“I like the way you move, too. I’m hot,” she said, as she slipped off her jacket. No argument there. “Let’s get a drink.”
She grabbed his hand and marched toward the bar. All he had to do was admire her slim but muscular body as she wove them through the crowd, a woman on a mission. The downstairs bar was mobbed, but Daniil spied a staircase in the corner which led to the balcony that jutted out over the main floor. Upstairs, though still crowded, he found space for them at the bar. He signaled the bartender for two beers. But Tabitha put her hand on his arm. “Actually… I want a chocolate martini.”
“With whipped cream and a cherry?” Tabitha’s day-off cravings weren’t much different from Yelena’s.
“And a drizzle of syrup.”
The bartender’s brows shot up beneath his beanie, and he shook his head in hipster disdain. Tabitha was oblivious or didn’t give a damn. Daniil suspected the latter.
The drink came in an oversized pink martini glass, topped with whipped cream, and a swirl of chocolate syrup. She wrapped her luscious lips around the skinny red straw and took a generous sip, then sighed, glowing with blissful satisfaction. “Amazing. Just like I knew it would be.”
“You’ve never had one?”
She slanted him a look. “Ever hear of calories? Chocolate martinis are on the forbidden list, along with donuts, ice cream, French fries, late nights. And bad boys.” She plucked the cherry from the whipped cream peak and popped it in her mouth. Daniil felt a hot ache in his groin.
“Your forbidden list seems long.”
She propped her chin on her fist, and peered at him, brow furrowed. “Is it true what you said, about not wanting to get tied down, so you can be free to enjoy any woman you want?”
God, why had he said that? It might have been true before, but Tabitha Turner could be the game-changer. “I’d say it’s true until I meet the right woman. She could ask me for the moon and stars, and I would happily give her that and more.”
“Your heart? Your faithfulness?” She scoffed. “That sounds like a line to me.”
“And you sound like a cynic. Why don’t you believe I would be true to the woman I loved?”
“Your reputation precedes you, Bad Boy of Russian figure skating.”
The role play was cracking. “Maybe I’m ready to change.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve heard that song a few times.”
He stilled. “And you’ve been hurt?”
Her gaze hardened. “Never. But I’ve seen it happen to others. Personally, I haven’t given anyone the chance.”
Something besides skating pressure had given rise to the Ice Queen. Though he was curious what that might be, she’d turned back to her drink, savoring every sip as though she’d never have another. When it was gone, she gave a bright, playful smile. True confessions were over, and the blue-haired fem-bot just wanted to have fun.
The next place that grabbed her interest was a comedy club, and when the MC asked for an audience volunteer, she shocked Daniil by raising her hand. Called to the stage, she answered the MC’s questions, in perfect, slightly zany character. When the midnight show was over, and Saturday night slipped into Sunday, she headed to the all-night diner across the street.
She dug into a plate of cinnamon French toast—also on her lengthy forbidden list. He stirred his coffee, still trying to get his thoughts around the beautiful, but complicated woman seated across the table. His phone chimed a text, and he glanced down. The number wasn’t familiar, but the message showed a photo of Ruslan and Tabitha’s cousins. He smiled and aimed the phone’s camera at Tabitha, who looked up, alarmed and raised her hands to block her face.
“Don’t! Please! The last thing I need is for the world to see me stuffing my face with French toast.”
“Not the world, just Ruslan and your cousins who sent me this.” He held the phone up so she could see the message. “But okay, no pictures.”
“Thank you. And Samara’s my sister, not my cousin. Xtina is her friend.”
“Not yours?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have many. My life has never really lent itself. Too much else going on.”
“I know what that’s like.” Though he was content with a small circle of close friends like Ruslan and a handful of old schoolmates, Tabitha appeared less at peace with it. It made him a little sad. “It won’t always be that way. This season is your last, isn’t it?”
