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mrsfancyferrari · 1 day ago

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Dancing on Ice

Summary: FC43 + “I can’t ice skate amor, I’ll break all my bones.”

Song: Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

Taglist: @eapunetaestoestadificil

Author’s note: I've never written about ice skating before so bear in mind! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

You step onto the glistening surface of the ice, feeling the cool air brush against your cheeks like a gentle whisper. The skating rink is vacant, save for the faint music echoing from the speakers overhead

This is your sanctuary, the place where you feel most alive, where your heart dances in tandem with your movements. You take a deep breath and inhale the smell of fresh ice, the scent of excitement and endless possibilities.

But today isn’t just about you. Today, you want Franco to experience this world—to share a piece of your heart tucked away in every swirl of your skates.

You glance toward the entrance, and there he is: Franco Colapinto, your boyfriend, standing at the threshold, his tall, athletic frame now almost comically awkward as he awkwardly adjusts the ice skates laced around his ankles.

“Why do I feel like a baby giraffe?” he calls out, chuckling nervously.

You can’t help but laugh too, your heart swelling with affection. “You’ll be fine, amor! Just take it one step at a time.”

Franco rolls his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips. “One step at a time? It feels more like one slip at a time,” he says as he takes his first tentative steps onto the ice.

You can see the concentration etched on his face as he clutches at the air to find balance.

“I can’t do this amor, I’ll break all my bones.” he muttered, trying to balance on his wobbly feet.

“You won’t break all your bones, I promise,” you tease, gliding toward him effortlessly.

“Easy for you to say! You have a lifetime of practice,” he replies, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I can’t even stand up without feeling like I’m about to topple over!”

“C’mon, let’s do it together,” You extend your hand, willing him to take it. You know his tendency to overthink things, to become overly self-critical, and you want to ease that anxiety, even just a little.

Without a moment of hesitation, he takes your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with a grip that feels warm and reassuring.

The initial moments are filled with a few shaky steps and laughter. Every time Franco wobbles, you can’t help but giggle, your laughter ringing out across the rink.

“See cariño? It’s not so bad!” you say, your voice light with encouragement.

“I can’t tell if I’m moving forward or just inching toward certain doom,” he smiles, his eyes sparkling with a blend of fear and exhilaration.

“You’re doing great! Now, try to relax your knees. Bend them like this.” You demonstrate, your body gliding effortlessly across the ice as if it were your second skin.

He followed your movements with his gaze, a mix of admiration and disbelief etched on his face. You had seen that look before, knew how he loved watching you skate—how it made him forget the world for a moment.

“Are you going to try that jump again?” Franco called out, his voice carrying across the chilly afternoon air. You glanced back at him, a playful smile curling your lips.

“Maybe,” you replied, pushing off the ice, your blades cutting through with a crisp sound. “But only if you promise to catch me if I fall!”

He laughed, a rich sound that warmed the chill around you. “I’ll try to catch you.”

You concentrated, feeling the cool wind against your face as you executed the jump. Time seemed to freeze; with a perfect landing, your heart soared. Cheering, you glided back to him.

“How did I do?” you beamed.

“Like a swan, hermosa!” Franco exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, you get better every time.”

His praise made your cheeks flush, and you brushed your hair off your forehead, trying to play it cool. “It’s just practice. You should give it a go sometime.”

“Me? No way!” he chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I’d rather watch you shine.”

You stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiate from him. “You’re not scared, are you? C’mon, I could teach you.”

“Well, I’ll try to look as graceful as you,” he said, his voice light but filled with feigned optimism. “But I’ll probably just end up face-first on the rink.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be right here to catch you,” you reassured him, enthusiasm coursing through your veins as you took his gloved hand in yours.

You felt the warmth radiating from him, a welcome contrast to the cold around you. Slowly, you pulled him along, watching as he took shaky steps beneath the weight of his own apprehension.

With each stride, the sound of his skates zipping across the ice harmonized beautifully with the gentle melody that enveloped you.

Observing the flicker of determination ignite in his eyes was a joy unlike any other; for a fleeting moment, you could see him beginning to ease into the rhythm.

“You can do this, amor! Just trust yourself!” Your voice was filled with a bubbling laughter that echoed in the spaces between you.

As the fear melted away, joy illuminated his features, and what had once felt like an intimidating vastness transformed into your shared world of warmth.

“Okay, okay, I’m feeling a little bit better!” Franco exclaimed, his smile infectious, making his cheeks flush against the biting cold. “But I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Ice skating! Who even likes ice skating?”

“I do!” you replied, a laugh escaping as you effortlessly glided toward him again, your fingers intertwining with his. “Ice skating is like flying, Franco. It’s freedom. It’s beautiful!”

“Flying, you say?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “I’m more like a flying squirrel, but sure!”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection and amusement. “Alright, then let’s embrace your inner flying squirrel!”

You pulled him forward, teaching him to lean into the turns, guiding him cautiously along as he found his footing.

The ice was an echoing realm of freedom for you, but it was a whole new world for him. You could sense his insecurity, yet with every few strides, he grew bolder, the apprehension beginning to unfurl.

As you twirled in front of him, he laughed at your playful antics.

"Are you sure you didn’t slip anything into my coffee this morning?" he teased, finally smiling back at you.

“Only a healthy dose of confidence,” you responded mischievously, spinning in place again before extending your arms wide. “Now, try to match my flow.”

“Easier said than done!” he said as he mirrored your movements, wobbly yet resilient. You laughed, trying to pull him closer so he could feel your energy and steadiness.

With each revolution, something clicked within him. Franco’s eyes sparkled with determination now, even as his balance faltered once or twice, his body weaving like a willow in the wind.

You steadied him with a quick squeeze of his hands, never letting go entirely.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it!” he exclaimed, his excitement infectious. “Wait, I actually feel good! Like, really good!”

“See? You’re a natural.” You beamed proudly, your heart racing with joy for him. “Just imagine how smooth you’ll be on race day if you just keep trusting yourself.”

He shot you a playful glare. “Are you trying to turn me into an ice-skating prodigy? Because I’m more into racing, you know?”

“Well, you can be both! Just think about it—Franco, the world’s first professional ice skater and racer!” You had to stifle a laugh as he pretended to ponder that monumental decision.

