“Can we talk about the fact that Mila Kadanek always looks completely unbothered by this?”
“She’s the only person at these Olympics who seems to understand what’s happening.”
“Bold of you to assume anything is happening.”
“I don’t know what’s happening. I just know they’re in every third photo.”
“My current theory is that photographers are doing it on purpose.”
“Same.”
“Some poor Olympic photographer has decided this is their favorite subplot.”
“Can we go back to discussing skating?”
“No.”
Chapter Seventeen
February 5
Luka
Sokolov watchedthe entire run from the boards without moving once, his arms folded, his expression giving away nothing at all. Most people mistook that stillness for calm. With him, silence was assessment. Every edge, every transition, every fraction of hesitation was being measured and filed away behind those unreadable eyes.
I came out of the final element clean, letting the momentum carry me before I slowed to a stop.
For a moment, he said nothing. “You are not forcing it.”
From Sokolov, that bordered on approval.
I lifted my chin. “No.”
His gaze flicked to Mila, then back to me, sharper now. “Good.” Then he turned and walked away.
“Careful,” she murmured. “Another glowing review like that and the man might actually develop human emotion.”
A reluctant laugh escaped me. “Do not start inventing fantasy stories before competition.”
“Oh, I’m documenting this moment forever.” She adjusted the guards onto her blades. “Years from now nobody will believe Viktor Sokolov voluntarily approved of anything.”
We headed toward the corridor together while the rink carried on around us in its usual chaos of music, shouted corrections, scraping blades, and athletes weaving past one another at dangerous speeds. Normally that atmosphere tightened every instinct I had before competition.
Not today.
“We are ready for tomorrow,” I said, glancing back at the ice.
The understatement amused me.
I had expected the last three days with Dean to destroy my concentration.
What I got? Everything felt easier.
Apparently my concentration improved dramatically when I stopped spending all my energy pretending I didn’t want Dean Foster.
By this time tomorrow, we will have completed the short program.
Dean still had another twenty hours before he competed.