She nodded and set down her fork. as the last remnant of Hildegard gave way to Tabitha. “I think that’s why I’m feeling so much pressure. Four years ago, I choked at U.S. Nationals and came in seventh. When I didn’t make the team for Oslo, I decided to stay in skating for another cycle, to have a shot at Grenoble. But now? Who knows?”
“You shouldn’t take one bad skate so hard.”
“It’s not just today. Something feels different. Skating used to be the center of my existence. It still is, only now, I’m resenting it. I think of everything I’ve sacrificed. What everyone else has sacrificed. And I have to ask, was it worth it?”
“Your skating speaks for itself. It’s beautiful. Flawless.”
“Flawless, but lifeless. Not like Machiko’s. Not like yours. You’re dynamic, exciting. Your technique is perfect too, but there’s more to it. Your love for skating transforms your performance into art. When I watched you practice, all I could think was, ‘wow, I want some of that!”
Her choice of words made him grin, and sit back in his chair, so she could have a nice look. “Really? You want some of that?”
Her pretty cheeks flushed, and she glared. “I meant your passion for skating.”
He chuckled, letting her off the hook. “Tabitha, you have everything you need. Your body knows the moves. You just need to let your true self shine through.”
She sighed and propped her chin on her fist, gazing at the empty table next to theirs. “If only it were that easy.”
For her, it obviously wasn’t, and again, he wondered why. He also wondered how he could help her break free. He tapped his fingers on the table top as an idea took shape. She might turn him down, but he’d never know unless he put it out there. It was worth the risk. “What if you could get a little of that… passion in your skating? Would that interest you?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it?”
So far so good. He plunged ahead. “Well, like I said, I will be training with Misha in Vancouver to prepare for Maple Leaf Classic. What if you were to come too?”
She blinked and her lips parted. “And train with you?”
“And Misha.”
“Well… I…,” she said, and then shook her head. “No. Peter would never go for it.”
“Won’t he be busy helping Brett Stafford prepare for Maple Leaf?”
“Well, yes. But he can still coach us both. Though it would be good to have some extra time with Misha to work on Antigone,” she mused. “And if I was gone, Peter would have more time for Brett.”
“An excellent point. The men’s field for the Maple Leaf Classic promises to be extremely competitive.” He grinned and toasted himself with his coffee cup.
“You’re too modest.” She took another bite of her French toast, then pushed the plate away. She shook her head. “Nope. There’s no way I could go.”
“Why not?”
She rubbed her fingers together in the universal gesture for cash. “Russian skaters might get as much money as they want for training, but that’s not the way it works here. I have a budget, a sponsor I answer to. Olga Zelanskaya. I mentioned her at the party.”
Knowing his oligarch papa’s billions meant he didn’t have to take a ruble from the Federation of Sport, or anyone else, made him feel corrupt and ashamed. A skater as talented and hard-working as Tabitha shouldn’t have to worry about money. He waved away her concern. “The cost is taken care of.”
“By you?”
“Yes.” He could think of no better use for Nikolai Andreev’s ill-gotten fortune.
“That’s very generous, but I’m
sorry, I can’t accept. If I were to do this, I’d need Peter to agree, and Olga to cover the cost. Not to mention the problem of leaving my other responsibilities.”
“What responsibilities? You have children?”
She laughed. “Not quite.”
“Dog? Cat? Fish? Bring them! I’ll pay the hotel’s pet deposit!”
“What? Are you made of money?” She laughed and offered a wary smile that made him glad he’d not told her where it came from. “Why don’t you pay for my French toast and we’ll call it a night?”
Even as midnight came and went, Daniil didn’t want the night to end. “There’s one more place I want to show you,” he said, as they walked hand in hand toward the lake.
“We really should get back. I have an early practice for the exhibition tomorrow afternoon, and then we’re flying home to LA right after it’s over.”
“If you come to Vancouver, we don’t leave until afternoon Monday. You could sleep late. I would bring you breakfast of French toast and chocolate martinis.”
