Chapter Fifteen
KATERINA
It’s been three days since we got back from Montana, and still nothing from the Pacific Northwest Ballet company, but that doesn’t stop me from checking every five seconds.
I walk out of my bedroom, knowing that Scottie has already left this morning, headed to the stadium. There’s a home game tonight, and it’s my first time watching Scottie and my brother skate in the Hawkeyes stadium in person.
I pull the long strap of my purse and crisscross it over my chest as I head towards the door to meet the girls at Serendipity's for coffee and to discuss new events and tonight's game.
As I head for the door, I see a bouquet of pink tulips that weren’t there last night and there, on the kitchen island—folded with surprising care for a man as large and chaotic as Scottie—is a Hawkeyes jersey.
It’s not Luka’s.
It’s Scottie’s. And in my size.
My heart thumps a little harder at the sight of it. He did this for me.
The back reads EASTON in bold white letters. Women’s fit. Perfectly cut. My new favorite number stitched onto the sleeve: 20. Though I’d never admit that to my brother.
A yellow sticky note is on top.
KitKat,
Will you wear this tonight? And sit in my section?
— S
My heart does a ridiculous, fluttery little somersault.
I pick up the jersey and press it gently against my chest.
It’s too easy to imagine I’m his real wife, that this isn’t temporary, and that I’m wearing his name because I belong to him.
I swallow hard at the thought of it. I fold the jersey over my arm and can’t stop smiling. But I can’t stop here; the girls are waiting for me at Serendipity’s. Scottie’s brunch stop has me wondering if he’s eaten enough or if I should ask if he wants me to bring him something by the stadium.
From the outside, Serendipity’s brick exterior, smashed between two much larger buildings, and red door look quaint, but the moment I open the door, I’m transported into a what looks like a fairytale cottage collided with a hipster bakery and then fell in love with an over-caffeinated artist.
Warm yellow walls. Plants everywhere. The smell of cinnamon rolls and espresso is thick in the air. Mismatched mugs hang from hooks along the counter. A chalkboard menu that looks like it was hand-lettered by someone with perfect calligraphy that I could only dream of being able to pull off.
Peyton throws an arm around my shoulder the second I walk in.
“There she is. First home game day as a Hawkeyes wife. How do we feel?”
“Excited,” I admit. “Maybe terrified… a little.”
“Normal,” Vivi says, passing me a latte the size of my head. “Wait until you hear the crowd when Scottie touches the puck. The stadium will vibrate so hard with cheers that your ancestors will feel it.”
We settle at a big table near the window. They talk about the game, the arena, and the seats they always sit in. It’s loud and wild, and I’m trying to keep up with four different conversations all happening at one time, but I love it, and even more than that, I feel like I belong.
Something I’ve had so little practice with, but it feels good.
Then my phone buzzes.
A push notification.
PNB CALLBACKS POSTED.
My stomach drops, and before I can think, I shoot to my feet, nearly knocking my coffee over.
The girls freeze.
“Kat?” Isla asks. “Honey?”
“Something just came up. I have to go. See you all tonight,” I say, rushing to the exit. The moment I step outside, I scan the list with trembling fingers while Seattle traffic whips around me in a blur.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Then I land on it–shock and goosebumps rippling through my body, from the tip of my nose to my toes.
KATERINA EASTON – ACCEPTED Pacific Northwest Ballet Company
I let out an unexpected scream and clamp my hand over my mouth.
I made it.
My vision goes blurry as the weight of it crashes down—not just the acceptance, but the name staring back at me.
Easton. Not Popovich. I chose it deliberately when I submitted my audition.
A precaution. A shield. Easier to explain to my grandmother if she ever saw it.
Easier than questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Though it was a gamble. I’m known in the ballet community as Katerina Poppvich.
But seeing Scottie’s last name attached to mine on an official callback sheet—accepted, no less—makes it feel terrifyingly real.
Permanent. Mine. My hands shake as I take a screenshot and text it to Scottie without thinking.
Then reality catches up with me. Morning skate.
Coach Haynes. Phones locked in lockers. He won’t respond.
My screen lights up immediately, anyway.
Incoming call: Scottie Easton
My breath disappears.
I answer.
“KitKat?” His voice is breathless, background noise clanging and echoing. “Tell me I’m reading this right.”
I can’t speak. A laugh breaks out of me instead—soft, cracked, overwhelmed now that I can hear him.
