nods. “Yeah, just waking up. Don’t worry, I’ll be obnoxious in an hour or so once the caffeine hits.” The way he gives me a half grin when he says that is adorable. It’s just a quirk of the lips, one side slightly higher than the other, but it makes butterflies take flight in my belly.

I bump him with my shoulder. “You’re not obnoxious, you’re just…animated.”

The throaty chuckle that washes over me like a warm shower doesn’t help the butterflies settle down. It’s crazy. I only spent one night in his arms, and I felt so lonely this morning getting up before dawn to make our flight and not having him there beside me. Not good, Sophie girl, not good.

“I won’t let you forget you said that.” He bumps my shoulder gently with his own.

“Good morning! Let’s get you gorgeous!” A guy around our age comes up to us. His long black hair is half up in a ponytail, and the rest falls in a multicolored riot of teal, pink, and purple to his shoulders. “I’m Xavier. He/him.” He holds out his hand for us to shake.

Trevor eyes him. Oh, please don’t let him be homophobic because I will refuse to work with him, and I need this job. And our little fling we’ve got going on will be a no-go.

“Your hair is so cool,” Trevor says with a touch of awe in his voice. My mouth drops. If someone asked me what I would expect this giant, manly hockey player to say, it would not be complimenting another man on his hair.

“Thanks, man!” Xavier says. “Check this out.”

He removes the black hair tie creating the half pony, and his black hair falls in a solid curtain, hiding the multicolored pink, teal, and purple strands.

“Business mode,” Xavier says. Trevor nods. “And party mode.” Xavier quickly puts the top layer of his hair back up in the bun and flips the colorful strands over his shoulder.

Trevor looks at me. “Your hair would look pretty with that type of coloring. I don’t have the patience to grow my hair out, and it’s too wavy.”

I tilt my head, trying to picture him with long hair. I can’t do it. His brown hair is rich with copper tones. I think letting a drop of dye touch it would be a sin. Xavier agrees with me. Standing behind Trevor, he puts his hands on his shoulders and looks at him sternly in the mirror.

“Never, ever, dye your hair.” He runs his fingers through it. “Women pay so much money trying to get hair with this depth of color and highlights. A picture of you could be in the hair books to use as an example of what they want. It’s gorgeous.”

A flush creeps up Trevor’s cheeks. It’s from being complimented, not from having a man running his fingers through his hair. I know a lot of men wouldn’t be comfortable being touched like that. They aren’t homophobic. They’re just not used to touching other men outside of sports or roughhousing. I enjoy seeing this side of him.

“Thanks, that’s kind of you. Oh, I’m Trevor Carter. He/him as well. And this is Sophie Mackenzie.” He pats my arm.

I shake Xavier’s hand. “Good morning. She/her.” Every word I say somehow comes out awkward. Trevor isn’t awkward at all. Impressive. It’s lame that the bar to impress me is set so low. I should have higher standards for him.

“You’re the pro, right?” Xavier asks.

I nod.

“And you play hockey, Trevor?”

“Yeah, for the Atlantic City Devil Birds. I play center.”

Xavier laughs. “Oh, I know. My husband and I are huge hockey fans. We have Rangers season tickets and have been enjoying the PHL. You’re a joy to watch play, killer wrist shot. Could I get your autograph for him?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.” He takes the pen and paper Xavier hands him. “What’s their name?”

“Vincent.”

Trevor writes something I can’t see and hands the paper back to Xavier. He reads it before he tucks the slip of paper into his gear bag and gives a bark of laughter.

“What did you write?” I ask.

All I get in response is a sexy wink.

* * *

“Good morning, friends! Who’s ready to get their shifter shimmy on?” Greta Knowles, the way-too-perky-this-early-in-the-morning show host, asks, smiling brightly at the camera.

Her morning show co-host Brandon Smiley—I don’t know if I hope that’s his real name or that he changed it for career reasons—wiggles his shoulders and beams. It’s a cliché, but the set lights gleam off his blindingly white smile. I can almost hear a ping sound effect.

“I am, Greta!” Brandon says. “I can’t wait to meet the contestants and pros for this season’s Celebrity Dance Dare . It’s a special shifter edition, so they’ll be bringing their animal magnetism”—he does a lame-ass growl and swiping paw motion with his hand that tempts me to shift into my wolf and show him how to do it correctly—“to the dance floor along with their moves.”

Trevor gives me the slightest of nudges with his elbow, and I do my best to look around casually so I can see the twitch of his lips betraying his amusement. The other pros and contestants roll their eyes or fight twitchy lips. Apparently everyone thinks Mr. Smiley’s a prat.

We’re lined up offstage, ready to be introduced one pair at a time as our names are

announced. There are eight teams in total, and we’re fourth in line. Trevor is by far the most handsome of the men here.

Greta gives me the smile women everywhere recognize. The one we give when we’re forced to work with a man less qualified than we are who probably makes twice our pay and we’re still expected to be perky.

