“Right.” He narrows his eyes but there's more in them. Amusement and respect maybe. Or perhaps I am imagining it.
He picks up his champagne glass, nods to us and walks away.
***
ÉLISE
I stare at Nico.
He's standing in front of me in a suit that doesn't quite fit, a knee brace visible under the fabric, looking like he just walked off a mountain and into a ballroom he doesn't belong in.
But he's here.
And he just said everything I needed to hear.
"You didn't race," I say quietly.
"No."
"Why?"
"Like I said. Because I want to ski in ten years. And because I finally realized the globe wasn't going to make me enough. Nothing was going to make me enough except deciding I already am."
My throat tightens. "Nico—"
"I'm sorry," he says. "For making your life feel like a cage. For making you the reason I had to prove something. For not letting you stand on your own because I was too busy trying to be the hero."
"You're not—"
"I am. I was." He takes a step closer. "But I'm trying not to be anymore."
I don't know what to say.
So, I just reach for his hand.
He takes it. Holds it tight.
"My father just offered me a job," I say.
His jaw tightens. "At Eiswerk?"
"Yeah."
"Are you going to take it?"
I look at him. At the way he's holding my hand. At the way he's asking, not demanding. Not panicking. Not trying to control the answer.
"No," I say.
He exhales. "Good."
"But not because you don't want me to. Because I don't want to."
"I know."
We stand there for a moment, hands linked, in the middle of a sponsor chalet full of people who don't matter.
"I have an apartment in Salzburg," I say. "Small. Cheap. One bedroom is mine, the rest is shared."
