Page 113 of Hate You Most

Her throat went tight. So tight that for a moment she could not speak at all, and when she finally did, her voice was nothing but a whisper. “No, that is not true.”

“You were frightened and you were under pressure from the federation. Your life was becoming difficult. You were worried about your skating, worried about the rumors from America, worried about what would happen if the wrong people continued asking the wrong questions. I offered you a way forward.”

Her breath caught, sharp and painful.

“You made me forget.”

“I helped you,” he corrected. “It was your own idea.”

The distinction was so grotesque she almost laughed, though what escaped her instead was a broken, unsteady sound. “You are lying.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, Viktoriya,” he said, and for the first time since the call had started, his voice sharpened. “You were the one who came to me. You were the one who asked for relief from the temptation, from the distraction, from the things that would have made your life impossible to keep in order.”

“That is not possible,” she said, and heard the strain in her own voice. “I would not have asked for that.”

“You did because you understood what was at stake.”

“What was at stake?” she asked. She could feel herself slipping completely and she hated the feeling of it, hated the fact that he could still reach her like this even from miles away. “Tell me. Tell me what was at stake.”

“Your career and your future,” he said. “Your place in Russia and your ability to continue skating at the level you wanted, with the life that you wanted, without becoming subject to scandal and weakness and humiliation.” Her father was so cleanly spoken and it was so carefully arranged, that for one terrible second she could almost hear the logic in what he was saying. The ugly, warped logic of a man who believed he had saved her by taking away her own memories.

“That was not your choice to make,” she said.

“You made the choice, I only helped execute it.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. There was a version of herself that she couldn't recognize, who had sat across from him and believed she had no other way out.

“What about the other crashes?”

“Oh, they all agreed too. It was done with their written permission,” he said coldly. “They all wanted to restart their lives, wanted the opportunity to take a different path than the one that had been made.”

Dakota’s voice came from behind her, low and careful. “Viktoriya?”

She barely heard it.

Her father was still speaking, still trying to force his cruelty into reason, but she was no longer listening.

The room was filled with fragments then. Flashes with no context. The ghost of a hotel room in Russia, the smell of expensive cologne. Her father’s hand resting on a stack of signed paper, his voice telling her that there was a solution if she wanted to keep everything she loved intact.

Viktoriya made a sound that was halfway between a breath and a sob, and that was when her father’s voice shifted again, as if he sensed her weakening and wanted to press harder before she regained her composure.

“You do not have to make this more difficult than it is,” he said. “You were protected. You are still protected. Stay away from Dakota and from any other women who could encourage these impulses, and this can still remain contained.”

Shit. Her father didn't know they were living together again. He thought they were still getting a divorce—he thought she hated Dakota and was drawn to her on pure animalistic impulse.

Of course he hadn’t tried to keep them apart—he thought he already had.

In his mind, Dakota had been erased along with everything else that mattered, reduced to nothing more than a stranger Viktoriya would never choose again. He hadn’t considered that choice had never been the point. He hadn’t considered the fact that whatever existed between them had never depended on memory alone, and that given the chance, she would find her way back to Dakota anyway. He couldn't keep them apart, despite all his desperate attempts.

Viktoriya’s grip on the phone tightened. “Do not talk about her like that,” she said, and couldn't keep her voice from shaking with rage.

There was silence on the other end.

Then, almost dismissively, he said, “You should be careful. We wouldn't want you to become difficult again.”