Chapter 2 #2
“Or MIT’s academic standards are slipping.”
“Ooh, harsh,” he says, but can’t help laughing, which makes me laugh too. He pushes up off the table and offers me a champagne flute from the tray beside him. “Dom Perignon Rosé. You know this stuff is like three hundred fifty dollars a bottle?”
My eyes fly over the entire counter filled with bottles, too many to count.
“Of course you know that and of course it is,” I say, and the anger and panic from earlier are gone, overwhelmed by sheer exhaustion. “We are never going to get out from under this debt if they keep living like this.”
“Hey,” he says, “it’s gonna be okay. You’ll all be flush once they get back from Beijing.”
I nod, not in the mood to go over point by point exactly why that’s probably not true. His eyes look concerned, but he’s also shifting back and forth uncomfortably. Brayden doesn’t have the patience for long serious conversations and honestly, right now, neither do I.
“C’mon, Elisa was holding off the toast until you got here and nearly gave the caterer a heart attack.”
“She was waiting for me?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Why?”
“You know why,” I say, and grab the flute he’s still holding out for me and take his free hand in mine. “Let’s go before we miss it.”
We follow a line of servers back into the living room, including the one Brayden was flirting with.
She glances back toward us and then scowls when she sees his hand in mine.
Poor girl. It’s not me she has to worry about.
Brayden is totally oblivious, though, as usual, and he tugs me over to the back wall as soon as everyone has a glass and the clinking of a fork against crystal brings the din to a low hum.
At the center of it all, Dad and Elisa stand together, smiling brightly, glasses held out toward our guests.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dad says, his smile somehow widening as the eyes of everyone in the room focus on him.
He loves a spotlight now as much as he did back during his glory days.
Actually, he might love it more now. “I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight to celebrate a hallmark day in the Russo family’s storied history.
A second-generation Olympian. I only wish Guilia could have been here to see this day.
I know she’s looking down on us right now.
” He puts an arm around Elisa’s shoulders and kisses the top of her head.
The guests let out a soft collective aww before quieting so he can continue.
“As many of you can attest to, our family’s legacy is something I’m tremendously proud of, and I cannot think of anyone more worthy than Elisa to carry on the legacy in Beijing and bring honor and perhaps another medal or two home to Kellynch. ” He raises his glass. “To Elisa.”
“To Elisa,” the crowd says, taking a sip together before applauding, which quickly morphs back into conversation.
“To Elisa,” I say, softly touching my glass to Brayden’s, but I don’t drink mine.
Brayden snorts, but follows suit. “To Elisa. You know it’s bad luck not to drink after a toast.”
“Would you rather have us on camera drinking underage when Elisa’s show airs?”
There’s a soft noise beside us, a camera’s zoom focusing. I turn and there’s a cameraman barely an arm’s length away, his lens pointed right at us. I nod my head toward him and Brayden laughs softly.
“Good call,” Brayden says. “You know, four years from now, it’ll be us they’re following around, and I’ll be twenty-one by then.”
“Good luck getting me to sign off on that.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Really? You know we’re going to be marketable as shit, and think about it, the money we’ll be able to bring in, you won’t have worry how much the champagne costs at our victory party.
Picture it with me,” he says, positioning himself behind me, leaning his chin on my shoulder.
“All these people here for us, gold medals around our necks. Nike and Adidas in a bidding war for us to wear their warm-up gear.”
I can picture it. Clear as day. I know we’re good.
We’re better than good, actually. We competed in the senior division at Nationals this year and nearly won.
Four more years of training together, four more years of perfecting our connection on the ice, four more years and this could be ours.
This and so much more. Olympic gold. That’s the dream.
“Four years is a long time,” I say.
“Not that long,” he responds, his breath ghosting against my neck, and despite myself, I shiver.
There’s a tiny part of me, very small, that wonders about that. We’ve always had amazing chemistry on the ice, and sometimes I can’t help but think it would be the same off it, but curiosity doesn’t outweigh how bad an idea getting involved with Brayden would be on so many levels.
“Hey, guys,” I say, shifting away from him even more as Maria approaches with Charlie in tow.
Charlie’s sixteen and Black, his hair braided close to his head in rows, his light brown eyes always darting from one thing to the next, eager to take in everything.
He’s about my height, making him the perfect partner for my tiny sister, at least on the ice.
Maria’s brows are pulled together, her lips in a tight, thin line, while Charlie’s usually pleasant expression is twisted in clear frustration. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Maria says. “They’d be better if Charlie would talk to his dad.”
“I told you that I did, but he doesn’t have time right now, not with the Olympics so soon. He said he’d consider it when we all got back from Paris.”
Charles Monroe Sr. is a sports agent and one of the best in the business.
