CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE FRENCH ALPS WERE A stunning backdrop for the photo shoot involving the Winter Games’ biggest corporate sponsors. America’s top hopefuls modeled the official team attire, created by one of the nation’s top fashion designers. The streamlined navy blue training pants and jackets had a weird, 1970’s sci-fi style. “We look like the crew of the Starship Enterprise,” Brett had muttered.

The select group of athletes—skiers, speed skaters, bobsledders and snowboarders—posed outside the lodge where they would stay during the actual games. With team trials for most of their sports still weeks away, this was the closest to Grenoble some of the athletes would come. Would Tabitha be one of them?

The prospect was too awful to contemplate.

After the group photos, the athletes headed off to other sites around the Village and downtown Grenoble. Tabitha expected she would go with Brett and a newlywed ice-dance couple, but the photographer held her back, along with Mia Lang. “I’d like to get shots of you two, first being serious, then just clowning around together.”

Clowning around? As if American figure skating’s two fiercest rivals ever clowned around, much less together. It was bad enough to think they’d be rooming together in St. Petersburg. Mia’s eye roll suggested she didn’t like the photographer’s suggestion either.

The photographer posed them back to back, arms crossed, in front of the giant linked rings that sat in the Village center. As his assistants fiddled with the lighting, Mia asked. “So Tabitha, have you worked out the problems you were having with the axel?”

Tabitha did her best to ignore Mia’s presumptuous question. “The axel’s fine,” she said.

“That’s awesome,” Mia said, feigning cheer. “It seemed to give you lots of trouble in Chicago.”

“No trouble,” Tabitha said, with a shrug. “The season’s first competition is never my best. I’m working all the bugs out of the programs.”

“I thought you’d won Star Spangled Skate the last two years in a row.”

Which Tabitha had.

Flash. Flash. After the serious poses, the style team touched up their hair and make-up. A wardrobe guy pinned the collar on Tabitha’s navy blue team jacket, which insisted on sticking up. Mia tilted her head back as the make-up artist applied fresh color to her cheeks.

“Your confidence is so inspiring,” Mia said. “I mean, if I’d placed any lower than silver in the Maple Leaf, I’d be freaking out right now! The St. Petersburg Cup is like, what? Four weeks away?”

“Three,” Tabitha said. As if Mia didn’t know how many weeks remained until they faced off in Russia. Heck, she probably knew how many hours.

The St. Petersburg Cup was the last International Series competition before the finals in Barcelona the first week in December. Then in January, came the all-important national competitions that would decide who skated in Grenoble. “And I’m feeling great about my programs. Peter’s pleased at how they’ve come together.”

“That’s a relief,” said Mia. “Because a bad skate going into Nationals could really mess with your mind. And a bad skate at Nationals could mean not making the Winter Games team at all!”

Thanks for pointing that out.

“Okay, now for the fun part,” The photographer handed Mia the official cell phone of the US team. “I want these next shots to be relaxed and natural. Imagine it’s the Opening Ceremony, and you’re thrilled to be here, capturing the moment in a selfie.” He bent forward and sucked in his bearded cheeks. “See what I’m going for?”

To make them look like duck-face idiots? Inside, the Ice Queen sniffed with disdain. “Clowning around,” Tabitha clarified.

She and Mia clowned quickly, bonded in their mutual wish to get this over with. That the cell phone company wanted to feature them in their ads was a reason to be optimistic. It meant they predicted that Tabitha and Mia would be two of the three American ladies to skate in the Games.

Another assistant came to collect Tabitha for the drive into downtown Grenoble where she’d meet up with Brett and the ice dancers.

They drove to the bottom of the hill. From here, Tabitha had a view of the Grenoble torch rising above the town. Daniil wanted them to take a picture in front of it as they had in Vancouver. She hoped they would have the chance, but there were no guarantees.

As the young assistant chatted about the Grenoble bar scene, Tabitha’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She’d spoken to Samara today and Fiona too. She doubted it was Peter. “Excuse me,” she said to the driver. “It’s probably Brett.”

“Oh no problem! You guys are flying to Paris for the weekend after this is over, right? That sounds so romantic!”

It was, but not in the way the girl thought.

She took the phone out and tapped open her screen. A black-and-white photo of Daniil popped up. He’d sent a selfie, too, but instead of a duck-face, he wore a vintage fedora and an unbuttoned white shirt that showed off his chest. Besides tattoos, he had a nice dusting of dark hair. Tabitha liked that. Yesterday, he’d sent a picture from the Eiffel Tower’s observation deck. The caption read “soon this will be us.”

She couldn’t wait.

At the quaint hotel downtown, Brett, the ice dancers and the photographers were all in the cozy little café off the lobby. Since Valentine’s Day fell in the middle of the Games, the official jewelry sponsor was running a campaign that featured athlete couples. An actress portraying a reporter was interviewing the ice dancers.

Tabitha came in and stood beside Brett, slipping her arm around him in a cozy, intimate gesture. He stiffened, then dipped his head and spoke in a stage whisper. “She just started to interview Mike and Jenny. We still have time to pretend we like each other.”