“Sounds like a lot of work. How about I just stick with being your boyfriend?” he said, his hazel eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re more than my boyfriend; you’re my partner on and off the ice,” you said genuinely, squeezing his hands tighter for emphasis. “And I’m not letting you go, so you better get used to it.”

As he looked at you, something shifted in the air—a moment suspended beyond ice and skates, creating its own magic. “Thank you,” he replied softly, sincerity shining through his tone. “For believing in me.”

The words settled warmly between you, and as your feet guided you across the surface, you felt connected not just by your hands but by the joy of shared experiences. Franco found his rhythm, those early fears evaporating with each graceful stride.

“Can you feel it?” you prompted as you began spinning, your feet gliding effortlessly. “Can you feel the freedom?”

He spun in place, attempting to emulate you, albeit with less grace. “I’m starting to! But I might need a little more practice!” He laughed, but this time, it was lighter, more joyous.

You couldn’t help your laughter, a melody shared between you. “More practice will come. And hey, if you fall, I promise to catch you,” you teased, your heart swelling with affection.

As you circled each other, the world outside the rink faded, and all that mattered was the two of you. Every worried thought he’d held on to was gently replaced with laughter, joy, and the bright glow of confidence.

Suddenly, Franco lost his balance, his swift attempt to spin faltering, and he stumbled towards you. Without a second thought, you instinctively pulled him close to prevent a fall.

As his weight leans into you, you manage to steady him, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cold chill around you. His hazel eyes staring at you, a small smile dancing on his lips. His brown curls flutter against your cheek, and for a moment, the cold world around you melts away.

“I told you,” you chuckled, your eyes meeting his with warmth, “I wouldn’t let you break anything before your race.”

He smiled, his expression now a mix of gratitude and admiration. “I think I can manage with a little help from my favorite professional.”

Your heart soared at the endearment. “Always,” you promised, your laughter echoing against the ice.

As time passed, he not only found his balance but began to experiment with spins. “Okay, check this out!” he called, determination written all over his face.

His movements were clumsy but earnest. You stood back, watching, heart swelling with pride. “I’m going to try a spin!”

“Just remember to keep your weight in the right place!” you shouted back, excitement bubbling in your chest. Franco seemed to heed your words; he steadied himself, drew a breath, and began to spin.

Your cheers filled the air as he completed the maneuver without stumbling—an almost miraculous feat for a beginner.

“Did you see that?” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling with life. He spun around once more, a little more confident each time.

Encouraged by your enthusiasm, he shouted, “I’m going to try something bigger! A flying spin!”

“Be careful!” you hollered as he gained speed, the adrenaline coursing through both of you. He took a deep breath, launched himself into the air, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed he would soar.

But reality proved unforgiving; Franco missed his landing. Time slowed as you watched, eyes widening in horror, and instinct kicked in. You dashed toward him, desperate to help him regain his balance.

But the moment you reached him, the inevitable happened—you both fell.

The world crashed to silence as you landed on the ice with a thud. The cold bit at your skin, and it took a moment to register what had transpired. You glanced over your shoulder, concern flooding your senses.

Franco had fallen on his back, making a pillow of his body, still clutching you tightly to protect you from the impact.

“Mi amor, are you alright?” he grunted, his face contorted with discomfort.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, but your concern snapped you awake. “I’m okay, I think…” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shifted your weight to examine him more closely.

“Are you alright?” Your hands cupped his cheeks, brushing away the ice shavings that clung to his skin.

“Yeah, amor, just a small fall,” he muttered, attempting to smile through the obvious pain, fingers squeezing your hips reassuringly. Even in a moment of chaos, he remained protective.

Your heart ached at the sight of him. “You scared me!” you said, a mixture of love and exasperation in your voice as you detected the underlying wince in his expression. “You should’ve just fallen on the ice instead of trying to catch me!”

“And let my girlfriend get hurt? Not a chance,” he responded, his eyes softening.

Shivers danced down your spine as you felt the warmth of his hands against you, a fleeting moment of tenderness amidst the chaos.

With a grunt, he shifted and sat up, still holding you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy,” he replied, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“It’s okay, Franco. You did amazing for your first time! I promise, it takes practice,” you assured him, your heart swelling with affection and admiration. “The fact that you even tried a flying spin is impressive!”

“You really think so?” A hint of doubt lingered in his voice, and you could see the way his breath hitched in uncertainty.

“Absolutely! You were fearless,” you said, leaning closer for emphasis. “And I love that about you.”

His gaze fixed on yours, the warmth in his hazel eyes igniting a spark of connection between you. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, his tone sincere, laced with admiration. “I want to learn this just to impress you more.”

Your heart danced in rhythm with the flutter of his words.

“You are beyond ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head.

With a grunt, he shifted to sit up, still holding onto you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy.” He brushed loose strands of hair behind your ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

You examined his face, searching for any sign of injuries. “You better not be injured,” you said, half-joking and half-serious, concern lacing your words.

“I would do the same again to protect you,” he replied, his voice firm yet soft, almost as if he was convinced of his own capabilities.

“Franco, you can’t,” you said, your hands on his shoulders grounding him. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

Your palms pressed into him, feeling the steady heat of his body beneath the chill in the air, while his hands rubbed slow circles on your waist and leg, an attempt to soothe both of your worries.

“Te amo más que a la vida en sí,” he muttered softly, his forehead resting against yours. I love you more than life itself.

The warmth of his words sent shivers racing down your spine. It was a phrase you adored, an affirmation that always made your heart flutter.

"Yo también te amo, mi amor," you replied, the familiarity of the words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket against the chill of the rink. I love you too, my love.

His eyes sparkled at your reply, and in that moment, you felt that intoxicating rush, like you did when you first started dating two years ago. Your heartbeats were erratic, fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

“Would it be inappropriate to kiss you here?” he asked, his voice teasing yet laced with sincerity as he leaned just a fraction closer, eyes darting between yours and your lips.

“It might raise a few eyebrows,” you replied, feigning seriousness, though your heart was racing in anticipation.

“Like who? Your manager?” he teased, referring to the figure of authority bundled in her coat, observing from the bleachers with a look of bemusement.

Behind her, a few paramedics stood chatty but alert, ready to intervene if needed.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, you’re not wrong about that. But we’ve got all this space and ice, and if we get caught… I’ll never hear the end of it. Not to mention, you’ll probably never want to skate again!”

