She looks small today.Small and professional.Like even her spine decided to bend a little.
Funny.She used to shine so brightly it pissed me off.
Now?She blends in.Doesn’t meet my eyes.Keeps her voice low and her posture perfect.
And some cruel bastard in me likes it.
Because after Wengen?Afterthatnight?It does serve her right.
Let her feel what it’s like to be on the edge of something she can’t have.Let her wonder.
The girls who crowd me now don’t wonder.They smile like they’re already halfway into my bed.
One of them hands me a napkin with a number on it.Another wants a photo.Another bites her lip when I say her name back to her.
Katharina passes ten feet away.Pretends not to notice.But I see the flicker.
I used to crave that flicker.Used to chase it.
Now?
I’ll enjoy her being inthisposition, too.
The tux feels tighter than it did this morning.The Kitzbühel afterparty is funky, expensive, shiny, and impossibly posh.We all bring our suits on the tour for this very evening.But we are not used to it, feel a little like penguins in summer.
Martin claps my shoulder, voice rough with pride.“You did it, mate.You gave them something to remember.”
As we enter the posh party lounge, they are everywhere — celebrities, models, and expensive girls trying to look like ones.
We’re seated near Anton Fuchs, the legend himself.Three-time Kitz winner.He grins at me like he knows exactly what I’m feeling.Like we are old buddies.And maybe we are, I entered the legendary club today.
“First Gams tastes the sweetest,” Fuchs says.“Second proves you meant it.”
The tables glitter.Literally.Laughter that sounds like champagne flutes clinking.And champagne flutes, no ordinary sparkling wine, the real stuff.Not that I would tell them apart.But tonight I am setting out to pretend that I do, that I actually belong here.
And then I see Katharina.
Dark dress.No heels.No time for makeup.She’s here for work, not pleasure.Talking to the event team, tapping on her phone, taking notes.
She doesn’t shine in this room.
And maybe that shouldn’t feel good.
But it does.
Because when she congratulated me earlier, just a murmur by the sponsor wall, she looked at me like I was myth made flesh.She tried to hide it.But it was there.
And it used to turn me on; that restraint, that fire she tried so hard to snuff.Now it just pisses me off.Now, it’s a game I’m not in the mood to play anymore.
She wants Matteo?Let her have Matteo.
She does not want Matteo?Then let her make up her damn mind.
She wants to be the Ice Queen?Fine.
The glittery girl beside me leans in.Her heavy perfume hits me.
Katharina glances over.