She laughed again, and if nothing else, he was glad that he’d been able to lift her sad mood and show her the good time she needed. But he wanted more.
They followed a winding path through the lakefront park, and out to a small bridge. On one side, the vast dark lake spread out before them. On the other side was a harbor with a marina. Several of the boats were lit with party lights. Music and laughter echoed off the surrounding apartment towers. The night felt like late summer in Moscow though it was well into fall here. Vancouver would be colder. Especially without her.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“You’re beautiful. Blue hair and all.”
“I had fun tonight,” she said. “Even if bad boys are on my forbidden list.”
“Maybe I’m not such a bad boy.”
“You kiss like one.”
“I want to kiss you again.” He put his hands on her hips and drew her close. He combed his fingers through the soft, synthetic blue strands, knowing her real hair would feel even silkier. “But this time, I want to kiss real-life you, not someone make believe.”
With her gaze locked on his, she reached up and pulled off the wig. Beneath, her hair was still trapped in the bun she’d worn on the ice. She tugged out the pins and elastic holding it in place and shook it free. The night breeze lifted it around her face.
“Tabitha,” he whispered. It was the first time tonight he’d called her by name. He hoped he would have many more chances after this.
“Daniil.” She smiled and stepped closer, angling her face to his. Their lips met, gently at first, caressing, then with more urgency, stoked by their mutual need. Her mouth welcomed him as he plundered its soft recesses, and his desire for her burned like fire in his veins. He’d never met anyone who made him feel like this. It was more than just physical. When he was with her, he became the man he wanted to be.
The thought that this would be their only night together tore his heart in two. The first painful tug of separation came when she pulled back and looked him in the eye. Her gaze held the cool determination that made her a force to be reckoned with in figure skating. Her words sent a shiver up his spine.
“Vancouver,” she said with a slow nod. “I’m going to make it happen.”
CHAPTER TEN
“NO.” PETER CROSSED HIS ARMS and stared out at the ice, a determined look on his face. “Ten days away is the last thing you need.”
“It’s not ten days,” said Tabitha. “It’s seven.”
“Three days to watch the competition and seven days to play around in Vancouver. That’s ten.”
“Who said anything about playing? You know how hard Misha makes me work. Between him and Ilya, I’ll probably spend more time on the ice than I would if I stayed here. It’s no different from the summer when I go to Delaware to work with Misha on choreography.”
“I beg to differ. This is the middle of a crucial season.”
“All the more reason for me to get as much one-on-one coaching as I can.”
Their attention was drawn to the far end of the rink where Brett and the jump coach were working on his quad toe. If men’s figure skating emphasized artistry over jumping, Brett would be one of the world’s top skaters. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. “If I’m not here, you can give him the attention he needs,” she said.
Peter’s mouth tightened and he rubbed the back of his neck. “He wants this so badly. But he needs to be flawless, and he isn’t. Not like you. He may never be.”
“Maybe flawless is over-rated.”
Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What happened in Chicago was a fluke. I’ve told you dozens of times you are the strongest technical skater I’ve ever coached. I saw that when you were a teenager. Even with all the starts and stops to your training, competing in second-hand skates, you were beyond girls who’d had every advantage. That talent hasn’t gone away. It’s become stronger.”
“Then ten days up in Vancouver won’t hurt my training. And it might be what I need to feel better about how I’m skating. You know as well as I, skating is as much mental as it is physical.”
As if to prove the point, Brett tumbled out of his quad toe, and landed hard on his butt. Tabitha winced.
“The only way I’d agree is if you go to refine your performance,” Peter said. “I don’t want those Russian coaches tampering with your technique or trying to undermine you to give their girls an advantage.”
“Peter! You know Misha and Ilya would never do that.”
He groaned, defeated. “I know. And neither would Carrie Parker or her husband.” Tabitha’s hopes soared at the first inkling she’d won him over. “Is Olga on board with this?”