“Exactly! So, we should make this moment count. The ice is ours!” He leaned in a little more, his intent oh-so-clear now.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, fighting the laughter and the nerves.

“Franco,” you began, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, but his gaze was unwavering, inviting, and mischievous.

“Okay, how about this,” he proposed with a cheeky grin. “One kiss, right here, right now. If we get caught, we’ll blame it on the ice, right?”

You chuckled, letting the moment bubble between you two. “You are incorrigible.”

“But you love it,” he beamed, his confidence unwavering.

Before you could answer, he closed the gap. Your lips met softly, and time seemed to stretch, the sound of the world around you fading into a blissful hush.

It was a simple yet electric exchange, and you could feel a thrill racing through you—not just from the kiss, but from the sweetness of the moment.

Just as you pulled away, your manager, Laura, called out, voice slightly panicked, “Is everything alright over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Franco called back, his voice laced with laughter. The infectious nature of his grin transformed your previously solid focus into giggles as you beamed at each other, your hearts still racing.

You slowly got off Franco's lap, playfully nudging him. “Come on, we need to get back to practice before Laura comes over here.”

As you attempted to pull him up, he made a loud grunt in pain, his expression shifting instantly from playful to concerned. “Ow! Okay, maybe that was a bad idea.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, worry knitting your brows together as he rubbed his back where he'd fallen awkwardly.

He waved a hand dismissively, but you could see the wince in his eyes. “Just a little sore. You know how it is—ice can be a bit unforgiving.”

You knelt down beside him, your heart aching with concern. “Really, amor, that looked like a pretty nasty fall. You shouldn’t brush it off.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said, though the way he shifted his weight suggested it was bothering him more than he let on. “Besides, I’d take a hundred falls to save you.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not supposed to heroically throw yourself down for me.”

“Maybe I just wanted to showcase my dedication,” he replied with a teasing wink that was all Franco.

He had a tendency to turn serious moments into playful banter, and although part of you was grateful for the levity, another part found it hard to let go of the worry gnawing at you.

“Okay Mr. Dedicated, how about you let me help you up?” you offered with a hint of determination.

“Alright, but only if you promise to take me for hot chocolate afterward,” he retorted, his eyes sparkling with mischief once again.

“Deal!” You reached out your hands, and he grasped them, allowing you to pull him up. Yet, the moment he stood, he grimaced and swayed slightly, the bravado giving way to discomfort.

“Whoa! Steady there!” you laughed, though there was a hint of concern in your laughter.

“I’m good,” he insisted, his voice a mix of confidence and challenge, but you weren’t convinced.

“Franco, you—”

“Seriously, it’s just a bruise; I promise. Let’s keep skating!” He tried to brush off your apprehension, but you could see the effort was taking its toll.

The bright red of his cheeks was testament to both the cold and the strain, and his laughter felt a little too forced to be entirely genuine.

“Okay, but no stunts for a while, alright?” you retorted, crossing your arms playfully but firmly.

The worry you felt for him was overshadowed by your desire to keep the fun spirit alive.

“Only for you, amor,” he winked, and your heart fluttered.

It was moments like these that made you realise how much you adored him—the way he could light up a moment with a single glance, a cheeky joke, or unexpected charm.

Franco completed a few more cautious circles around the rink, but soon enough his bravado waned, and you noticed him retreating to the edge.

You didn’t let him out of your sight, instinctively knowing when he reached that tipping point.

“So how did it feel Franco?” your manager, Laura, asked as you two emerged from the rink shortly afterward, Franco’s eyes glazed with a mix of excitement and fatigue.

“It felt great other than falling,” he joked, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

You shot him a look, a careful mix of adoration and concern. “Can you check to see if he hurt his back?” you asked the paramedics who were on standby, a routine precaution for first-time skaters.

“Amor, I’m fine—” Franco started, but you interjected.

“I’ll know when you’re fine after you get checked,” you stated, lifting your chin defiantly. There was no arguing with you when you were in protective mode.

He sighed, clearly recognising that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Alright then,” he relented, following the paramedics to a quieter corner of the rink.

You hastily removed your skates, glancing back at him occasionally to ensure he was managing.

Inside, a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. Nothing mattered more than his wellbeing, but the thought of him being hurt, even just a little, made you feel restless as you trailed after him.

The paramedic studied his back and neck, then carefully lifted the fabric of his shirt to examine the bruising forming there. “You’ve got a herniated disc—it’s when a spinal disc bulges out of shape and irritates a nerve.”

The words landed heavily in the air between you.

For a moment, silence surrounded you as you tried to process the implications. Your heart squeezed in your chest, and you instinctively squeezed Franco’s hand, seeking comfort in the shared warmth.

“Will he recover before his race?” you asked the paramedic, your voice softer than you intended, each word wrapped in concern.

The medic looked up from his notes, his demeanor serious.

“It depends on the severity. Usually, with rest and physical therapy, he can manage a recovery in a few weeks, but we’ll need to monitor the healing closely.”

Franco smiled at you, trying to downplay your concern. “See? Just a couple of weeks, amor. I’ll bounce back!”

“You’d better,” you teased, though your heart wasn’t quite in it.

“Alright, I promise to be more careful,” he said, his sarcasm masking the determination in his voice.

As both of you left the rink together, a new resolve defined your relationship. It was about more than just skating; it was about navigating life’s challenges together.

You wanted Franco to be bold and adventurous, but only within reason.

Days turned into weeks, and you watched as Franco adhered to the medic’s advice, resting as directed while attending physical therapy sessions.

You were by his side each step of the way, from his first hesitant visits to the therapist to his high-paced workouts designed to regain both strength and flexibility.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered one evening, as you braided his hair, the two of you sprawled out on the couch watching old films, a stark contrast to the usual frantic energy of your lives.

“Yeah, but I probably should've done just one lap instead of forcing my way into stunts,” he said, laughing lightly. “Now, I’m stuck watching romcoms when all I want to do is skate beside you.”

It warmed your heart to see him smile, even if it was partly strained. “True, but sometimes you need to listen, especially if it’s for your health.”

“Fair enough. And you’re going to be the best skating partner,” he said, leaning closer as his gaze softened. “When I’m back on the ice, I bet I’ll surprise you.”

“You better,” you responded, unable to hide your grin. “Just don’t try to do a backflip until you’ve fully healed. Save the stunts for when you’re ready.”