He represents Dad and Elisa. Technically, he also represents the rest of us, but as junior athletes no one is really interested in sponsoring us.
Yet. But tonight has really brought the world into sharp focus—sponsorships are where the real money is, the kind of money that could help us keep the house or, if worse comes to worst, could fund my training once I’m old enough to go out on my own.
“See,” Brayden says, nudging my shoulder with his, “it’s not too early to think about it.”
“Thank you,” Maria says, smiling at him, but then turning to Charlie. “Even Brayden thinks so.”
Charlie’s face clears a bit as he turns to Brayden. He has the most massively obvious crush on my partner, which Brayden, being Brayden, doesn’t discourage at all, despite being super straight.
“You really think so, Brayden?” Charlie asks.
“What’s the harm in exploring our options early?” Brayden says with a casual shrug, smiling at the other boy.
I’m pretty sure if he were capable of spontaneously combusting, little pieces of Charlie would be splattered all over the ceiling.
The crowd starts to thin around us, and the servers have begun to clear the plates, napkins, and glasses left strewn on every free surface in the room.
Soon enough it’s only a few stragglers milling around.
Dad and Camille are talking in the corner.
Elisa is standing with them, her eyes starting to glaze over, and then her attention is drawn toward me.
Or Brayden, actually.
Letting out a squeal, she leaves Dad and Camille to their conversation and struts over to our group.
“Brayden, you made it,” she says, somehow slipping her slim form into the space between us. I slide over a bit and meet Brayden’s eyes over her head, commiserating in being cornered. “Were you here for the toast? Adriana was supposed to hold it off until you got here.” She turns to me with a glare.
“As soon as I saw he was here, I told them to go ahead with it,” I say, but I’m ignored.
“I can’t believe I leave for the Olympics tomorrow. I’m going to be an Olympian,” Elisa says, her arm winding around Brayden’s.
“That’s usually how it works,” he says, sending her a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“You don’t need luck,” Brayden responds with a shrug.
“You’re right,” she agrees with a bright smile, but it fades when Brayden’s phone buzzes and he extracts himself long enough to glance at the screen.
“Sorry, guys, I gotta run. Safe travels, Elisa,” and then he leans around her to me. “Think about what I said. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before I can answer, he’s gone.
“What did he say? What are you supposed to think about?” Elisa asks as we all watch him wave to Camille and Dad before disappearing through the front door.
I shake my head. “Nothing important. C’mon, we should help clean up.”
It’s late by the time the living room looks even close to how it normally does, and it’s past two in the morning, long after Elisa and Maria went to bed, when the last of the servers and the camera crew finally pull out of our driveway and disappear into the night.
Camille and I are grabbing the last of the garbage bags to bring out to the curb.
“Give me those,” she says. “You’re dead on your feet. I’ll push back tomorrow’s training session. Text Brayden and tell him I don’t want to see either of you before noon.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to cut it that close. Everyone else is supposed to be here at one.”
“Fine,” she says, giving in, with clear disapproval in her eyes, but she refocuses quickly. “Speaking of everyone—”
“Camille,” I warn. I’d managed to put it out of my head for a hot second, but now there’s nothing to distract me.
No lessons to teach. No family drama to solve.
No ridiculously expensive party to attend.
Even as freaked out as I am about our finances, there’s nothing I can do about it tonight.
So there’s nothing separating me from the reality of Freddie O’Connell arriving at Kellynch tomorrow morning.
“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous about him training here. You two were close once and I know there’s some awkwardness.”
“Awkwardness? I guess you can call being perfectly polite and looking through me awkward.”
Camille sighs. “You made the best decision you could make with the information you had at the time. Skating partnerships aren’t school dances. They’re career choices. I’m sorry if I…”
“No, I don’t blame you. You gave me advice and I took it. That doesn’t mean he’s not totally justified in how he feels.”
“He had something of a crush on you back then, and if I remember right, it was reciprocated.”
“I was fourteen and we were friends. We dreamed about going to the Olympics together and I ended that.”
“You couldn’t help a growth spurt.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s with Riley and I’m with Brayden and that’s the way it is.”
“Well, that’s a very mature way to look at it,” Camille says, her voice wary, like she doesn’t quite believe I’m really that mature. She’s not wrong.
“We’re going to Junior World Championships. Everything worked out. How else am I supposed to look at it?”
“You’re entitled to your feelings, Adriana. You’re allowed to feel however you want about Freddie O’Connell.”
“Exactly,” I agree, “and he’s allowed to feel however he wants about me.”
“Have you tried talking to him about it? It’s been years.”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know what I would say. The only thing I plan to focus on is winning gold. Everything else is just noise.”
Camille smiles. “That’s what I like to hear.”