Page 3 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

2

SQUINTING AT THE bright lights, Selena Marcil slipped on her sunglasses, even though she was still inside the airport terminal. Sunlight wasn’t blinding her—it was the flashes of those horrible cameras. Her dance partner, Dima Volkov, strode in front of her, leaving her at the mercy of the photographers.

A man thrust his microphone in her face. “Selena, are you coming back to Dancing under the Stars next season?”

Her seven-year contract didn’t give her much choice. “If they want me back, I’ll be there.” That was all she could say. Selena was under strict orders not to reveal any details of the new season.

A female reporter dressed in a fitted suit pushed her way to the front of the mob. “Selena, is there any truth to the rumor that Dima had an affair with Poppy Mabel?”

Selena winced. Dima’s personal life off the dance floor was none of her business, but she had a desire to protect him from the rumors. “No. But if the rumors were true, there would be no scandal. Both Dima and Poppy are single.” Her eyes flicked to Dima. He took a break posing for pictures with his fans and pulled her to his side.

“Poppy and me are the friends,” he said. “The only woman in my life that I’m committed with is Selena.” His accent always worsened when he was amped up.

Selena narrowed her eyes at him, but he couldn’t see through her sunglasses. The tabloids had photos of Dima and Poppy frolicking at a pool in Vegas and of him rubbing suntan lotion all over her body. He swore that he and Poppy, like all his other celebrity partners, were just friends. Selena wanted to believe him and knew the media took pictures out of context, but she still had her doubts if he was being honest with her. It didn’t matter to her who Dima dated; she just didn’t want his personal life overshadowing their partnership, especially with Blackpool only a few months away.

A young girl ran up to them, waving a promotional photo. “Selima! I just love you guys. I’m a competitive dancer also. You’re so amazing together!”

Selima—the tabloids’ combined nickname for them made Selena smile. Selena’s and Dima’s identities were bound together, even though they hadn’t been romantically involved in years. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Amy.”

Selena signed the photo. “Keep practicing those rumba walks, Amy. I hope to see you compete someday.”

The girl squealed. “I just know you are going to win Blackpool this year. I’ll be there!” Dima also signed her photo and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

They signed a few autographs, posed for more pictures, and answered questions for their fans.

After the crowd thinned out, she and Dima made their way to baggage claim.

“Welcome to San Diego, America’s Finest City,” said a man holding a big sign bearing Selena’s and Dima's names. Like they needed any more attention. He led them to the waiting limousine and lifted their bags into the trunk. When she’d first met Dima, he would never let another man carry his luggage. Now he barely lifted a finger to do anything.

Selena took a deep breath as the limo swiftly moved away from the airport. Not only was she here to defend her United States Professional Latin-American Title, but she’d also be followed by cameramen as they collected filler images for the new season of the show. If it were up to Dima, they would quit competing and capitalize on their celebrity status. But Selena insisted that they train and compete. This was their year to win Blackpool and Selena wasn’t about to let a television show get in the way of achieving her lifetime dream.

Dima checked his iPhone. Years ago, she’d idolized him. She was the young amateur, and he'd been the sexy dance God. Dima was a ballroom legend. With his former partner Carrie, they’d finaled at Blackpool twice. Selena never believed she’d be lucky enough to dance with him. Dima was definitely gorgeous—tall, black wavy hair, rich brown eyes. His deep Ukrainian accent used to drive her wild, the way his beautiful lips would say the word pleasure, ple-e-shore. But these days, sometimes all she saw was a Hollywood player with a freshly waxed chest.

Grateful to take a break from the dreary Los Angeles smog, Selena became mesmerized by the clear ocean. Every time she visited San Diego, she was amazed at how much good clean air could do for the soul.

“Selenichka, listen.” Dima broke into Selena’s reverie to read out loud from his iPhone. “‘Dancing under the Stars gains a new mystery dancer?’” Dima glared at Selena 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 professional dancers come from the troupe, the newest member of the cast has been recruited from a different field.’”

“And?”

“Who it is?” Dima asked, raising his iPhone. “No one has told to me nothing. No one on circuit has mentioned that they were asked to be on show.”

Selena sighed. Today was not the day for speculating on rumors. They had too much to concentrate on to get worked up about who the new professional on the show would 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 have nothing better to do than make this stuff up. If you’re so worried, ask Benny.”

“You’re right. I’ll ask to him.” He frantically texted a message.

They were now on Harbor Drive. Cherry blossoms scented the air. As they approached the Coronado Bridge, a humongous Navy carrier slid underneath it. Selena couldn’t help but wonder if her ex-fiancé and dance partner, Bret Lord, was somewhere on that ship. After he became a Marine, they had lost touch, though a part of her heart always ached for him.

The limo pulled in front of the Sheraton San Diego. The bellman strode over to assist the driver with their luggage. Selena didn’t have time to wait for Dima to check them 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.” She kissed him on the cheek, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the hotel.

She wanted to turn and chase after the limo, hitch a ride to the beach. No more fresh air and cherry blossoms. From this moment until the competition, it would be all business. Competition eve was always a headache, with all the tanning, makeup, hair, fasting.

Selena closed her eyes and smiled. The calming scent of lavender filled the reception area. The hotel spa was her standard primp spot for competitions. The staff was thorough and professional. Even better, they were nice. Selena could stand a good dose of nice before she walked into that den of dancing wolves. A competition dance floor was no place for the weak or the unprepared. “Selena Marcil, here for my ten-fifteen appointment.”

“Oh yes, Ms. Marcil. We’re so thrilled to have you here.” The receptionist consulted her computer screen. “You’re scheduled for a facial, a Brazilian bikini wax, a brow wax, a Mandarin Orange Body Polish followed by a custom sparkle spray tan, and then you’ll receive a mani and pedi while Alberto touches up your roots and tightens up your hair extensions.” She abandoned the screen and leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You know, Ms. Marcil, I just love Dancing under the Stars—really, it’s my favorite show. You ballroom dancers must lead such glamorous lives.”

Selena pressed her lips into a forced smile. “Yes. We’re so blessed.” She sat on the sofa and thought about her “glamorous” life. She lived in the gym and the studio, sometimes dancing up to eight hours a day. Every weekend was spent in a hotel in some random state competing. Her diet consisted of egg whites, vegetables, soup, and salad. Selena couldn’t even eat fruit. Too much sugar. And she hadn’t had a weekend off in two years. The paparazzi stalked her. No man had the guts to date her, knowing that his picture would be a TMZ headline if they were ever caught together. Selena couldn’t even take her trash cans out of her house in her sweats for fear that she’d get photographed. She hated all the nonsense she had to endure to dance. Selena was exhausted—mentally and physically. Often she wondered if she had chosen the right path many years ago. Especially when she longed to hold her own baby in her arms.