“Deal,” he chuckled, and the moment swelled with an intimacy that settled into both of you.

As you journeyed through this chapter of life together, the skating rink remained a cornerstone of your relationship.

Franco’s determination fueled your own desires to push limits and explore new heights as partners, both on and off the ice. . . .

Franco Colapinto had just secured a commendable fifth place in today’s race, a result that was met with cheers from his team and fans alike. As he walked towards the media tent, his sweat-soaked face beamed with the remnants of adrenaline.

The rhythm of the crowd faded into a blur as he approached the series of microphones lined up before him, the heavily decorated backdrop emblazoned with the race sponsor's logo looming behind.

"Franco Colapinto! Great race today, fifth place! How are you feeling?" an interviewer asked, holding a microphone towards him, eager for a juicy soundbite.

Franco wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, still catching his breath from the intense competition. “Oh yeah, the car’s pretty solid. Oh, and the halo too, it didn’t move luckily unlike last time,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

His last race had been rocky, with his car’s protective halo unexpectedly shifting during a maneuver and causing a momentary panic.

The interviewer, somewhat surprised by the casual mention of such a potentially dangerous situation, continued, “That’s reassuring to hear! You drove impressively today. But you look like you have somewhere else you want to be at.”

There was a note of curiosity in the interviewer’s voice, wading into the waters of personal matters.

Franco paused, the cacophony of reporters and cameras fading momentarily. The corners of his mouth curled up into a genuine smile for the first time since his race.

“Mi Amor is ice skating today, and I want to surprise her before her event ends, so can we be quick?” His voice was light and playful, revealing a side rarely seen behind the steely demeanor of a racer.

The interviewer blinked, momentarily taken aback by his honesty. “Umm, sure! That’s quite sweet of you. How long have you two been together?”

“Just 2 years,” Franco replied, his expression softening as he spoke about his girlfriend. “But it feels like forever. She pushes me to be better, both on and off the track. I never want to miss her performances.”

“Sounds like she’s your biggest supporter!” the interviewer remarked, correctly sensing the warmth in his eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” he replied, a touch of pride in his voice. “She’s an amazing skater—blades of ice are her world. I’ve seen her practice, and honestly, it's another level of artistry.”

As he spoke, his excitement was palpable; racing was his profession, but you were his passion outside of those roaring engines.

The interviewer nodded thoughtfully, scribbling notes. “And I bet she’s just as thrilled that you’re here. How does she feel about your racing career?”

“She loves it. She's come to a few races already.” Franco chuckled. “Though sometimes I think she’s more excited about the cars than I am! But she gets nervous, too, which makes me feel protective. I always remind her—I'm not just racing for me, I’m racing for both of us. Every time I step on that grid, I’m thinking of her cheering in the stands.”

“That's really beautiful,” the interviewer commented, glancing at his notes. He could sense the depth of Franco's feelings. “So, what’s next for you after this race?”

“Next, I need to ask her what she thinks about my performance,” Franco said, grinning. “And if I can, I’ll take her out for something nice—dinner, maybe. I owe her that much after all the support she gives me. Winning is great, but knowing that she's proud means the world.”

Before the interviewer could ask his next question, Franco glanced at the clock on the wall of the media tent, concern flickering in his eyes. “You know what? I really need to go now. Thank you for understanding. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day.”

He quickly added, “And maybe next time I’ll bring her along. You can interview both of us!”

The interviewer couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the microphone aside. “Great idea! And best of luck to Y/N in her competition!”

With that, Franco waved as he dashed out of the tent, his mind already spinning with plans of getting to the rink before you finished.

Franco wandered through the bustling media tent, a vibrant bouquet of red and yellow flowers clutched tightly in his hand. The scent of fresh blooms mingled with the more sterile aroma of cameras and microphones, creating an unexpected comfort in the chaotic atmosphere.

His recent achievement—a remarkable fifth place in the race—had almost everyone buzzing, but it was the bright flowers that captured the curiosity of the media around him.

"Franco! Over here!" called a voice from the throng of reporters. A tall man with a press badge darted in front of him, preventing his escape. Franco smiled and adjusted his grip on the flowers, determined to enjoy the moment.

"How does it feel to finish fifth?" the reporter continued, his camera poised for the perfect shot.

Franco grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "It feels incredible! I worked so hard for this, and to see it all pay off is just amazing. I was a bit nervous coming into the race, but it turned out to be a day I’ll never forget."

Another reporter chimed in, "What’s the secret behind your performance today?"

Franco chuckled softly. "It’s all about the team. We train together every day, and their support keeps me motivated. We strategised a lot, and I owe it all to them and my race engineer."

As he continued to navigate through the questions—about strategy, training, and future goals—he noticed a hint of impatience creeping into the expressions of the press.

They were all eyeing the bouquet. Finally, one bold journalist broke through the chatter.

"What’s with the flowers, Franco? Are they a good luck charm, or do they signify something else?"

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden focus on the bouquet. “There’s a story behind these!” he said, his face lighting up. "They're for mi amor! I’m going to surprise her after her event today!"

A wave of collective 'aww' erupted from the reporters. He could almost hear the clattering of pens and the clicking of cameras as they captured the moment.

Franco straightened, proud to share a piece of his heart. . . .

The rink glimmered under the bright lights, the cool air buzzing with excitement and nerves as skaters and spectators alike took their places. Your heart raced in sync with the music hauntingly echoing through the arena.

You couldn’t believe you were standing here, only moments away from your final performance in the national skating competition. Just years ago, you had been a bundle of nerves—a small-town girl with a bigger dream—and now, somehow, you’d made it to this coveted spot, a finalist among the best.

“Okay, you’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself, lacing up your skates in front of the mirror.

You could barely focus on your reflection; all you could think about was Franco. You knew he was racing right now, but just before you left for the rink, he’d given you one of his heart-stirring pep talks.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he’d said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Just remember, it doesn’t matter what place you get. I’m proud of you, whether it’s first, second, or third. Just skate your heart out.”

“Yeah, but I really want to win,” you had replied, stuffing your nerves down.

“Then win for both of us,” he urged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And no matter what happens in that rink, I’m going to be cheering for you. I promise to pull victory with me if I can!”

His laughter had grounded you, a buoyant wave as he left for his own race. You smiled at the memory, imagining his infectious grin that always made your heart flutter.

