Chapter Eighteen
Matvei woke before Tessa’s first alarm.
For several seconds, he did not know where he was.
The curtains were unfamiliar. Pale winter light pressed around their edges, weaker than morning should have been and bright enough to reveal the outline of a desk crowded with papers.
The heating system clicked near the window.
A laptop sat open beneath it, the screen dark but not fully closed, surrounded by notebooks, charging cords and two empty coffee cups.
Then Tessa moved against him.
Memory returned all at once.
The old bar.
Her hand in his beneath the Christmas lights.
The hotel elevator.
The pause inside the room when neither of them knew what to do after spending weeks wanting something they had finally chosen.
Her mouth against his.
Her voice saying his name.
Matvei remained still.
Tessa slept on her stomach, one arm folded beneath the pillow and the other resting across his waist. Her face was turned toward him, partly hidden by hair that had fallen forward during the night.
Without the concentration she carried through every arena, she looked younger.
Softer. Nothing in her expression suggested she was already thinking about deadlines or whether a quote needed another sentence of context.
Her credential lay on the floor beside the bed.
The lanyard had become tangled around one of his shoes. The plastic card faced upward, her photograph and the words HALIFAX TRIBUNE visible in the dim light.
Matvei stared at it.
The reminder should have changed the room.
It did not make him regret anything.
That was what surprised him most.
He understood the problem more clearly now than he had when Tessa first explained it in the bar.
Her job depended on people believing she could stand apart from the subjects she covered.
It did not matter only whether she wrote honestly.
It mattered whether readers, editors and other reporters believed she had reasons to do otherwise.
Now she did.
He was one of them.
Matvei looked from the credential to the woman asleep beside him.
He still did not regret it.
He regretted that Russia left in several hours. He regretted that she would remain in Helsinki another day and return to Halifax after him. He regretted that the first real morning they had together came with a schedule already ending it.
His phone rested facedown on the bedside table beside Tessa’s.
He reached for it carefully.
Seven-ten.
Russia’s team breakfast began at eight-thirty. Players had to have bags outside their rooms before ten. The bus to the airport left at noon.
Matvei could remain another hour without creating questions.
Perhaps longer if he skipped breakfast.
He placed the phone down.
Tessa shifted closer, her arm tightening slightly around him. Her bare knee moved across his leg beneath the sheets.
Matvei closed his eyes.
He could feel the warmth of her body along his side and the place where her breath touched his chest. The room smelled faintly of hotel soap, snow-damp coats and her shampoo.
He had slept beside women before.
This felt different in ways he did not yet have language for.
Not because of the sex alone. He understood sex. Wanting someone physically was simple enough. Bodies said what they wanted more honestly than words usually did.
What unsettled him was the rest.
He liked seeing her laptop on the desk. He liked that one of her pens had rolled beneath the edge of the bed and that her coat hung badly from the wall hook because one sleeve was caught inside.
He liked knowing she had set three alarms, each seven minutes apart, because one apparently did not deserve trust.
He liked that her hand had found him in sleep.
The wanting had changed shape overnight.
Matvei lifted his hand and moved the hair from her face.
Tessa’s eyes opened.
She looked directly at him without recognition for one second, then blinked.
“Oh.”
Matvei’s mouth moved.
“Good morning.”
Her gaze shifted toward the room, then downward beneath the sheets, as though confirming that everything from the night before remained real.
“Good morning.”
Her voice was rough with sleep.
Matvei liked that too.
Tessa closed her eyes again and pressed her face into the pillow.
“What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That is still night.”
“In Halifax maybe.”
“In every civilized place.”
Matvei moved his hand along the center of her back.
“You have alarms.”
“I set those before overtime.”
“Three.”
“I don’t trust myself.”
“I see.”
Tessa opened one eye.
“You were inspecting my phone?”
“It makes noise before noise.”
“You checked the alarms?”
“I check time.”
She looked unconvinced.
Matvei brushed his thumb over her shoulder.
“You sleep.”
“You’re leaving.”
The words quieted the room.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Bus at twelve.”
Tessa looked toward the curtains.
“That soon?”
“Yes.”
Her disappointment came before she could hide it.
Matvei felt an answering pressure in his chest.
“I stay now.”
“You have team things.”
“They survive.”
“You lost a championship yesterday. I’m sure they want everyone together.”
