Chapter Twenty-Four
NATALIA
The chalet is quiet except for the fire and the wind blowing hard against the windows.
I’m lying half on top of him in the tangled sheets, my cheek on his chest while his fingers trace slow lines down my spine. My legs are draped over his thigh, his heat sinking into me as the world outside disappears into thick, falling snow.
"You’re quiet," I say.
His fingers pause at the small of my back.
"So are you."
"I’m trying not to ruin the moment."
A faint exhale. Almost a laugh.
"Trust me… you won’t."
I shift slightly, tilting my chin up to look at him. His eyes are open, but distant, as if he’s thinking through something important.
"What?" I ask softly.
His jaw flexes once.
"There’s something I haven’t told you."
My stomach tightens instinctively.
"Uh-oh. That’s rarely a sentence that ends well."
His hand slides higher up my back, settling between my shoulder blades like he’s anchoring me to him.
"I got an email before the shoot."
My brain starts moving before I can stop it.
"From who?"
"VELVT."
I go still, waiting for him to explain.
"They told me the medals were cleared," he says. "They said that they had prior approval from the Olympic Committee to use them."
"But they didn’t?" I ask.
"No."
The word is flat. His eyes staring up at the ceiling and not at me.
My pulse starts to thud, and I’m sure he can feel it against his own chest. There’s no chance of me hiding my reaction.
"Did your agent—"
"I cut him out from the beginning of the negotiations," Luka interrupts. "On purpose."
I blink.
"You what? Why would you do that?"
"I knew he’d talk me out of it." His eyes don’t leave the ceiling. "He would’ve told me it wasn’t worth the risk. That the Olympic Committee doesn't forgive easily."
"And you did it, anyway."
"Yes. I trusted that VELVT was telling me the truth because I wanted to believe it."
There’s no apology in his tone, and that sneaky word that seems to continue to pop up whenever Luka decides to open up.
"Why?" I ask quietly.
Now his eyes move to mine.
"Because I wanted it to hurt."
I shake my head, having no idea who he'd hurt with that shoot beside Randolph… and Luka’s career. "I don’t understand. You wanted it to hurt whom?" I ask.
"My father cares about image, legacy, and national pride. I knew the photos would circulate in Moscow." His mouth tightens faintly. "I wanted him to see them, and I wanted to make my point very clear."
I suck in my lower lip as I try to understand everything.
"You used the medals to provoke him."
"I used them because they were mine," he corrects softly.
"I earned them, I didn’t inherit them, or blackmail anyone to get them, or use coercion to get them.
I wanted him to see that he doesn't have any control over me. And that if he ever came for my sister again, I’d find a way to embarrass him even worse the next time. "
"Your sister," I ask, not even realizing he had one. "What did he do to her?"
"He tried to marry Katerina off to an up-and-coming Russian politician from an old mob family like ours. So I did the next logical thing and convinced Scottie Easton to marry her. My father didn’t like it, and I wanted to make sure that he remembered how little he could control us anymore."
Mob family… so the rumors about Luka are true.
"And when you found out the clearance wasn’t real?"
"My lawyer advised silence." His voice sharpens just slightly. "VELVT is protected under an NDA contract that they made me sign. If I go public accusing them of lying, it becomes a legal war. Defamation, breach of contract… a multi-million-dollar chaos."
"So instead, you take the heat."
"Yes."
The fire popped behind us.
I prop myself up on one elbow against the bed, my other hand against his chest.
"Luka… this could clear you. Or at the very least, it could transfer the heat from you to VELVT."
"You can’t use that information.," he says, finally looking over at me.
The firmness in his voice cut through the softness between us.
"Shouldn’t we at least discuss this as an option?" I try to reason. "That email clears you."
"It escalates everything."
"It proves they lied," I argue.
"It starts a war."
He studies my face carefully.
"Swear to me," he says, eyes locking onto mine now, fully present. "You will not use that email as leverage."
My throat tightens when I realize how serious he is. How important this moment is to him, even though he’s throwing away the best chance we have at both of us winning.
"If I can’t use it, then why tell me at all. Why not keep it a secret?"
"I am telling you this because I’m trying something new," he says. "And I don’t know how to do that halfway."
"Trying what?"
"Trust…"
It’s one word–five letters, and yet somehow, the word feels heavier than anything else he’s said all night.
"You don’t trust easily," I say softly.
"No, but I want to believe that I can trust you."
The vulnerability in that statement is barely there, but it’s there and I know what it cost him to say it.
I swallow.
"I won’t use the email," I say. "We’ll find another way."
His hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
He pulls me down and kisses me.
It’s not hunger or urgency; it’s a sealing of something. A moment between two people when they finally understand each other.
When he pulls back, I settle into him again, my cheek resting against his chest, his arm tightening automatically around me as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
We lay there for a while with the fire popping and the wind howling.
The world outside is buried in white. But none of that matters tonight.
The only thing that matters tonight are the two people in this bed and the fact that after almost two weeks, Luka and I finally feel like we’re on the same team.
"We’re going back in two days," he says finally, voice quieter now.
"I know."
"Are you going back to Scottsdale?"
"Yes." I trace a slow line across his chest. "I need to make sure I still have a job."
"And then?"
I tilt my head. "And then what?"
He hesitates, which is rare for him.
"We have away games as soon as I get back," he says. "Then the playoffs, if we make it deep. Then the offseason."
"And?"
"And I was wondering…" His fingers tightened slightly at my waist. "If I could come and see you."
He takes me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that. Although when it comes to Luka, I’m never expecting half the things he says or does.
"You want to come see me in Scottsdale?"
"Yes."
"Won’t you melt?" I ask.
That earns a slight tick up at the corner of his mouth.
"Not if you’re there."
I smile up at him.
"For how long?"
He exhales slowly. "If you’d let me… I’d spend the offseason there."
My world just about spins off its axis. Is Luka Popovich, sex god and quintessential lifelong bachelor, asking if he can spend the offseason with me?
"You’d want to stay for the entire offseason? With just me?" I ask softly.
"I’m not ready for this to be over," he says. "I want to try. With you."
There it is again.
Try.
Trust.
The same risk in a different form.
I can’t stop smiling. "Okay," I say. "But my condo has rules too."
His mouth curves a little more dramatically this time. A smirk he can’t hide. "Oh? Should I be concerned?"
"First rule," I say, tracing my finger down his sternum, "no one wears underwear to bed."
"Devastating. Whatever will I do?"
I bite back a chuckle.
"Second rule. Absolutely no showering alone."
He huffs out a laugh. "I like your rules."
"You don’t get automatic privileges."
He shifts suddenly, rolling us so I’m on my back and he’s hovering above me before I can process the movement.
I squeal softly as he braces himself over me, forearms planted beside my shoulders, heat radiating from him.
"Well then," he murmurs, lowering his mouth close to mine, "how do I earn an invitation?"
His tone is playful, but his eyes aren’t. They’re steady, waiting for my answer.
"You have to kiss me so good that it lasts for the rest of the season."
He nods. "I can do that," and then he lowers himself to me and kisses me, long and steady.
Outside, the snow keeps falling.
Inside, he wraps himself around me as if he’s not planning on letting go anytime soon.
And for the first time since I met him…
I’m finally getting the genuine version.