The announcer’s voice broke through your reverie. “Next up, we have Miss. Y/N L/N!”

A hush fell over the crowd as you stood up, your heart pounding in rhythm with the applause. You took a deep breath, your lungs filling with chilled air, and began your approach to the rink.

The adrenaline surged as you stepped onto the ice, the coolness beneath your skates sending a thrill coursing through you. You could hear the murmurs of anticipation from the audience, feel their eyes glued to you as you settled into position.

“Come on, Y/N! You can do this!” you mumbled quietly to yourself, your focus sharpening.

You saw Franco's face in your mind, his encouraging spirit radiating from across the space like a bright star in a dark sky.

The music started, enveloping you in its melody like a warm hug. You took your first glide across the ice, letting the rhythm pull you along. Each movement felt fluid, like an instinct you wasn’t fully conscious of.

You leaped and spun, the world swirling around you as you poured every ounce of passion into each motion.

You could almost sense the presence of Franco in the crowd, his unwavering support fueling your performance.

As you completed an intricate sequence of jumps, you caught a glimpse of the other skaters.

Jenna and Mia—both had been formidable competitors throughout the season, but you felt an unexpected surge of confidence.

Your training, your determination, and Franco’s belief in you surged to the forefront of your mind.

“Remember, don’t just skate; perform!” you thought, pulling energy from the atmosphere, feeling the strength in your legs as you executed a difficult spin transition.

The gasps from the audience fueled your resolve, spurring you on for the final jump—the one you had practiced countless times in the mirror and in front of Franco.

And then, you soared.

Time seemed to stretch, and for an instant, you felt weightless, like you could touch the stars themselves. You landed perfectly, a feeling of liberation sweeping through your body as the music reached its triumphant crescendo.

The auditorium erupted into cheers, the sound both deafening and euphoric. You took a final bow, your heart full. There you were, this girl from a small town who had dared to dream.

The chill of the ice rink clung to your skin, the sharp sound of your skates slicing through the frosty surface still ringing in your ears. As you glided off the ice, your heart swelled with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

The performance had felt electrifying, a mosaic of leaps and spins that you had spent countless hours perfecting.

“Y/N! That was incredible!” Lauren exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement as she rushed over to you.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just… I feel like I finally nailed the double axel!” you grinned, trying to suppress the bubbling thrill of the moment. “I thought my heart was going to stop when I was in the air!”

Zara, your team captain, approached you with a proud smile, her arms crossed in front of her. “You did it, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this, and it showed out there. Not to mention that spin at the end—absolutely flawless!”

The warmth of her praise enveloped you as the remaining members of the team joined in, all clapping and congratulating you.

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Zara said, looking at you with her serious yet caring eyes. “Let’s wait for the results before we throw a party, okay?”

“True, very true,” you laughed, trying to contain my nerves. “But I’m hopeful!”

You all settled onto the benches lining the rink to wait for the scores to be announced. You fiddled with the cuffs of your skating dress, glancing back at the empty rink where your performance had just taken place, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Minutes felt like hours as the announcer’s authoritative voice cut through the chatter. “And now, we have the first results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her first score of 89.95!”

A loud cheer erupted from the audience, accompanied by the resounding applause of your team. You could hardly believe it; your dreams felt within reach, each note of admiration from the crowd pouring warmth into your heart.

“Oh my God, Y/N! That’s amazing!” Lauren jumped up, a look of pure joy on her face.

“Yes! You crushed it!” Zara added, hugging you tightly. “This is just the first result though!”

You felt slightly dazed. “I can’t believe it!” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “I did it! It’s all happening!”

It was like being on stage as the spotlight focused solely on you, and you felt every ounce of love emanating from your team, pushing you to embrace this moment.

This was the highest you've ever scored for one result and it was highly impossible for someone else to replicate the same as you.

The atmosphere in the arena was electric. Vibrant lights flickered above as Mia, your fiercest competitor, prepared to take the stage.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation after your impressive high score on the dance challenge. You watched from the sidelines, your heart racing, and a mix of pride and anxiety surged through you.

“You’ve got this, Mia!” someone shouted from the audience, her friends cheering her on.

You appreciated their encouragement, even though you desperately wanted to maintain your spot at the top of the leaderboard.

As she stepped onto the stage with her usual flair, you leaned back in your chair, waiting to witness what she had in store. The music pulsed through the arena, a heavy bass that resonated within you.

Mia’s dance style was captivating, fluid yet sharp, and she quickly drew everyone’s attention. You couldn’t help but admire her talent, even if it was your score she was trying to beat.

Just as you were lost in her movements, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by Lauren, your manager.

“Hey, awesome performance today!” she greeted you with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just hope I can hold onto my score,” you replied, the concern evident in your voice.

Lauren’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “It looks like your boyfriend is also doing good too,” she said teasingly, holding up her tablet to show you the race currently unfolding on the screen.

Your heart fluttered. You took the tablet from her hands and focused on the live feed of Franco, your boyfriend, who was battling fiercely in a Formula 1 race.

You squinted at the screen, watching as he maneuvered through sharp turns, his car a blur in the midst of the chaos.

“No way!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. “He’s in sixth! And look at him go against Lewis Hamilton!”

“Yeah, it’s insane! Look at how close they are!” Lauren pointed out, clearly as captivated by the race as you were. Franco’s car swerved to the right, narrowly missing a competitor as he attempted to overtake Hamilton.

You cheered, barely able to sit still. “Come on, Franco! You can do it,”

The crowd’s cheers for Mia faded into the background as your focus sharpened on the race. Each moment was an adrenaline rush as Franco pushed for fifth place, expertly navigating the track.

You glanced at Mia, who had just finished her performance, but you were hardly aware of whether she had topped your score. Your heart felt tethered to Franco's every move.

“I can’t believe how intense this is,” Lauren remarked, her eyes glued to the tablet. “He’s really giving Hamilton a run for his money,”

“He always does,” you grinned proudly, unable to hide the swell of admiration for Franco.

Memories of his early morning practices and late nights working on his skills flooded your mind. He lived for racing, and you knew he had the talent and determination to make it.

As you watched, Franco made a daring maneuver, slipping past another driver while inching dangerously close to Hamilton. “Come on, come on,” you whispered, practically bouncing in your seat.