It had been like this since they’d arrived home from Vancouver, and Tabitha had told Brett that Daniil knew his secret.

She understood. Though Daniil seemed accepting and open-minded, the country as a whole wasn’t. Not only was Sergei living there, he was a rising star in a tough, macho sport. Though she’d never mentioned Sergei by name and, she trusted Daniil to be discreet, Brett didn’t know him the way she did.

Though Brett had agreed to go with her to Paris, it was only out of obligation for covering for him in Vancouver. A nagging fear that had been lurking in the corners of her thoughts slithered from the shadows. Had she betrayed a confidence and compromised her best friend, all for a relationship that had no future?

She offered a conciliatory smile as they watched the ice dancers’ interview.

“Does what happens in skating ever spill over into life off the ice?” the actress-reporter asked.

“Mike knows if he messes up during practice, I won’t be in a good mood at home,” Jenny said. “And if I’m not in a good mood…”

“Nobody’s in a good mood,” Mike added, laughing. “But like my dad always said, happy wife, happy life. And this woman makes me really happy.”

The couple capped the interview with a lengthy kiss that made Brett shift away. If the jewelry people hoped for the same from her and Brett, they would be disappointed. She slipped her hand into her pocket to touch the phone.

Then the director, a guy in dark-framed glasses and a bushy beard, summoned them. “We’d like you by the fireplace on the love seat.”

Tabitha scooted into the crook of Brett’s arm. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind being close to him, but this felt forced and uncomfortable. At the same time, they had a role to play.

The director smiled. “Closer, please. Nothing to be nervous about. We just want our athlete couples to share how they make love work in the midst of a busy training schedule.”

Brett smirked. “We’re figuring that out every single day.”

The comment struck a cynical note that seemed out of place in an upbeat fluff piece. Sensing the tension, the director shifted his gaze to the cameraman who was filming test shots, and made a slashing motion over his throat. Thank goodness.

“What Brett means is that it’s hard to think about much else besides training and competitions. Fortunately, we train at the same rink, so we’re still able to spend time together.”

“In Paris, we hear,” Jenny chimed in from the sidelines.

“We’re meeting friends,” Brett said.

She squeezed Brett’s hand. Time to play nice. As the camera filmed them, the reporter turned to Brett. “After being together all day, do you run out of things to talk about?”

“Never!” Brett’s tone was light and playful, but Tabitha sensed his uneasiness. “She’s my best friend, and I can tell her anything.” He paused and gave her a penetrating look. “She knows all my secrets.”

“And we have each other’s back, no matter what.”

The reporter smiled. “These secrets sound interesting. Rumors have been circulating about you two for months! The mountainside look-out at the base of the torch would be the perfect spot to present Tabitha with the diamond of her dreams.”

Brett’s answer was coy. “When it happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

Following the interview, there were still three hours before their flight, so Tabitha stepped outside, eager to get away from the camera people and from Brett. She crossed the street to stand beside the canal that ran through the middle of town. In the distance, the snowcapped peaks were blinding white against the late afternoon sun. She dipped her hand into her pocket. It was probably safe to look at Daniil’s picture again.

“So what does he have to say?” Brett’s voice behind her made her jump.

She tapped the photo to close it. “Just that he’s looking forward to seeing me.”

“I’m sure he won’t leave your room all weekend, which means I won’t leave mine. A damn shame, considering that Sergei is in London.” He heaved a sigh. “So close and yet so far.”

She shoved the phone back in her pocket. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

He scowled. “What way is that?”

She glanced over her shoulder, checking for TV people. No one there. “I wish we didn’t have to lie about everything. I wish we could be free to love who we wanted.”

Love. She hadn’t meant to use the word, yet there it was. And it was what she was starting to feel for Daniil.

Brett grunted. “Ironic word choice, considering you are free to love who you want.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the canal, wearing a blank unreadable expression. “Let’s take a walk before we fly out. It might be my only chance to see this place.”

They followed the embankment which ran along the River Isere. Traffic streamed by, and a line of bubble-shaped cable cars traveled above the river to a fortress perched on a hill overlooking the city.

As they walked, Brett said nothing. He wouldn’t even look at her. Things between them had changed. The loss was sharp, and painful. She had to make this right. “Hey,” she said, stopping him. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Daniil won’t say a word, and I never mentioned Sergei’s name.”

“Is that what you think this is about?”

The snappish question took her aback. “Isn’t it? You’ve been mad since we got back from Vancouver, and I told you that Daniil knows. I get it, I broke a confidence and I hate what it’s done to us. What I meant, is that I wish you didn’t have to hide any longer.”

“That’s a funny thing to say, given you’re hiding, too.”

“To protect you!”

He snapped his head toward her and folded his arms. “Sorry, Tabs. But I’m not the only one you’re protecting.”

At first, she thought he was referring to Sergei, but with a stab of cold clarity she understood. “You think I’m doing this to protect myself? That’s ridiculous!”

He stopped and turned toward her, color rising in his face. “Then why don’t you come clean about your relationship with Daniil Andreev? You just said you wished we didn’t have to lie about everything. Let’s go back in there and tell the diamond people one of their happy couples just broke up! Then you can spend the weekend frolicking all over Paris with him!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Right,” Brett said. “Because deep down you know this guy is bad news and he will break your heart.”

