Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
PETRA
“Twice in one week,” Emily smiles as she slips into the seat next to me. “I haven’t seen this much of you since I visited you in Park City, what was it, three years ago?”
“That sounds right,” I say, taking a sip of my sangria.
“Are you drinking wine?” Emily laughs. “With fruit in it?”
I tend to like my alcohol neat, the way I grew up seeing my Russian family and friends drink it. Beer and wine are a last resort, and don’t even get me started on fruity cocktails.
I roll my eyes. “I know. This is such a Sierra drink.” This tapas bar Emily recommended only serves beer, wine, and sangria, so I went with the house specialty since they’re supposedly known for it. My best friend Sierra loves drinks like this, and I constantly give her shit about it.
“How’s Sierra doing?” Emily asks, fondness softening her voice. She and Sierra have very similar personalities—extremely sweet and constantly wanting to think the best of everyone. Emily likes Jackson and Lauren too, but I think Sierra is her favorite.
“She’s off traveling the world with her boyfriend.”
“Wait, what? I thought Sierra was engaged?”
“Long story. But her fiancé cheated on her and now she is dating Jackson’s younger brother.” I tell her a bit about how that all happened.
“Wow, that sounds so unlike Sierra,” Emily says, and she could not be more right.
“Yes, and I’ve honestly never known her to be happier. It’s like once she accepted that not everything goes according to plan, she was able to really start living her life, and she’s loving it.”
“And Jackson is back in New Hampshire now?” Emily asks.
Jackson is my oldest and best friend. We met when we were twenty and both competing on the World Cup alpine skiing circuit.
She raced for the US and I raced for Austria, and despite being each other’s competition, we became fast friends.
In fact, she’s the only one from my ski days that I still keep in touch with.
The only one from any previous part of my life, except Emily, actually.
“Yep, back in New Hampshire, married, and running her own ski resort. Well, her and her husband’s.”
“Oh yes, I remember that delicious hottie from the photos you posted from their wedding. You were a stunning bridesmaid, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“So Jackson moved back to New Hampshire and got married, Lauren’s married with twins, right?” she asks and I nod. “And Sierra’s traveling the world with her boyfriend. Are you all alone in Park City?”
“Of course I’m not all alone,” I scoff, even though it does sometimes feel like that. “I mean, Lauren’s still there, but yeah, the twins keep her kind of busy. But work keeps me plenty busy too.”
Besides, Jackson and Nate will be in Park City this weekend for a ski getaway now that their resort is closed for the season. And she was just out for Sierra’s birthday a few months ago, so it’s not like I don’t see her.
“Petra, work is not life,” she slowly repeats the mantra she’s always held dear.
“You know me.” I shrug, lifting the wine glass toward my lips.
There’s nothing I want more in life than to let my successes prove all the naysayers wrong.
All those times I finished in the top three and stood on a World Cup podium holding my skis up—that was a big screw you to all the annoying boys who said I’d never be fast enough.
And the years I modeled, every magazine I was in and every runway I walked down—that was for the girls in my high school who told me my lips were too big and eyes were too wide for my face, and called me a gazelle because of my skinny legs, and made fun of my chest because I was already a D cup by freshman year.
When I left New York to start my own event planning company, that was to prove to my mentor Patrice—who said I would never make it without her company’s name backing my work—that I could succeed in this business beyond her wildest dreams. This TV show I’m set to start filming next month, this is for the scared teenager I once was, who couldn’t imagine surviving without her mom, much less envision herself thriving the way I am now.
I. Don’t. Rest.
“I worry about you, you know,” she says as she takes her glass of sangria from the bartender.
“Then you’re wasting your time and energy. I’m doing something I love and I’m wildly successful at it. I’m happy, Emily. You don’t need to worry.”
She tilts her head slightly, appraising me. I don’t crack under her gaze. Am I really happy? Sure, I’m happy enough. Am I satisfied with my life? Yes, absolutely. Is something missing? That’s a question I refuse to consider.
“If you say so,” she says. “So, how much longer are you in town?”
“A couple more days, max. I was supposed to leave today, actually. But that supersecret client I was telling you about hired me to plan a party for him and I needed to stay a few more days to find a venue.”
“Can you tell me who he is?” Emily asks, one eyebrow raised slightly.