“There he goes!” Lauren shouted, her excitement matching yours. Your heartbeat quickened as Franco, with a burst of speed, eased alongside Hamilton’s car.

In an instant, the traffic from the cars ahead created an opening, and Franco seized his opportunity. “Yes!”

“He did it!” you hollered, clenching your fist in victory.

Franco zoomed past Hamilton, securing the fifth position.

“That’s my boyfriend!” you exclaimed, your voice ringing with pride.

The crisp air inside the ice rink was filled with the sharp sound of skates slicing through the ice, intermingling with the echoes of the audience’s excitement.

You stood near the edge of the rink, your heart racing as you watched Mia walk off the ice. Her graceful movements and flawless execution had captivated everyone, but the scoreboard had revealed a different story.

Despite her efforts, she had fallen just short of your high score.

"Great job, Mia!" you called out, forcing a smile and clapping politely as she skated off, a mix of disappointment and pride etched on her face.

"Thanks!" she replied, breathless. "Just not good enough. But I’m proud of my performance."

You knew how hard she had worked. Hours spent practicing, each routine polished to perfection. But in this competition, there were no guarantees, especially with Jenna gearing up next.

Jenna had always been a formidable opponent, her talent almost inhumanly immense.

You turned your attention back to the rink as Jenna took her place. The crowd hushed, eyes fixated on her. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and trepidation.

As the music began, Jenna took off, her body flowing effortlessly to the melody. You watched in awe, marveling at her flexibility and rhythm. Each twirl, each leap took your breath away.

But then it happened. Jenna attempted a triple axel, the crowd holding its breath in anticipation. As she launched into the jump, time seemed to slow. You felt your heart in your throat. And just like that, she fell—hard.

Silence blanketed the rink, the world around you fading as you watched her scramble back to her feet, determination painted across her face.

She finished her routine, but everyone—judges and spectators alike—knew the score would suffer.

“Ugh, that’s going to hurt her,” Lauren muttered beside you, shaking her head sadly.

You nodded, feeling a pang of empathy for Jenna. It was a cruel twist of fate.

Moments later, the scores flashed on the screen, and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw your name at the top of the list. First place.

The cheers erupted around you, but your thoughts went to the second dance round, the deciding performance of the national competition.

“I’m so proud of you!” Lauren squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and you did it.”

“Thanks. But it’s not over yet,” you said, swallowing hard. “I still have the last dance, and I’m really nervous.”

“Just breathe. You’ve got this,” Zara encouraged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, just be yourself out there.”

But how could you ignore the rising anxiety gnawing at your stomach? You watched the clock tick down as Jenna walked off, looking crushed.

The rink was alive with bright lights and the soft hum of anticipation, a magical venue for a competition you had worked tirelessly for. The cold air bit at your skin, but the chill did nothing to dampen the warmth flooding your heart.

Dressed in a shimmering costume that sparkled like the stars above, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself on the ice.

It was time for the final dance, the moment that could decide your fate in this championship.

As you glided towards center ice, your mind flickered away to Franco. You could almost hear the roar of the crowd at the Formula 1 Grand Prix track, the high-pitched whine of lionhearted machines, and the scent of burning rubber in your nostrils.

He was out there right now, racing his hardest; you could imagine him, resolute behind the wheel of his sleek car, forcing every ounce of energy into each sharp turn.

He had always made it seem so effortless, the way he commanded the racetrack—and today, you wanted to emulate that fierce passion.

You took your position, heart racing in time with the beat of the music. The lights dimmed, and in that hushed moment, you could picture Franco's smile, the way it brightened his face when he spoke of racing.

“Do it for you,” he would say, his hands animated as he gestured roughly, “Every race is a part of you. Just feel it.”

As the music began to swell, cascading harmonies floating into the air, you closed your eyes briefly and thought of his encouraging words.

The melody wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, and when you opened your eyes, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just you and this ice rink, a blank canvas for your passion.

You eased into the first few movement sequences, every swish of your skates a declaration of your determination. The world fell away; there was only the pounding rhythm of the music, echoing in your chest, and the cold serenity of gliding on ice.

But then, as the choreography unfolded, you felt the raw energy of your emotions surging. It was intoxicating and terrifying, amplifying the rush.

Each leap and twirl brought back memories of Franco, seamlessly intertwining his influence into the elegance of your routine. As you spun, the echoes of his laughter and playful teasing reverberated through your mind.

You recalled the night he had surprised you after a practice, whisking you away to an alpine cabin just outside the bustling city.

“I know you’ll win,” he had said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as you stared out at the snow-covered trees. “Just remember—every time you dance on that ice, you’re racing against yourself.”

Those words spurred you forward now, transforming challenges into opportunities. With each line and curve of your performance, you felt your spirit soaring. You wanted to make Franco proud.

Then, as you reached a soaring climax in your routine, you stumbled—it was a slight miscalculation, an error that rippled through you like a thunderclap.

Panic gripped you for a moment, and for a second, you nearly let it consume you. But all you could think of was Franco, cheering for you from afar, just as he had when you practiced late into the night, insisting that you embrace the falls as much as the victories.

“Just keep pushing! It’s in you!” His voice echoed again in your mind, imbued with unwavering faith in your strength.

You kicked into a powerful leap, determined to regain momentum, and landed it smoothly. The final notes were washing over you like a warm wave, urging you onwards.

With renewed focus, you finished your piece with a burst of extravagance that set the audience on fire—an eruption of applause greeted you, and you greeted it with a radiant smile.

Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you skated to the edge of the rink, where you raised your hands in exhilaration. The joy surged through you like a whirlwind of color.

And as the crowd's cheers faded into a distant hum, the only sound you wanted to hear was the familiar timbre of Franco’s voice celebrating your talent and ferocity.

You stood at the edge of the rink, your skates still laced, your heart pounding in your chest. Just moments before, the announcement had been made.

“And now, we have the results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her total score of 168.46!”

Your score hung in the air like a gossamer thread, oscillating between pride and anxiety.

Flashes of the routine you’d executed just minutes ago danced in your mind—perfect pirouettes, soaring jumps, and the way the music had whispered secrets to your soul.

But now, all of that felt like a distant memory as you focused on the rink and your competitor, Mia, gliding towards the center.

Mia had always been your fiercest rival, a skater gifted with an infectious smile that could charm anyone watching. Still, on the ice, she was a lioness—a woman who left nothing to chance.