“They see me always.”
Tessa’s mouth curved faintly. “And they have no idea where you are.”
“No.”
“Is anyone going to ask?”
“Maybe.”
“What will you tell them?”
Matvei considered this.
“Walk.”
“You’ve used that excuse a lot.”
“It is not excuse. I walk here.”
“Then accidentally fell into my hotel room?”
“No.” He looked at her. “That part on purpose.”
Color moved across her face.
Matvei leaned closer and kissed her.
The first contact was soft, almost lazy. Tessa’s hand slid from his waist to his chest, fingertips resting over his heartbeat. Her mouth still carried the warmth of sleep, and the kiss deepened only slightly before she pulled back.
“I need to brush my teeth.”
Matvei frowned.
“That romantic enough for you?”
“I do not care.”
“I do.”
“You did not last night.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I had three drinks.”
“You say not drunk.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then same.”
Tessa stared at him.
Matvei kissed her again before she could argue.
She made a quiet sound against his mouth and pulled him closer for several seconds, then escaped by rolling toward the edge of the bed.
Matvei watched her gather the sheet around herself and stand.
The sheet trailed behind her as she crossed toward the bathroom, leaving one shoulder bare. She stopped near the door and looked back.
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“You are beautiful.”
Tessa’s expression changed.
He had said it the night before, but darkness and urgency had allowed her to absorb the word without examining it. In the pale morning light, she looked less prepared for it.
“You don’t have to say things like that.”
“I know.”
She held his gaze for another moment.
Then she disappeared into the bathroom.
Matvei lay back against the pillows and listened to the water begin running in the sink.
The alarm sounded on Tessa’s phone.
A cheerful electronic melody filled the room.
Matvei silenced it.
Tessa appeared in the bathroom doorway holding a toothbrush.
“You are defeating the purpose.”
“You are awake.”
“That is not the point.”
“What point?”
“I don’t know.”
She disappeared again.
Matvei smiled.
The shower began while he was looking for his shirt.
He found it beneath the edge of the bed, partly covered by Tessa’s trousers. He pulled it free, then stopped.
The bathroom door remained open several inches. Steam moved through the gap.
Matvei looked toward the time.
Seven-twenty-eight.
He had already decided to skip breakfast.
He crossed the room.
The bathroom was small enough that steam had covered the mirror and dampened the tile near the shower. Tessa had left her clothes in a pile near the sink. Through the frosted glass, he could see the blurred outline of her body beneath the water.
“You need something?” she asked.
Her voice carried clearly above the shower.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Matvei opened the door.
Tessa turned.
Her eyes widened slightly before she looked down at him and back toward his face.
“I thought you were getting dressed.”
“I change mind.”
“You have to leave.”
“Later.”
The water struck his shoulders when he stepped inside, warmer than expected. The shower was narrow enough that Matvei had to duck beneath the fixture. Tessa moved backward to make room, though there was almost none to offer.
Her hair was wet and slicked away from her face. Water followed the line of her throat and shoulders. No darkness or hotel sheets softened the view of her.
Matvei forgot what he intended to say.
Tessa noticed.
A small smile appeared.
“You’re staring again.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
Matvei put one hand against the wall behind her and bent to kiss her.
The contact began with the same morning softness as the bed. Tessa’s hands rested against his sides, then moved slowly around his back when he drew closer. Water ran between them, warm where their bodies touched and cool when either shifted away.
Matvei kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw.
Tessa tilted her head.
His mouth followed the line toward her neck. She inhaled when he reached the place below her ear he had learned the night before.
“You remembered,” she whispered.
“Everything.”
The answer came against her skin.
Her fingers tightened at his back.
Matvei moved one hand along her waist. The shower offered nowhere for either of them to retreat, but he still paused before touching her more intimately.
Tessa looked at him.
“Yes.”
He had not asked aloud.
The answer made him exhale sharply.
He kissed her again as his hand moved between them. Tessa’s breath caught against his mouth, body leaning into his while he learned her again without darkness, alcohol or the remaining uncertainty of the night before.
She said his name softly.
Matvei closed his eyes.
Russian escaped beneath his breath.
Tessa’s mouth curved against his.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Swearing.”
“No.”
“I know enough to recognize the tone.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know that.”
She kissed him before he could answer.
The teasing did not last.