She gives a tinkling laugh that’s more like shattering glass falling to the pavement than tinkling bells. “Yes, Brandon. Let’s see who’s competing for the Platinum Paw trophy. Our first pair is none other than charismatic actor Caleb Harkor and his pro partner, the sizzling salsa sensation Isabella Hernandez!”

The small studio audience erupts in applause as Caleb and Isabella make their entrance, showcasing their dance chemistry with a quick spin and a dazzling pose.

Brandon stares at the teleprompter, waiting for the studio intern to signal the audience to stop clapping. “Next up, we have the enchanting actress Olivia Mayes, paired with the king of smooth moves, Derek Duffy!”

Olivia and Derek glide onto the stage, radiating elegance and grace as they strike a pose. The excited crowd cheers.

The next team is announced, then it’s our turn. Trevor squeezes our clasped hands. I don’t know if it’s to reassure me or himself. I squeeze his hand in return.

Brandon’s grin is smarmy as he prepares to introduce us. “And now, from the boards to the ballroom, we bring you professional hockey player Trevor Carter and ballroom princess Sophie Mackenzie!”

We enter the stage doing side-by-side cha-cha steps that transition smoothly into me spinning into Trevor’s arms and ending with a dramatic dip. I think the audience is clapping loudly, but it could be my blood pounding in my ears. Why did they have to introduce me like that?

“You okay?” Trevor murmurs as I go upright and smile brightly for the cameras. We aren’t wearing microphones, but I know better than to assume there’s any privacy in a studio.

“Mm-hmm.”

We take our seats as the rest of the cast is introduced. I know some of the professional dancers from dancing with them on the UK and Irish versions of the show. Others I’ve competed against growing up. But I don’t know the celebrities as well. They’re mostly from American pop culture—some reality television types, former child stars, social media influencers, or aging film stars. Trevor is the only athlete.

When we’ve all been announced, we sit in a horseshoe shape with Greta and Brandon at the top. The three judges sit in front of our leg of the horseshoe, and there are two empty seats in front of the other leg. I assume that’s for the Celebrity Dance Dare hosts. I’ve no idea who they’ll be. The producers have kept their identities under wraps.

Greta flashes a warm smile and sweeps us with her gaze. “Raise your hand if you’re a teensy bit nervous to be dancing on national TV!” Chuckles come from the cast and most of us raise our hands. So do a couple of the judges.

Carlo Estevez, the sassy Spanish judge wearing his signature mesh shirt and leather pants, puts his hand down. “You know it’s bad when the pros are raising their hands too!”

Everyone laughs with him.

“We’ve been keeping a secret from everyone this season. Who’s ready to meet our hosts?”

Applause sweeps through the audience and cast. There have been rumors of movie stars, pop princesses, and supermodels, but nothing definitive. The hosts really set the tone for the show, how they interact with each other and with the celebrities and pros. It’s a delicate balance between a host who thinks they’re the star and one working to present the contestants to their best advantage.

“Our first host has been where many of you are, competing for the Diamond Dance Shoe. While she didn’t win her season, she won our hearts. Welcome, DeeDee Fowler!” Brandon stands, clapping as a gorgeous Black woman joins us. I covet her curve-hugging red wrap dress. She’s a former model turned talk show host and I can tell she’s going to be warm with the audience. DeeDee extricates herself from the hug Brandon holds too long. I hope the second host can keep up with her.

Greta gives DeeDee a much more appropriate hug and turns back to the camera. “Our second host is also familiar with the ballroom, but from the other side of the pond. While he’ll be a new face to most of us, one of you knows him very well.”

A wave of icy dread washes over me, causing me to shiver even though the studio lights are sweltering hot.

“Please welcome two-time pro dance champion of the British version of Celebrity Dance Dare and twin brother of our pro, Sophie, Ian Mackenzie!”

My training kicks in. I keep my smile firmly in place and clap with everyone else as Ian walks out. It’s Greta’s turn to give an inappropriately long hug. Ian is gorgeous. He’s tall and lean with golden blond hair, blue eyes, and a brilliant smile. We shared a womb, and he got all the charm that was floating around while I got all the sass. At least, that’s what our mother’s told us since we were children.

He smiles and waves before walking over to me and giving me a hug. We’re sitting in director’s chairs, so he doesn’t have to bend far to reach me and saves me from having to scramble down. He’s in a bright blue suit that should look ridiculous, but on him, it looks elegant and classy. I feel dowdy in my flirty pink dress compared to my twin’s tall elegance. I thought I looked cute next to Trevor in his light-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his muscular forearms and his tailored black slacks that hug his bum and thick thighs. It’s not fair to be surrounded by gorgeous men all the time.

