Mila said nothing.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t care what we do, but we’re not doing that.”
She laughed, a bright sound of pure relief. “Good.” She pushed away a few feet, then turned back. “We’ll need help. Advice.”
“I know.”
“Then stop behaving as though this decision belongs entirely to you.”
I rubbed a hand across my jaw. “Okay.”
Mila stared at me, then narrowed her gaze. “That was too easy.”
“I’m tired.”
That earned me a laugh. “Who isn’t?” She skated closer again and tugged my jacket collar straight, a tiny gesture, eight years of partnership distilled into two seconds. She locked gazes with me. “If you’re going to do this, don’t make it small.”
I laughed. “Mila, I kissed him in front of the entire Olympics.”
“Good. Keep that energy.” She pushed off first. Halfway to the boards she called over her shoulder, “Tell him he owes me.”
I blinked. “For what?”
She looked back, her eyebrows raised. “For making me look subtle all these years.”
I laughed, and the sound followed her off the ice.
Then I realized I couldn’t stay there.
I had someone to see.
Finding Mark turnedout to be surprisingly easy.
He was exactly where I should have expected him to be, in a temporary office beneath the arena, surrounded by accreditation forms, the sort of administrative paperwork that seemed to multiply whenever the Olympics were involved.
Mark looked up as I knocked on the open door.
“Luka.” The surprise on his face lasted only a second. “Everything okay?”
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
That alone seemed to put Mark on alert. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been around athletes for more than twenty years. When somebody starts a conversation with ‘nothing,’ it usually means the opposite.”
I almost smiled. “Nothing is wrong.”
“Good. There’s been enough drama at these Games.” He gestured toward the empty chair opposite him. “Sit down and tell me why you look like you’re about to ask for diplomatic immunity.” He froze. “You’re not, are you?”
I chuckled. “No, nothing like that.” As soon as I sat down, the words I’d rehearsed repeatedly deserted me. I swallowed. “I want to change the exhibition program.”
His brow furrowed for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay. Not sure why you’re tellingme, but okay.”
His response caught me off guard. “That’s it?”
“It’s an exhibition, not a medal performance,” Mark said with a shrug. “Skaters change things all the time.”
