Page 49 of Shining Through

“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.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I DON’T THINK THIS LOCKERroom has changed since I skated here back in ‘79,” said Ilya, as he took a seat on a couch with cracked vinyl cushions.

“How did you do?” Daniil made a final check of his costume. Black t-shirt, studded wristbands and fingerless gloves. The stylist had spiked and tousled his hair with enough product to keep it from being whipped around by the centrifugal force of quad jumps. She’d brushed his face with sweat-proof theatrical make-up so he wouldn’t look washed out against the white ice. Now for his eyes.

Ilya furrowed his brow and then chuckled. “You know, I don’t remember. Believe it or not, a day will come when other things leave a bigger mark on your life than skating.”

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