You could see the determination etched on her face as she prepared for her final performance. With a powerful thrust, she began her routine, her arms slicing through the air like a dancer born for this moment.

You turned to Lauren, who was leaning against the railing, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “She’s going for the triple axel,” you muttered, anxiety lacing your voice.

“She has to,” Karen replied, her eyes never leaving the rink. “Your score is very high to beat.”

As Mia took her first leap, your heart skipped a beat. The smoothness and grace with which she spun in the air was nothing short of breathtaking—the crowd holding their collective breath.

Just below you, Jenna paced back and forth, her nerves palpable. She’d stumbled during her first attempt but was determined to reclaim her moment on the ice.

You turned your attention back to Mia, who was finishing her routine with a confident flourish. As she struck the final pose, the crowd erupted into applause.

You swallowed hard, the reality hitting you again. She was so close to your score—if she performed well, she could easily surpass it. All of a sudden, the pressure felt immense.

Your heart pounded, and you could feel sweat collecting under your collar. You had poured everything into that routine; now, it was out of your hands.

“Mia’s going to take it,” you said, nervously biting her lip. “I know it.”

“No,” Lauren said impulsively. “She’s good, but so are you. You’ve worked hard! You’ve got this.”

The announcer's voice cut through your thoughts. “Jenna Davis is next. Let’s see how she embraces the challenge.”

Jenna took a deep breath, centering herself as she stepped onto the rink. The atmosphere changed dramatically; the crowd's energy was palpable, buzzing with nervous optimism.

As Jenna began to skate, you could hear the soft notes of her music drifting through the air. She started strong, executing her initial moves with poise.

The chorus swelled, urging her on, and she embraced it. The crowd was on edge, and so were you.

Her eyes flickered toward you as she flowed through her routine, visibly gaining confidence with each passing turn. Then it happened. With a powerful jump, Jenna attempted to land her double axel.

Time seemed to slow. The moment she landed perfectly, the crowd erupted into cheers, and you felt the warmth of hope blossom in your chest.

Jenna finished with an elegant twirl and a final pose, tears glistening as she skated over to you, glowing with triumph.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, “And Jenna Davis has redeemed herself, scoring a fantastic 152.03!”

Mia was still there, poised and ready for her scores. The moment felt surreal as the lights dimmed slightly and the focus centered on her.

“Mia’s going to be tough to beat,” Lauren said, shaking her head a little, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “She always rises to the challenge.”

“Let’s just wait,” you said, trying to find that calm center again. But deep inside, you felt the tension thrum beneath your skin. It was a competition, and you wanted nothing more than to win.

You could already sense the warmth from the audience roll toward Mia as the announcer spoke her name.

As the results were announced, your heart raced. “Mia... 167.97! A solid score, but not enough to beat Y/N!”

You gasped, feeling a wildfire of disbelief. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The arena was suddenly a cacophony of cheers, and the warmth from the audience rolled toward you like an overwhelming tide.

A surge of adrenaline pumped through you. You jumped up and down, throwing your arms around Zara, who was nearly as ecstatic as you were.

“I can’t believe it! You did it! You really did it!” Zara laughed, her voice carrying over the noise, pure joy radiating off her. “You’re the national champion!”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond. Instead, you nodded vigorously, a bright smile stretching across your face as you felt the joy erupt within you.

You allowed the feeling to wash over you because this victory wasn’t just about the medal or the title; it was a culmination of everything you had worked for, every late-night practice, every injury you pushed through, all of it leading to this moment.

And then, the announcer’s voice broke the stillness in the air again. “Y/N... 168.46! A remarkable display of skill, and our 2025 National Champion!”

Joy explodes within you, bursting forth like a pent-up dam. You instinctively clutch your chest, feeling the tremor of disbelief mixed with elation.

Your eyes glaze over, and before you know it, tears begin to spill down your cheeks, tracing paths of exhilaration. You’ve made it.

All those years of grueling practice, early mornings, and late nights have culminated in this very moment.

“Y/N! Oh my gosh, you did it!” Lauren, your manager, bursts forth, her arms wide open.

You barely take a second to wipe the tears before she envelops you in a tight hug, her warmth a welcome anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling.

“Thank you, Lauren! I couldn’t have done it without you!” you manage to say, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Of course, but let’s be real, that was all you! You were phenomenal out there!” she exclaims, stepping back to look you in the eye. There’s a twinkle of pride in her gaze that makes your heart swell even more.

You take a deep breath, glancing around at your team, all gathered with wide smiles and glittering eyes. Their enthusiasm fuels your own, and you laugh, feeling the thrill of triumph wash over you like a warm wave.

“I couldn’t have done it without each of you. Every practice, every pep talk… it all counts,” you say, making eye contact with each team member.

With a grin, you turn your focus towards your competitors, Mia and Jenny, both of whom had pushed you to the limit this season. Their expressions are a mixture of admiration and disappointment, but you know all too well how they feel.

“Hey, great job out there,” you say, skating over to them, your skates gliding effortlessly on the ice. “You both made me really work for it.”

Mia smiles faintly, her confidence unbroken. “You were incredible. I can’t believe how close it was. Next time, I’ll bring my A-game for sure.”

“Definitely! We can’t let you have all the glory,” Jenny adds, her laughter brightening the tense atmosphere.

The three of you share a moment of camaraderie, which dissolves any lingering tension from the competition.

You breathe deeply, inhaling the fragrance of ice and adrenaline, your thoughts drifting to the next steps.

As you approached the podium, you caught sight of your family in the crowd, their faces beaming with pride. You waved at them, half-laughing and almost crying from the surge of emotions.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the rink, breaking your trance. “In second place, it is Mia Johnson!”

Mia jumped up onto the podium, her expression a mix of disbelief and joy. “At least I’m on the podium!” she called out, her laughter ringing in your ears.

“And in third place, we have Jenna Taylor!” The announcement sparked another round of applause, and as Jenna took her place, you readied yourself.

The excitement was palpable, but you felt a familiar flutter of nerves. You had to go up next, and this was the moment you’d been waiting for.

The host stepped forward, and all eyes shifted to you, a wave of silence falling over the crowd like snowflakes drifting to the ground.

“And in first place, it is Y/N L/N!”

You could hardly contain yourself as you leaped onto the podium, arms outstretched and a broad grin plastered on your face.

