“WELCOME BACK TO the live finale of Dancing under the Stars. You saw the final three couples battle it out last night. And right now, one of our three finalists is about to be eliminated. Last night, millions of you voted online, called, and texted your votes,” Matt says. “With those votes combined with our judges’ scores, we can now reveal which of our couples will be the first to be eliminated tonight.”

Tony has his arms around me on stage. Tonight is much tenser than last night’s group dance orgy. No chest-bumping backstage tonight. None of us is ready to fly the white flag now. Tony barely slept last night—I know, because he kept me awake the whole time, tossing and turning. And I was fretting because I just know that Benny is going to sabotage my chance to win. I had to use Preparation H to cover the bags under my eyes.

The ominous elimination music begins to play. “Tony,” Matt begins, “last night Karen said your freestyle was the most creative she’s ever seen, but did the viewers agree?”

Our freestyle was amazing. I strung a medley of Tony’s greatest hits together, and we danced this cha-cha, rock fusion number. Tony was flipping me over like a blini.

“Tim, last night Steve said your Viennese Waltz was exquisite, but did the viewers think it was enough for you to win the trophy?” Tim is holding Jenny, who despite the layers of tanning cream looks very flush. They’re out for sure. Her Latin actually really improved this season, but it was her Standard that got her to the finale. Their Viennese Waltz was exquisite—perfect lines, feet, and body posture. And she looked great during Salomé’s paso doble. It was her freestyle that killed their chances. She tried to dance a tango/cha-cha combo that just didn’t flow well at all.

“And Dolla, Benny said you’re the team to beat and you received a perfect thirty. But will the viewers send you to the finish line?” Salomé and Dolla look confident and aren’t even breaking a sweat with the hot lights shining in their faces. Even I have to admit that Salomé has done well this season. Her paso was perfect. But in her freestyle, she went one hundred percent hip-hop, and the judges marked her off for not including any ballroom moves. But it doesn’t seem to faze her. I have to say, it’s kind of nice, to see her smile again. Haven’t seen that since her Genya days. Since our days.

“The couple in third place is . . . ,” Matt pauses and the drum rolls. “Tim and Jennifer.”

Yes, yes, yes! We’re in the final two! Tony throws his arms around me, and I swear I’m gonna suffocate. Dammit, now I got glitter all over his white shirt. Salomé and Dolla are comforting the losers.

“Look pro, Antoshka,” I whisper and lead him over to hug Tim and Jenny. I could be the first dancer ever on this show to win three titles, including all the dancers in the thirty-one international versions. Yes, yes, yes!

The audience gives Tim and Jenny a standing ovation as they walk down the stairs from the stage. Matt gives them each a hug. “Tim, you’ve won a NBA championship and an Olympic gold medal. Tell us what this experience has been like for you.”

Tim clutches Jenny to his chest. “It’s been incredible. I met so many great people, and learned so much about myself. But the best part of this entire experience has been meeting Jenny. She’s changed my outlook on my life and she’s a truly beautiful person inside and out.”

Normally poised, Jenny loses it and bursts into tears. For once she has nothing to say.

Matt aborts the interview. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Timothy Lee and Jennifer Ming. Coming up, a musical performance from George Michael.”

We head back to the red room to watch George’s performance. I can’t believe the producers convinced him to come on this show. Between Tony and George, I swear I’ve been sucked right into some kind of eighties flashback. Tim and Salomé are huddled in the corner consoling Jenny. I sit in between Tony and Dolla.

I have to win this. I won twice before—once with a boy-bander and once with an NHL hockey player—men I didn’t give a shit about. I need to win now for Tony. For us. To show Benny that I don’t need him.

“You nervous?” Tony asks. He’s decked out in a tuxedo with tails. Like a prince.

“For once, I am. I just don’t know if Benny is going to ruin this for us.” George starts singing my favorite song, “Careless Whisper.” I close my eyes and relax into Tony’s arms. He kisses my neck and I want to savor this moment forever. We haven’t told the press about our relationship because we didn’t want to hurt our chance for victory. America doesn’t look too kindly on a cheating wife and her rock star lover. But they don’t know how horrible my marriage was and how Tony is perfect for me. I love him. He makes me happy. And I deserve to be happy.

The song ends, and the producer calls us back on stage. “Here we go,” Tony says, pulling me up. He juts out his elbow, ready to escort me like a proper gentleman. I slip my hand through and we walk down the long, white hallway, right to where George is stepping off the stage. I can’t help it: suddenly I’m fourteen years old again. George was my dream long before Tony’s poster went up in my bedroom. I don’t even care that George is a gay; my knees actually go weak standing this close to him.

“Good luck, love,” he says, touching my arm. I almost pee in my costume. I just touched George Michael . . . while holding Tony Zave’s hand! Can life get any more different for me?

We take our place on stage. Salomé and Dolla stand next to us and I can’t help it, I rush over and hug Salomé. I can tell she’s surprised, but then Tony and Dolla jump in and we’re all hugging each other. It probably looks so hokey, I know, but that’s just how it is tonight. I feel like I’m swirling in emotions. Looking over at the audience, I see I’m not the only one. Salomé’s parents and abuela are sitting next to my baba and Tony’s boys, everyone looking so proud. Tony’s whole band showed up also. His bassist has more makeup on than Salomé and me together. The place is packed tonight, standing room only. I know on television the ballroom looks huge, but there are only about four hundred people packed into this crammed studio lot. The cameras pan overhead to create the illusion of a sea of people. I don’t have to see the millions of viewers at home to feel their eyes on me. This finale isn’t like any of the others. This one, I really care about.

God, I want to win.

“Good luck, Vika,” Salomé tells me.

I take her hand. “You, too.” She gives me a hesitant smile and squeezes me as we all four line up for the final announcement.

The music comes on. Matt takes his position. “For the past ten weeks, these couples have lived in the studio and endured endless hours of practice and blisters on their feet. Right now, we will finally reveal the winner of the eighteenth season of Dancing under the Stars.” He smiles so big I swear his bleached teeth actually twinkle from the bright lights. “The winner of the crystal dance shoe trophy is . . . .”

I look over at the judges’ table. Benny is grinning at me. He mouths, “You did it again.” I bite my lip. That man can play with your heart like a cat with a mouse.

Matt reads the card. “Tony Zave and Vika Brooks.”

My scream is drowned out by the screams of the audience as Tony lifts me and twirls me around in the air. Confetti hails the stage. I did it! I did it! All the dancers and stars from the season flood the stage, and my baba runs out and gives me a big old kiss. Draven and Dallas jump right over the audience wall. They latch onto Tony’s legs as he lifts the giant crystal encrusted dance shoe above his head and pumps his free hand, barking like a dog.

Benny turns up next to me and, to my utter shock, gives me a hug. “I’m proud of you, Sheila. You earned this.”

I don’t even get a chance to respond. Tony kisses me on the lips and the cameras ignite. Our secret is out. For once I don’t have to live a lie.