“I made it,” I whisper.
He whoops so loudly that someone yells at him on the other end. Luka’s distant “Shut the fuck up!” cuts through the call.
“You did it,” Scottie says, quieter now.
Steadier. “Katerina… I’m so goddamn proud of you.
” A beat. Then, gentler. “And… hey. I saw Easton on the callback sheet.” My heart stutters.
“I know,” I say softly. “I did it as a precaution… just in case.” “I know why you did it,” he says, not interrupting—just anchoring me.
“And just so you know… Easton is yours for as long as you want it.”
My hand presses to my chest, my heart stuttering. I hold back the question sitting right on my tongue, “What exactly are you offering me?” because I don’t have the courage to ask it yet. “I wish I could see you right now,” he adds. “Give you a big squeeze.”
“Me too,” I admit. “I wish you could squeeze me too.”
“Tonight,” he says. “After the game at Oakley’s. We’ll celebrate with Luka and everyone else.”
I nod even though he can’t see me.
“Tonight,” I say back.
I hang up shaking, dizzy with joy… but also with this tiny thing in my mind, the idea that I feel like I just got it all, and yet, I could lose it all too.
I’m one step closer to getting a sponsorship renewal, and one larger step into cementing a life in Seattle that I never planned on, but now feels exciting. Like a fresh start.
Montana flashes through my mind like a reel: Anika saying he’s in love with me, the dance floor at the Roadhouse, the alley with his hands all over me, his mouth on my skin, the tenderness in his eyes.
And then there’s his family: loving me like I’m one of them, the life I could have with him, a life I never thought someone like me could have with the expectations hanging over my head.
I’m falling in love with him.
And that terrifies me more than my father ever could.
I can’t stop here, though. I owe it to myself and to Scottie to keep going until I reach the end of this.
That’s what he sacrificed in marrying a stranger to let me do.
I need to secure this visa and make sure that my grandmother believes that the marriage is real, so that my father no longer has a pull on me to come back.
Hours later, nerves of excitement tingle as I walk into the stadium with the game about to start. It’s bigger than I imagined. Fans in teal and black fill every seat. The air vibrates with drums and chants.
I slip into Scottie’s season ticket seats, wearing the jersey he left out for me.
Fans nod at me. Smile and whisper. A few take pictures, but politely and mostly discreetly.
I guess everyone knows who I am, or at least, who on the team I belong to, and that makes me feel a level of happiness I’ve never felt before.
Like I found a spot outside of ballet where I fit—where I am welcome and accepted.
Luka skates out first, bangs on the glass where a bunch of kids are waiting to see their favorite players, and then shoots me a wink.
Then Scottie steps onto the ice.
He finds me instantly, and his face lights up.
He glides straight toward my section, taps his stick gently against the glass in front of me, then pulls a puck from his glove.
He tosses it over the glass.
I catch it against my chest.
I flip it over.
CONGRATULATIONS KITKAT written in silver marker on duct tape.
My vision blurs with wetness, but I’m not going to lose it now. Not yet; there’s too much game ahead of us.
The first period is over before I know it, and the Hawkeyes are up by one. Seeing Scottie out on the ice in person put a whole new perspective on it… on a life here, with him. Being a hockey player's wife and what that would entail.
Then, out of nowhere, the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, and my face is on the Jumbotron.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special recognition tonight. Please welcome the newest member of the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company, and the wife of Hawkeyes winger Scottie Easton—Katerina Easton.”
My heart lurches at hearing someone else say my married name, and at the surprise of the announcer calling out my spot on the PNB. I wasn’t expecting that. Scottie must have asked the announcer to do it.
Scottie skates past the bench, spots me instantly, and points.
A clean, deliberate point. Like the entire arena should know exactly who he’s proud of.
Someone behind me taps my shoulder and tells me to stand and wave.
It feels crazy to do it here, where I’m not a star, but I do it, and the crowd erupts, and then I realize what Vivi meant by the vibration of applause being felt by your ancestors.
I can’t hold back my smile, and then I take a seat.
Then he disappears down the tunnel, leaving me with a heart slamming so hard I’m convinced everyone can hear it.
I’m in love with him.
I know it now. No… I’ve known about it for a while now.
I’ve known it in pieces—quiet moments, soft touches—but Scottie publicly claiming me in front of twenty thousand people… It’s the first time it feels more real than ever before.