Page 23 of Hate You Most

Dakota studied her for a moment. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.

Viktoriya glanced around the rink, at the next pair already on the ice. “We're staying out of each other's way, okay? I'm not here to have fun.”

Dakota’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah, because you’ve been doing such a great job avoiding me so far.”

February 9th, 2012.

— Bloomfield Hills training center, Detroit, Michigan.

The part nobody had told Viktoriya was that training in America came with a public version of herself that she was expected to perform. She was being transformed into a more likable and sympathetic version of herself. A story that could be easily digested along with a morning coffee and croissant.

In Russia, her skating had spoken for her, but here she had to speak for her skating. The rivalry between her and Dakota had become a favorite narrative for the media. The public loved it—loved pinning them against each other.

Commercials were one of the best ways of getting more sponsorships, and she needed that—so, she had no issue playing into the rivalry between Dakota and her. It's not like it was hurting anyone, it was just a little competitiveness that helped them both.

Spotlights had been set up around the ice, drowning the entire rink in purple and blue hues.

There were two parts to this day. Firstly, they would do a photo shoot individually and then together, and then later they would skate around and be filmed doing some jumps. Viktoriya had already done her individual photoshoot and was waiting for Dakota to finish hers.

The whole thing was odd—they hadn't spoken much the past month. Dakota had pretty much ignored her when they'd shared the ice together and she had ignored all the texts she'd sent her. It was what she'd wanted, and what she had asked of Dakota—but something about it felt ungrounded.

She watched from the corner of the ice as the crew fiddled with the lighting and camera equipment.

After a few minutes, Viktoriya felt the unmistakable presence of Dakota beside her.

“You’re wearing makeup,” she said.

“It is commercial, of course I am wearing makeup.”

Dakota gave her a tight smile. “I meant… you look nice.”

“Fuck you.”

She smiled at Viktoriya. “No, I mean it—you look good. The whole smokey eye thing makes you look intimidating as hell. It’s working for you.”

Viktoriya stared at her rival. “What do you want?”

Dakota had ignored her on the ice, ignored her texts, they hadn't talked properly for a month and now Dakota was telling her that her makeup was cool. She clearly wanted something from her.

Dakota didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t come over here just to comment on your makeup,” she said quietly. “I came over because I owed you an apology.”

“An apology?”

She met Viktoryia's eyes and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have acted like it was nothing afterward. That was me panicking, not you doing anything wrong.”

Viktoriya scoffed. “Panicking over what? Me?” She shook her head. “You act like I’m going to bite you. As if I’m exactly like the Russian stereotype—the cold, angry, scary Russian girl who can’t handle feelings.”

Dakota moved away just an inch.

“Also,” Viktoriya said. “I kissed you, you didn't kiss me.”

Dakota studied her for a long moment, the light catching the silver makeup around her eyes.

“Are you going to stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn't—” Dakota stopped herself. “I thought you wanted to be ignored. You asked me to.”

“I said I wasn't here to have fun and that we should stay out of each other's way at the rink,” she replied. “Not that you should completely stop talking to me.”