“I don’t think it’s so top secret anymore,” I say cautiously. Is there any reason to hide this from her? “How well do you know hockey?”
“Oh my God, please tell me it’s Alex Ivanov. Please!”
Her request catches me so off guard I can’t be responsible for what my face does in response. “Why?”
“Because he’s unbelievably hot and entirely single. If you’re planning a party for him, I want to be on that guest list.” Her brown eyes darken with longing, her lips part slightly as she sighs.
My mind is at war with itself, reviewing all the reasons I should tell her I’m married to him, and then countering with all the reasons that it’s better if no one knows. In the end, discretion wins out.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, sipping my sangria. I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would, not that I’d ever admit it.
“So it is him?” Her voice is a girlish squeal, something distinctly like what would come out of Stella’s mouth. I nod to let her know she’s guessed correctly. “He’s doing something public?” she continues. “That’s so unlike him. I don’t know why he’s so reclusive, but it only adds to his appeal.”
“He’s just a really private person,” I say, and by the way her eyes flare, I know I’ve said too much.
“You know him? Like you already knew him before he hired you to plan this event?”
“He’s a friend from childhood.”
Her eyebrows knit together, and I’m reminded how much Emily converses with her face. “How? Isn’t he from Russia?”
“No. His family is originally from Russia, but like mine, they lived in Austria. Growing up, my family lived on his family’s estate.
” I don’t mention that since my dad didn’t speak German, he couldn’t find a job as an engineer, which had been his career back in Russia, and instead found work as the caretaker for Sasha’s family’s estate.
“If you’ve known him your whole life, why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I didn’t know he was here, honestly. We had a falling out when we were teenagers and I haven’t spoken to him since. Last I knew, he was playing in the KHL, the Russian and European hockey league.”
“But you had to have heard his name,” she says. “How did you not put two and two together?”
“I haven’t followed hockey since I was a teenager.
” Quite intentionally avoided it, is more like it.
“And his name isn’t Alex. It’s Aleksandr, or Sasha.
Ivanov is literally the most common Russian last name.
Like a huge percentage of the population is named Ivanov, so if I ever heard the name ‘Alex Ivanov’ it didn’t register that he was the same Sasha Ivanov I grew up with. ”
Emily spears a garlic-coated shrimp from one of the plates of tapas the waiter slides on the table between us, then eyes me skeptically. “You haven’t ever looked him up since you were kids?”
“Nope,” I say, taking a few different tapas and adding them to my plate.
“There’s obviously a story there, and you’re obviously not going to tell me.” She pauses, before adding, “That must have taken superhuman willpower.”
“Not really,” I say as I pick up a garlic-coated shrimp with my fork. “I like to leave the past in the past.”
“No doubt,” Emily says. “Kind of like how you left New York behind.”
Her honesty catches me off guard for the second time in the same conversation. Clearly I’m off my game.
“Em . . .I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You left and you haven’t been great about keeping in touch,” she tells me. “If it weren’t for my trip out to visit you a few years ago, I wouldn’t have seen you since you moved.”
“I’ll be better about keeping in touch,” I promise. “And I’ll be back out for this event in a few weeks, so we’ll make sure to see each other then.”
“When people find out Alex Ivanov is hosting this, they are going to be banging down your door for an invitation.”
“I’ll warn Morgan,” I say, making a mental note to do just that.
“Well, even if you’re clearly hiding things from me, I’m glad that you’re here and even happier that you’ll be back again soon.”
“I’m not hiding things from you, Em,” I tell her, but it’s a lie and we both know it. What I really mean is, I’m only hiding the things I hide from everyone—it’s not personal. “I’m just a private person. You know that about me.”
“And I love you anyway.”
“So tell me what’s going on with you.” The redirection works and as she launches into more of an update than I got the other day at lunch, I’m relieved to not have to talk about Aleksandr, to not explain our connection, and most importantly, to not admit how much his niece Stella has already stolen my cold, frozen heart.
“You wouldn’t believe the gossip going around in the office,” Morgan says.
Over the video call, I can see she’s in my private office and I’m sure she’s got my soundproof door shut, so no one else in the very open loft-style office space we rent in downtown Park City will hear her.
I only have three employees, but we’re a tight-knit group.
“Really? What about?”