“Surprise!” he says as he pulls back. His smile falters. I’m sure I’m the only one who notices, and I feel guilty. I’m happy to see him and excited he’s getting this great opportunity to do something beyond dancing. Thank goodness it’s just hosting and not as a judge. No way could I escape claims of nepotism if he was handing out the scores. No matter how well we performed, the legitimacy of our scores would be questioned. It’s just…I wish his opportunity didn’t have to come at the expense of mine. I’m once again the second-best Mackenzie. Now, more than ever, I’ll have to prove I’m good enough.

“What a surprise!” I cry. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

Trevor stands and shakes Ian’s hand. Ian claps him on the shoulder. “You hit the jackpot, Trevor. You couldn’t ask for a better partner than my baby sister.”

Rolling my eyes as Ian takes his seat next to DeeDee, I clarify. “I’m two minutes younger than Ian.”

Greta turns her attention to DeeDee and Ian. “We are so excited to have you two hosting.”

“So excited,” Brandon chimes in. “What makes you think you’re the winning combo?”

DeeDee gives a huge smile. “Our personalities! We know what it’s like to compete. To win and to lose. Ian is a sweetheart.”

“And gorgeous!” Mary Ann Balboa, another of the judges, calls out.

“And talented,” the third judge, Glen Woodman—the elder statesman of the ballroom and a dear friend of our mother’s—says. “I’ve had the pleasure of watching Ian and Sophie dance through the years, as I have so many of the professional dancers, and it’s more than being beautiful or handsome. More than the gorgeous costumes. There are years of hard work and sacrifice on display in the ballroom.”

Ian is nodding. “Thank you, Glen. This season will be a lot of fun. It’s all about letting the stars shine brightly.” He grins sheepishly, reminding me of the boy I knew. “Excuse the cliché.”

We all chuckle.

“Yes!” DeeDee gives Ian a high five.

“Carlo,” Greta crosses her legs, “what are the judges hoping to see this season?”

That’s all it takes for Carlo to jump out of his seat and start gesturing madly.

“We want to see fabulous dancing, passion.” His gaze is on me and Trevor as if he expects that passion from us, but maybe I’m imagining that. “Most of all, we want to see everyone having fun. Yes, technical perfection is a goal, but life is short. Enjoy every moment of it.”

“Perfectly said, Carlo,” Brandon gushes with what I think he thinks is a sincere expression. This guy is so smarmy. I want to take a shower after being in his presence. As much as Ian being a host is a shock, I’m glad it’s not someone like Brandon. I know my brother will be kind and respectful. Trevor nudges my foot with his. I can hear the whoosh of breath with a hint of an “ugh” in it. It’s not only microphones we have to worry about catching what we say, we’re in a room full of shifters who can hear and see everything. We’ll practically have to read each other’s minds if we want to communicate without everyone knowing our business.

Our segment is over, and everyone’s backstage in the green room chatting and getting to know each other. I’m off to the side, like I usually am with crowds. It’s not that I’m shy, it’s just mentally overwhelming being around so many people with elevated emotions. People tease Declan about reading their minds. He can’t, but like me, he’s an empath. We’re observant and deeply feel the surrounding vibrations. Unlike Declan, I have to keep a shield around me to survive. My feelings are too tender. It makes me seem like an unfeeling bitch, and that hurts. I don’t know how to balance protecting myself and being open.

Ian brings me a bottle of water that I accept gratefully.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about the hosting gig. Ma didn’t know either. Are you okay with it?” He’s speaking quietly and in a deep brogue that won’t be easily understood by the casual listener.

“I’m happy for you. You know that. It will be nice to see each other every week.”

He hears everything I didn’t say. “We’ll talk about it later?”

“Aye.”

“So, Declan and Miranda?”

I sigh. “Aye.”

“Did we see that coming?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” I admit. “Did you?”

He shrugs and takes a sip of his orange juice. “He’s had a crush on her forever, but I didn’t know she felt the same way.”

Trevor joins us and hands me a chocolate donut. This is one of the things I like about America—chocolate donuts with brightly colored nonpareils on them. He calls them jimmies. I call them yummy and fun.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Trevor says.

Ian’s brow furrows like he doesn’t quite believe Trevor.

But Trevor’s unmovable in his certainty. “I’ve known Randi for six years. She’s one of my best friends. He’s my teammate. They live with me. He’s exactly the type of man I’d want for her.”

“Really?” Ian asks.

“We have a ton to catch up on, Ian,” I say. “But it looks like it’s time to get measured, so it’ll have to be another time.”

Costume fitters enter the green room and zero in on me and Trevor. I quickly finish eating my donut before they join us.

I stretch up to give Ian a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll catch up soon. Love you.”

His strong arm curves around me in a quick hug while his other reaches out to shake Trevor’s. “Love you too, Soph. Good luck, Trevor, with the dancing but also with this spitfire.”

“Thanks, Ian. It’s been great meeting you. Luck is already on my side, getting Sophie as my partner. I wouldn’t want to do this without her.”

I’m touched. And scared. I can’t let these feelings slip past my shield. While I’m willing to dance my heart out, I refuse to put it on a platter to be broken.