Page 95 of Ice Dance

Lawns stretched either side of us, lit by occasional lights. Then the house came out of the gloom, like a castle built with old money.

Navarro stilled, staring at it. “Wow. It looks very . . .”

“English.”

“I was gonna say haunted.”

“Probably,” I chuckled.

The car rolled to a stop and the doorman moved toward us, umbrella up. I glanced over at Navarro and found him checking his buttons and cuffs, then his hair. I was about to step out in public, with a man at my side. But it was for work. We’d be alright. We were expected to be together here.

The door opened, and I stepped out, Navarro behind me. A flash to our right. Professional photographer, not someone with a camera phone. My heart raced too fast. I walked, and Navarro matched my stride. As we approached the doors, the light from inside turned golden. I looked over at him. He almost glowed as he stepped through, into the entrance hall. His hair was its typical, artful mess. Color warmed his cheeks, darkening his freckles, and a smile pulled at his lips—lips I’d kissed before leaving the apartment.

The murmur of voices washed over us. One of the staff members took our coats without asking, leaving Navarro briefly confused, as though he’d just been mugged by someone in a white suit. I almost took his hand, so he didn’t look so lost, but just stepped a little closer to him instead.

“Careful,” he said under his breath. “People might think you like me.”

“I suspect some think far worse than that.” I smiled, hoping to put his mind at ease, but his own smile twitched, struggling to stay on his face.

Dame Ashborne greeted us at the inner ballroom door. A distinct woman in her sixties, shorter than I remembered from when my father had introduced us years ago. Without thinking, I bowed at the hips, because that was what I’d always done beside my father. Former Olympic figure-skating champion, then commentator for many years, Dame Ashborne was a sport ambassador and always worth stopping to speak with.

“Ah, young Mr. Hasegawa,” she greeted, her gaze shrewd but her smile genuine. “I’ve heard so much about you recently. Most of it contradictory, which is usually a sign that whatever you’re doing is worth watching.”

We talked some, trading pleasantries. She showed a polite interest in Navarro, then excused herself.

“Should I know who that was?” Navarro asked, while scooping up two flutes of champagne from a passing server.

“Yes.”

“Great.” He gulped the expensive wine then saw me watching and smiled.

I sipped my champagne. “Dame Ashborne can make a career with a few words in the right ears.”

“Great,” he said again but sharper, probably replaying the conversation in his head.

“You did alright,” I told him.

We spent the next twenty minutes searching for our nametags on the relevant tables while making small talk. Navarro was loose and chatty, and exceedingly approachable, which took some of the pressure off me to say the right things. When he got into a flow, he could talk enough for the both of us, which was a relief.

Then, minutes before we were due to take our seats, he was ambushed from behind by the friend from Montreal. “Camden!”

They collided, almost falling. Navarro’s entire face lit up. “Casey, holy shit. Small world!” They hugged and back slapped, drawing several gazes from the crowd in our direction.

Casey didn’t want to make eye contact with me, but had to. I offered my hand. He shook it quickly. “Hasegawa,” he said.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Nah, probably not.” He grinned at Navarro. “You didn’t tell him about me?”

Navarro laughed. “He knows who you are, Case.”

A young woman approached in a flowing blue gown. I’d seen her on Navarro’s Instagram. Another member of the Canadian skate team. That’s probably why they’d been invited.

We took our seats, with the Canadian team at the table behind ours, which meant Casey regularly leaned over to talk to Navarro.

The guest of honor gave a speech about the mental health of young athletes and helping the disadvantaged. We ate, drank wine, chatted with the athletes at our table.

Casey’s constant interruptions were irksome, but Navarro was pleased to see him. It would do him good. He’d been struggling lately, and although our dances had taken shape, Navarro had been distant during training during the last few weeks.