“I’m sure she will be,” Tabitha said, though she wasn’t sure at all. But having Peter’s blessing would make it easier to convince her.
“And things are okay with your family?”
There was the real fly in the ointment as her mom might say. Fiona and Ken had bickered via text throughout their return trip to LA. They’d arrived home at ten, and Fiona had left for his house, hoping to appease the man-child she’d been dating for the past year.
“I hope she dumps his ass,” Samara had said, as she settled in to do the homework she’d neglected, which was apparently due in the morning. But then Danté had called, wanting to come over. Homework forgotten, Samara said yes. Tabitha had retreated into her bedroom. Behind her sleep mask and earplugs, she wondered if Samara would flunk out of USC, when Fiona would quit falling for losers, and why the hell she seemed to be the only responsible adult in the Turner family.
She looked over at Peter and offered a bland smile. “Oh yeah, things are just great.”
In the rink snack bar, Tabitha ate her lunch-time yogurt. With Peter more or less on board, the next hurdle was Olga. As luck would have it, when Tabitha checked her email last night, there was a message from Olga inviting her to tea this afternoon. There was no doubt her disappointing performance in Chicago would be on the menu.
She was due at Olga’s by 4:00, and according to the clock above the closed coffee bar, it was just a little after 1:30. In Chicago, that made it 3:30. Daniil’s flight to Vancouver had just taken off.
Was he thinking about her, like she was thinking about him? Though surrounded by the familiar sights of the Beverly Ice Arena, her mind drifted back to the little bridge overlooking the Chicago harbor, where they’d shared their first real kiss. In the day and a half since, it had become her favorite place to be.
She clicked on her phone and brought up his social media pages. While waiting for her flight home last night, she’d friended him on Facebook, and followed him on Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat. So far, he hadn’t reciprocated. A response would have been nice, but she wasn’t going to sweat it. She scrolled through each platform. The posts were few. None were recent. So he didn’t spend all day tweeting and chatting. That suggested he was a discreet person with better things to do than tell the world w
hat he ate for breakfast—or who he was seeing.
Without a sexy post to distract her, she went to a figure skating fan site she frequented, and then hesitated. Given her mood, reading what the fans had to say after the competition might not be a good idea. But reason aside, she had to know.
On the Star Spangled Skate forum, a poster named Gaby-Baby asked, “What the hell is wrong with Tabitha Turner? She SUCKED at Star Spangled Skate!”
Sk8rChik was merciless. “TT is nothing but hype. Mia Lang is the real talent. Nothing would make me happier than for Mia and Antoinette Curtis to go to Grenoble, and Little Miss Perfect to stay home.”
Little Miss Perfect. “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” she muttered under her breath. Didn’t any of them realize how hard it was to be perfect? How she’d been putting her heart and soul into it since she was a child?
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Brett joined her at their usual table and opened his carry-out salad.
Tabitha shut off her phone. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh. How many times have I told you to stay off the fan boards? No one needs to read their bad press.”
“Maybe I find it motivating.”
“Don’t you have enough motivation in your life?” He speared a black olive. “One bad skate doesn’t ruin the whole season. Not unless you let it. And it wasn’t a complete disaster. You still won bronze.”
“Right, but we all know that’s not what anyone expected. Least of all, me. And what’s worse is that now, I’m seen as beatable. Courtesy of a fourteen-year-old just up from juniors, who isn’t half as good as Mia Lang. Watching her skate in Vancouver next weekend will be terrifying.”
Brett set down his fork. “Yeah, about that. Peter said you’re going up to Vancouver on Wednesday and plan to stay until the Maple Leaf. What gives?”
She glanced around, to make sure they were alone. If there was anyone she could trust with this, it was Brett. They’d been best friends since he’d moved here from Texas to train with Peter, but she’d known him years before that, from the junior competition circuit. He was one of the few who’d been kind to the scholarship girl. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Can you keep this quiet?”
Shining Through Page 7