Page 128 of Hate You Most

“No,” Dakota said too quickly. “No, no. Not at all. I just… how old is she? Does she know any English? What kind of food does she like? Is she similar to you? Will she be staying here or will she get her own place? If she's staying here then⁠—”

“Dakota,” Viktoriya cut in. “Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You are freaking out more than me right now.”

“I just want her to be okay,” Dakota said with a small laugh. That sentence melted Viktoriya's heart completely. What had she done to deserve such a wonderful wife? She leaned in and kissed Dakota right there on the couch. She could just do that now, the secret was out and the world knew

She smiled brightly at her as they broke apart. “She’s seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

Viktoriya nodded once. “She’ll be eighteen soon.”

There was a small pause.

“Okay,” Dakota said slowly. “So she’s basically—like—almost an adult. That’s good. That’s… easier. Maybe.”

Viktoriya let out a small sigh. “I don’t know if that's easier.”

Dakota studied her for a second. “You don’t know her that well.”

It wasn’t a question.

Viktoriya shook her head, gaze drifting down to their now interlocked hands. “Not really, no.”

“How is that even possible?” Dakota asked gently.

Viktoriya hesitated, searching for a way to explain something that had never been simple.

“My father preferred it that way, I think,” she said finally. “I was always… training or traveling or competing somewhere.” A faint, almost bitter smile touched her lips. “I was the star, but she was the one that got all of the attention.”

Dakota’s expression softened.

“She’s thirteen years younger than me, so we never really had the chance to know each other. I left for the States when she was five. When I came back, she was older, and she had already learned how to stay out of my way.” Viktoriya swallowed. “I would see her sometimes when she was younger. Briefly. Mostly at holidays. But even then, it was never just us. There was always someone else in the room. We are strangers, but we share the same last name.”

Dakota’s fingers shifted slightly under hers. “So you don’t know what kind of food she likes?”

“No.”

“Or if she speaks any English?” Dakota asked.

“I don’t know that either.”

“Or if she’s anything like you?”

Viktoriya glanced up at her, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “I hope not.”

Dakota frowned slightly. “Why?”

“Because she still has chance to be someone else,” Viktoriya said. “Someone who didn’t have to… make the same choices as I did.”

“Well—then we’ll figure it out when she gets here.”

Viktoriya looked at her.

“We’ll ask her what she likes,” Dakota went on. “And we will find out if she speaks English. If not, we’ll figure that out too. And if she’s staying here, I’ll try not to interrogate her within the first five minutes, I promise. We could give her the guest bedroom, now that I'm not sleeping there anymore. Give it a fresh coat of paint and make it look more like her.”