Cheers erupted like an explosion, and the applause felt like a physical blanket wrapped around you, warming your heart even amidst the chill of the rink.

As the medal was draped around your neck and the camera flashed, a sense of pride swelled within you. This wasn’t just an achievement; it was the culmination of years of hard work, determination, and a thousand early mornings driven by your passion for the ice.

After the ceremony concluded, you made your way outside of the rink—still buzzing from the final adrenaline of the performance, the applause ringing in your ears like a joyful chorus.

You needed to breathe, to process everything, but before you could step too far into your thoughts, a familiar voice called out to you.

You also needed to know how Franco finished in his race. It was a shame that he couldn't be here right now to celebrate but you know he was probably suffering in his media duties.

You had made it; your journey as a skater had culminated in this triumphant moment of glory.

You stood in the middle of your team, your heart swelling with pride. Cameras flashed as everyone posed with the medals, capturing the moment for posterity.

Each smile, each laugh, each joyful expression created a beautiful cacophony of success. It felt surreal, almost dreamlike.

Just as you were about to step away for a candid candid shot, Lauren, your manager, stepped into your line of sight, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“Hey, turn around for me!” she exclaimed, her voice cut through the celebratory noise with authority.

You narrowed your eyes, momentarily confused but eager to comply. “What for?” you asked, glancing back at her with a teasing pout, but her gaze was insistent, her gesture animated.

You turned, spinning on your skates, a smile still on your lips from the excitement.

And then, time felt like it froze. Standing there, just a few feet away, was Franco, your boyfriend. He was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers that dwarfed him, its vibrant hues almost electric against the acidic blue of the rink.

The bouquet was a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly filled with your favorites: soft lavender orchids, deep blue hydrangeas, and delicate red roses, the very ones you’d mentioned to him months ago as a blush crept into your cheeks.

“Congratulations, amor! I told you I would make it!” he exclaimed, his grin wider than the expanse of ice before you.

Franco stood out not only because of the grand bouquet he was wielding, but his passion seemed to ignite the air, drawing every eye towards him.

Your heart raced—a joyful shock and a wave of warmth coursed through you. “Franco!” You gasped, your hands instinctively running through your hair as you ran toward him, leaving behind the jubilant crowd.

You felt like a child on Christmas morning, caught off-guard by an unexpected gift.

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in the fragrant blooms, inhaling deeply as if the scent alone could capture this moment eternally.

Franco chuckled, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “You’re amazing! I knew you’d take home the gold!”

Pulling back to take him in, you brushed tiny remnants of ice from your hair and gazed deeply into his warm brown eyes. “I can’t believe you came. I thought you were going to be in media duties all day!”

He waved a dismissive hand, “I made them hurry up. I couldn't miss this. Not for anything,” he insisted, his gaze steady and earnest as he held the bouquet out to you.

“These are just a small token of my love. You deserve more than I can ever give you.”

“You're the best!” you breathed, still overwhelmed. As you took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushed against his, sending a ripple of electricity through your body.

You caught the attention of your teammates who were now grouped around, playful envy written across their faces.

“Can you even top that?” one of them teased, nudging your shoulder with an exaggerated wink.

Franco flashed an innocent grin, pulling you closer into his side, his warmth wrapping around you. “Oh, I can think of a few ways,” he fired back playfully, and laughter erupted around you.

“Once the cameras leave, I want a private celebration—just you and me,” you whispered, tilting your head up toward him, your playful tone hiding a genuine yearning.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But first, I think you owe me a victory dance on the ice.”

You narrowed your eyes, feigning indignation. “A victory dance? What do you think this is, some cheesy movie?”

“Cheesy? Nah, it’s romantic!” he insisted, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

With a dramatic flair, Franco led you back toward the center of the rink, the bouquet clutched in your hand like a trophy of your own victory.

As the laughter of your teammates faded into the background, the two of you spun around, gliding across the ice, arms raised high for a moment of carefree abandonment.

“Okay, okay!” you shouted, breathless from the joy of it all. The icy ground beneath your skates felt less like a challenge and more like an expanse of possibility. “But first, you need to wow me with your skating skills!”

Franco narrowed his eyes dramatically, taking a moment before he pulled off a series of impressive spins and moves that left you clapping enthusiastically.

“Ta-da!” he announced with a flourish, bowing comically as he stumbled slightly on the last move.

“You’re unbelievable,” you chuckled, more enamored than ever. “Why did I ever doubt you?”

He skated over to you easily, the applause still ringing in his ears. The twinkle in his eyes spoke volumes, and the delight on his face made your heart swell.

“You wouldn't believe how many lessons I took to just do that, amor,” he said, his breath coming out in little puffs against the chilly air.

“You took lessons?” you whispered, placing a hand on his cheek, your thumb grazing the stubble there. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the icy surroundings, making you feel a spark inside.

“I knew you were going to win, so I had to learn for you,” Franco muttered, placing a hand on your waist and drawing you close.

Laughter filtered through the air again as you lightly patted his cheek. “Cut it out. You’re going to make me blush!”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned. “You’re radiant, especially in this moment. Just look at you, the National Champion. You deserve the world!”

You felt the heat in your cheeks intensify. “Okay, okay! But you helped me reach it!” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before continuing, “Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone else standing here with me.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, stepping closer, his hand finding a home on the small of your back, drawing you into him.

You could feel the world fade away, the cheers and the noise rolling into the background. The ice felt solid beneath your feet, grounding you as you lost yourself in his gaze. “Franco, I—”

But before you could finish, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a hesitant dance of two souls intertwining, before passion ignited it into something deeper, something that sent fireworks dancing in your chest.

When he pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confessed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “But I didn’t want to distract you before the competition.”

“Distract me? Not at all! I needed a distraction from all the pressure!” you teased lightly, still lost in the lingering warmth of his lips against yours.

Franco chuckled, drawing you closer still, your bodies almost fitting perfectly against one another. “Well, hopefully that distraction was a winning one,” he replied playfully.

“Definitely! Maybe I should have put it in my training! ‘Ice skating: 25% skill, 75% kissing my boyfriend.’”

He erupted into laughter, eyes twinkling with delight. “I’d be honored to provide the kisses,” he said, his voice a low rumble that enveloped you, making you feel warm in a way you had never quite experienced before. . . .

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