Page 97 of Hate You Most

“God, sometimes they just don’t stop,” he muttered, irritation bleeding through his voice. “I’m going to go deaf the next time someone screams my name.”

She watched him for a moment, the distance between them now unmistakable in a way it hadn't been in front of the cameras. They weren't free yet, the room was filled with celebrities and important businessmen that had helped finance the movie. But there were no cameras, and half the couples in the room looked just as distant and unamused as she did.

There was nothing connecting them.

He glanced back at her, his attention having clearly gone elsewhere.

“You good?” The question was almost meaningless.

“Sure,” she replied. “Go, enjoy your night.” The words easily escaped her lips. It was the simplest answer, the most efficient one. It was always easier pretending to be fine.

He nodded once and fully turned away from her to talk to someone across the room.

Viktoriya found her assigned seat in the large room, sat down and tried to drown out the noise of the conversations happening around her. It only took a moment before she stood again and her eyes drifted toward the window. Drawn to them by something she couldn’t name.

Moscow spread out before her in an endless expanse of light—golden buildings rising into the darkness. It should have felt vast and it should have felt freeing. Instead, it felt distant.

Her reflection hovered faintly against the glass—perfectly composed. She looked exactly the way she was supposed to. Golden straight hair, a dark blue silk dress with a slit at her right leg, a pearl necklace that had once belonged to her mother, and diamond earrings. There was no competitor left in her, no figure skater. It had all been replaced by the good girl she was supposed to be.

The only way she could become herself was when her sleeping body found its way back to Dakota. In her dreams, the sound of blades carved itself into ice and she could be as intense and unpredictable and alive as she wanted. In her dreams there was friction and resistance. In her dreams she couldn't be shaped into something acceptable and digestible.

Viktoriya’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. She knew she couldn't go on like this forever, but for now it was working fine.

In front of her, the city continued to glow, distant and untouched.

Viktoriya's hands gripped the oak windowsill in front of her, so hard that her knuckles turned white as another memory overtook her mind.

Her mother sat beside her. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched whenever either of them shifted. For once, there were no expectations. No one was watching her, it was just the two of them.

Her mother stirred slightly beside her, glancing over with an easy warmth. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Viktoriya let out a small breath, eyes lowering to her hands. “I guess I've been thinking too much.”

“That can be dangerous for you,” she said, but there was a hint of softness in it, almost teasing.

“I know,” Viktoriya replied. It was nice not having to translate her thoughts into English before speaking. With her mother, Russian came naturally. She didn’t have to search for the right words or rearrange her sentences before they left her mouth.

Her mother tilted her head slightly. “Is it about Lev?”

The name alone made something shift in her stomach.

“Yes.”

Her mother studied her face for a second. “You don’t sound very convinced when you say that.”

Viktoriya gave a small, almost helpless smile. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be convinced.”

“That’s not an answer,” her mother replied. “That’s avoidance.”

She looked at her mother, at the wrinkles that had formed around her eyes and at the hair slowly turning grey at the roots. “I don’t think I want this,” she said.

She smiled. “Then don’t do it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No,” her mother agreed. “It never is with you.”

Silence stretched between them.