CHAPTER TWENTY
VIKTORIYA
It’s cold, as always, cold but beautiful here in my childhood village.
It’s a simpler life in the country, a slower life.
I stand watching the village children play games on the ice with sticks and balls. Wispy, frost-laden clouds run overhead reflected in the silvery surface below.
There’s no internet here, no way to contact the outside world, which is no doubt why the government officials were so keen to send me out into the wilderness. ‘To be with family,’ they said. ‘To recuperate.’ My ‘family,’ of course, being an aunt of an aunt two generations removed, though she is a wonderful cook, and kind. It has been a nice change of pace, if nothing else.
The initial amnesia I felt after the incident at the Games was short-lived. When my memory returned I was already on a flight back to Moscow, stern-faced men in suits waiting to discuss my ‘options,’ as they detailed it. Naturally, I asked about Dimitri, but I received no answer in return. I only hope he’s not rotting away in a cell somewhere, a national disgrace. He’s my partner, and yes, while he may have strayed in years gone by, he doesn’t deserve a horrible fate, not after such an illustrious career. Most likely he’s been shooed away to another remote town, forced to keep silent.
That was the expectation. I would return here for rest, would be well-compensated and brought back to Moscow in good time… provided I didn’t speak to the media. The Russian Ice Hockey Team losing to the Americans was one thing, what happened on the ice to me quite another, but combined, more than enough to leave the Russian Olympic Team red-faced.
But more than anything, my mind returns to Liam—to his hands and his lips, his cheeky mannerisms and hitched smile. I long for his touch and company, but I know it’s a relationship that would never be allowed, could never flourish as it should. Letting him go is the only option I have, but I can’t. Every time I try to deny my feelings for him they come back stronger, more affirmed.
I hear the off-beat brap of a four-wheel drive making its way down the slope leading into the village. The children drop what they’re doing and rush past me shouting and cheering. A visitor, any visitor, to the village is a rarity, an occasion of the utmost excitement.
I turn around, losing sight of the vehicle. It’s probably another city official come to check up on me, ensure I haven’t gone running off into the woods.
I pass a local woman sweeping. I gesture to the village square. “Do you know who it is?” I ask.
She lifts her shoulders, lips downturned. “Trouble,” she replies.
An odd sense of déjà vu overcomes me as I follow the children to the square, curiosity getting the better of me.
The vehicle, a black Jeep, parks and shuts off its lights, the driver’s side door popping open and a hooded figure emerging, soon swarmed by children.
I catch a glimpse of the face below.
No. It couldn’t be.
I quicken my pace.
The figure—definitely a man—pats the children’s heads and hands out what look to be candy bars.
I stop a few feet away when the man draws his hood back, caught in shock. “Liam?”
And there is the smile, that face I’ve been dreaming of, except it must be that, because there is no way this can be real.
He moves through the children towards me. It’s not until he places his lips against mine I realize this is no dream.
I lift a shaking hand to his face. “But… how?”
“You remember me?” he asks, confused.
“Of course,” I reply, smiling to myself, the tears I promised myself I would never cry already forming. “You’re hard to forget.”
He kisses me again as the children dance and sing around us. The whole village is gathering.
I draw closer to him, allow myself to be pulled into his warm embrace. “How is this possible?”
His lips are above my ear. He speaks over the top of my head. “A private jet, friends in high places, and a few bottles of frighteningly expensive vodka.”
I hold myself away so I can look him in the eyes. “You’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t say my presence here is entirely legal, I’m probably going to end up in a gulag, but I had to see you, Viktoriya.” He brings his lips to my ear. “And I want you to come with me.”
“Come with you?” I blurt.
“Ssshh,” he says, laughing, a finger against my lips.
He keeps his voice low. “The US Government will offer you permanent residency.” He taps his breast. “I have it all here—a future, you and me.”
I piece it together. “If I skate for the US?”
“Yes. Will you do it? I kind of need an answer.”
I look around at the village. Can I really leave my home, this country that has given me so much? But when I turn back to Liam, my decision is made.
“There’s more,” he says, getting down on one knee and taking a small box from his trouser pocket.
Even the children are silent.
He opens to the box to reveal a gleaming ring, the diamond at its center the same sparkling silver as the lake. “Provided we make it out of here alive,” he says, “will you marry me, Viktoriya Kuznetsov? That is, will you do me the pleasure of being my wife?”
I throw myself against him, knocking us both over into the snow. “Yes!” I shout, repeating it in Russian so the whole village can hear.
There’s applause and cheering, the children resuming their dancing as Liam helps me back to my feet, kissing me again and this time running a hand dangerously low down my side.
He nods over my shoulder.
I look to see one of the village men at the back of the crowd with a satellite phone to his ear, speaking in rapid Russian.
Liam takes hold of my shoulder. “If we’re doing this, we have to do it now.”
I lift his hand from my shoulder, squeezing it. “Let’s go. I’m all yours.”