“No! You have it all wrong!” But her heart told her otherwise.

Though she hated to admit it, Daniil’s dicey reputation and oligarch father troubled her. As long as he stayed tied to Nikolai Andreev, he’d continue lashing out at his father and in turn, sabotaging himself. If he got into trouble again, it could ruin him. If she got too close, she risked being pulled down too.

The closer she and Daniil had become, the more she was plagued with memories of all the men she’d watched come and go throughout her life. Midnight moves to motel rooms. Her little sister weeping in plastic mouse ears. Her eyes stung as she recalled the most heart-wrenching moments from the whole wretched scrapbook.

You’ve learned to expect the worst. I want to be different.

Daniil had promised she didn’t have to be afraid anymore and that he wouldn’t let her down. Yet, she struggled to believe it was true. If she acted like Daniil’s promise meant nothing, and that she didn’t trust him, how could she expect the same from Brett?

They crossed a bridge over the river, and Tabitha paused in the middle. Overhead was the cable car line. The higher the little bubble-cars rose, the more the wind rocked them back and forth. But they still held fast, traveling along the cable until they reached the top.

In Vancouver, she’d rocked her safe existence and taken chances by stepping outside the safe and familiar. Daniil’s encouragement had helped her do it. Though he looked edgy and dangerous, he was kind and caring. Even as he pushed her to spread her wings, he understood her past hurts, and had sworn he was different. The real question was whether she could be different.

“I’m not afraid of Daniil. He’s a good man, and I trust him.” Then she added, “As much as I’m able to trust anyone.”

“Then what is it?” Brett asked in a gentle voice. He sounded more like the friend she could always lean on.

“What if I try to change and love him the way I want to, but I can’t? And it only ends up driving him away?” Her throat tightened and the words felt thick.

“Falling in love is a risk,” Brett said. “There’s always a chance you’ll get hurt. The only way around it is to not love at all.”

“But if Daniil and I go public, and it falls apart, then everyone gets to watch. I’m not ready for that.”

Especially since it was all too easy to imagine it happening.

But going on like this wasn’t what she wanted either. It had driven a wedge between her and a dear friend, and that had to change right now. “I want you to know him, Brett. I want you to see the good in him that I see.”

He gave a tight smile. “So I get to be your fifth wheel in Paris?”

“No,” she said, warmth filling her. “I want you to invite Sergei to join us.”

The men’s short program competition was about to start as Tabitha and Brett scrambled from the cab and dashed inside.

Hand in hand they wove their way through the crowded arena concourse. Tabitha had to take tiny steps in her red stilettos, a bad shoe choice if there ever was one. She should have known they’d have to run.

Good thing Sergei had already arrived to grab seats.

Brett glanced down at his phone. “He says he’s in Section A, row 10. This way,” he said, tugging her hand toward a nearby gate.

Inside, the men’s competitors were on the ice for their warm-up, practicing spins and jumps to the pop music blasting through the arena. A few rows from the front, in the first section to their right, a tall guy in a jean jacket waved.

Brett beamed. Tabitha squeezed his hand. It had taken some persuading, but he relented and asked Sergei to catch a flight from London where he’d gone to meet with a Canadian sports agent interested in representing him in the West. Tonight, they would be a threesome in the audience and tomorrow a group of four friends out enjoying the city.

“If nothing else, Andreev can’t blab about Sergei without people being suspicious of why they were on a double date with us,” Brett had muttered.

Sergei Fetisov was broad-shouldered and handsome, with wavy brown hair and a bright smile, accented with dimples. If his hockey skills matched his looks, he had a promising career ahead. He greeted them both with hugs, and though his English wasn’t as good as Daniil’s, she could understand him with no trouble at all.

“Gorgeous!”

She appreciated his compliment. She’d dressed in skinny jeans, a black sweater and red heels in the Grenoble airport restroom, while Brett was on the phone with Sergei. “Thank you. Spasiba,” she said, using a word she’d learned from Daniil.

It was still hard to believe everything had come together.

But it had, and now here she was, with her best buddy and his new love, about to watch the man she loved compete.

Damn, this felt good.

Spectators were still filing in, so Tabitha, Brett and Sergei remained standing to let others pass. Down on the ice, Daniil sailed along the far side of the rink, wearing his somber “Moonlight Sonata” costume. But his skating was anything but somber. His upper body moved in time to the song that was playing, Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling.”

As he came around past their section, his eyes locked with hers. His smile grew wide and he rocked his hips in a very sexy way. Smiling back, Tabitha did the same.

Brett gaped wide-eyed at her impromptu boogying, and leaned in, mirroring her moves. Sergei watched them for a moment, then joined in. The three of them—- actually four, counting Daniil, were caught up in the joy of the moment. In the row in front of them, three young girls rose from their seats and danced too. As people realized who they were, many whipped out their phones to record America’s Ice Queen shakin’ her booty on a Paris Friday night.

Tabitha didn’t mind. She was too busy having fun.