CHAPTER 117
Ana
“WAIT A SECOND!”
Troy and I abruptly turn over our shoulders to the sound of Naomi’s panicked voice.
Her breathing frantic, I watch as she pulls Coach Yamamoto aside, whispering something that forms a crease across Rina’s brows.
With a frown, Yamamoto walks over to Coach Sokolov, the two of them discussing the matter most likely before our two coaches travel toward the judges panel.
My eyes shoot back at Troy, the two of us still seated in the kiss-or-cry waiting area, my heartbeat growing all jittery by the interruption and what it could possibly mean.
_________
Troy and I watch (for a good ten minutes) as the judges panel scrambles.
The Star, the official winner, stands just off the edge of our bench. The famous blonde’s temple is creased so deep, her gaze locked on the chaotic scene, still in her skates and beside her coach and pair, a whole new set of nerves start leaping around my stomach.
Watching Ethan aggressively mumble to their coach and Violet remain speechless—her mouth parted in something that feels like shock and uncertainty—her hands stamp into the shimmering midnight blue fabric of her skirt, when I recognize one of the guys on the very end of the panel, though not sure from where.
The birthmark on the hollow of one of his cheeks looks oddly familiar.
But as I try and discern it, glances of pure devastation from a few of the judges tense my entire chest.
“There has been a scoring malpractice,” an announcer hovering beside the panel finally says after forever. “Violet Dupont and Ethan Kasoff have been disqualified from this competition.”
My jaw drops.
Like pretty sure it’s actually on the floor right now.
“Which means,” the guy continues, “that Celeste Walsh and Aaron Donovan have earned the Silver.”
Which means...
“Ana Petrov and Troy Larsson are the Gold medalists for pairs figure skating!”
I nearly spring out of my seat.
“We fucking did it!” I scream at Troy.
He wastes no time before he jubilantly scoops me up so that my legs wrap around his waist.
“Baby, this was all you,” he melts into my hair, a jolt of heat hitting in between my legs so out of place for the moment but fuck, I’m happy. “And I got to skate with a star.”
_________
Turns out, the guy I recognized on the judges panel was the same guy that Colette was kissing in the supply closet at the rink earlier during training season—the same day Naomi and I ran into the two of them.
It’s why Naomi had suspected something was up after seeing Colette appear at the rink during one of her late night skates.
The paper Naomi found in Adrienne Fontaine’s desk was a letter that Colette wrote to Pierre Arnault, a judge on the skating panel for the Winter Games, essentially bribing him to overscore Violet and Ethan at the Games. Which also explained their kiss…
But then, the story grew even spookier when I found out that Colette, our ice dance instructor, all this time, was a Dupont.
She went by Colette Cadault when all along Cadault was her middle name.
Colette Cadault Dupont is Violet’s cousin who tried to help her sabotage Troy and me and the rest of us.
Naomi thought Pierre had backed out of their agreement when he was missing from the panel of judges, except right after our free skate, he showed up—also against the rules—and that’s when Naomi kept track of each detail.
Even when I was being a shitty friend, Naomi was there, looking out for me.
I was so damn moved by her support, at a true loss for words, that I didn’t waste a moment even dwelling on Violet and Ethan’s result.
Because they were trying to fucking cheat after they fucking stole what wasn’t theirs and I can’t pretend to feel sorry for them.
_________
The confetti settled, a few loud interviews that I already forgot the questions from, and our family and friends embracing us for the win, Troy and I snuck back to some peace and quiet by the arena’s locker rooms.
Still in our costumes, zipping up our coats to exit the place, the high glazed all over our lungs, I take one look at him and just know.
“I love you,” I say it with my whole chest, not needing any opening.
Troy’s brows crease as he slips his skates into his duffel bag. “I love you too,” he says, completely unaware.
“No. I said I love you.” His eyes narrow in confusion. “Dammit, I’m in love with you, you idiot!”
Troy’s temple quickly smooths, dropping his bags in such a state of shock you’d think I just told him, just kidding we actually won the Bronze.
“If you changed your mind,” I reassure, “or you don’t feel the same anymore, I understand. We can still be friends.”
He slides his bag out of the way harshly, his eyes so intense my chest nearly snaps.
“I was never your friend, Ana. I don’t see a point in starting that now.”
Striding toward me in full confidence, both his hands push through my hair, and it’s so unexpected, I moan right into his warm tongue as he kisses me with such wild ferocity.
When he pulls back, the emptiness is overwhelming again, my lips already swollen.
“So you love me, huh?” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes.
“Say it again, Ana.”
“I’m in love with you, Troy.”
“Well, well, well. Ana Petrov is in love with me.”
“Don’t push your luck, Larsson.”
He laughs, and then he shoves his tongue right back into my mouth.