“I grew up around money. Lots of money. Around adults who always wanted more, and who didn’t care what or who they destroyed to get it. It was … toxic. It still is. And it’s not going to change, not while …”
She blinked, took a sip.
“I was … lucky, to be allowed to leave for university. But it was made very clear to me that I had responsibilities to the family when I returned. Responsibilities that, four years ago, when I was desperate for a change, seemed like a fair trade for a chance to …”
Another pause. Another sip. I got the feeling there was an essay of emotions she was swallowing back with every mouthful of latte.
“But now I’m at the point where I have to make good on my promises. And the thought of it is …”
Another sip.
“Well, it’s impossible.”
She smiled humourlessly at me. “And it feels like taking my chances here is less daunting than fating the music back home.”
“Do you meanfacingthe music?” I asked, confused. Her expression immediately softened into something wry.
“Oh, another English purist, wonderful!”
I frowned. “I … apologies, I wasn’t sure I understood what you?—”
“I’m teasing, Henry!” She reached across, gave my arm a quick, firm squeeze, which did more for me than the deep pressure workout I’d been giving my knees under the table. “It’s a running joke with my best friend Kat. I’m sure she has a tally book somewhere of every English phrase I’ve misused over the last four years.”
I relaxed slightly. “Does your friend know about your situation?”
Irina nodded. “Some. About what I’ve just told you, if I’m honest.”
Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in my chest. “So, what are we going to do about it?”
Irina coughed around a mouthful of coffee, just as the waiterreturned with our plates of food. Wiping a dribble of liquid from her chin, she waited until the man had retreated before narrowing her eyes at me.
“What arewegoing to do?”
“Yes.We’regoing to fix this. If you don’t want to go home, let’s work out how we make that happen.”
She watched me, expression completely unreadable, at least for me. Then, with a shrug, she said, “Okay, you crazy rich man. I won’t say no to your help.”
“Oh, I tried that,” Irina grumbled. I’d suggested attempting to get a temporary visa to train with Swim Australia—a move that would have bought her another two years.
“The head coach at the uni even petitioned them to sponsor me, but they seem to think the homegrown talent is more than sufficient.”
I snorted. “Did they miss the fact that you wiped the floor with the homegrown talent in every event you competed in?”
“I know, right?” Irina’s eyes blazed. “East Germany had one tiny little doping scandal for a measly couple of decades, and even now they still suspect every Eastern European swimmer … they could test my piss any day of the week, I’m as clean as they come! Well, sometimes a little vodka marinated, I suppose.” Her smile widened as my face flushed.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a pretty blush?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Because every man dreams of being complimented for blushing prettily.”
Irina chuckled. “But you’re not every man, are you, Henry?” She watched me through thick lashes, and warmth flooded my stomach and chest.
“Have you considered marriage?” I blurted, desperate for a subject change. I placed my knife and fork together neatly at the centre of my plate before I chanced a glance at her.
Irina’s face twisted into a grimace. “Don’t even get me started. My ex was trying to get me to marry her. Still is.” She sighed, dabbing ather mouth with her napkin as a weight settled in my abdomen. “She’s a whole other issue.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Well, she’s threatening to report me to the police if I don’t agree to marry her.”
