“Life rarely is.”
She steps back, all playfulness fading. “I’m serious. The nonfraternization clause might be a joke to most people, but it matters to me. I’ve worked too hard to be seen as another actress sleeping with her costar. I understand the benefit of our new…engagement. But that’s all it is. Atemporaryengagement.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because I take my training partners very seriously,” I say. “Everything else…that’s life’s way of making things interesting.”
Something in my voice must convince her. “Good. Set tomorrow, then training after?”
“Can’t tomorrow. Heading to San Francisco after the morning shoot. My coach wants to see me, something I can’t miss. Saturday?”
“Premiere. Back Sunday.”
“Sunday then.”
“Fine. After that, we can train most nights.Ifshooting wraps on time.”
The space between us shrinks with each word. Every instinct screams at me to move, to chase this spark wherever it leads, but for once I hold myself in check.
I force myself back. “Night, fighter.”
The air crackles. Her eyes lock with mine, and I think maybe…
She breaks first, clearing her throat. “Right. Good night.”
The entire walk to my cabin, I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. Some habits die hard. But then again, the best pleasures in life are worth waiting for.
Chapter 9
Dante
August 20th
French Fencing Star Quentin Brisbois Signs Multimillion-Dollar Stryde Sneaker Deal
My training gymhas always felt like home. Today, I barely feel welcome. It’s my first session with Coach since he returned from the Olympics.
I lunge forward, sluggish. Too many late nights, too many drinks—we both know it.
“Still favoring that left leg,” Lev grunts, jabbing his saber toward my foot. The blade catches light like a warning.
Shit.
Lev Petrov, a Russian-American Olympic Saber coach, has trained me since Princeton. He’s the U.S. Men’s Saber national coach and my second father—tougher than my real dad and far more intimidating. His love expresses itself through brutal honesty and punishing workouts.
“Bozhe moy, you think I don’t see? Hungover, reeking of cigarettes.Burnaya noch’?You party all night yet expect to fence like a champion?”
I white-knuckle my saber, swallowing the urge to lash out. Old me would’ve stormed off. Instead, I breathe, letting the familiar weight of the blade ground me.
This training is crucial. Since my suspension, I haven’t trained with my team. Lev’s been coaching everyone else, leaving me solo—it’s the longest I’ve gone without a real opponent. I’m rusty.
I’ve kept up drills in my San Francisco apartment’s training room—state-of-the-art dummy, mirrors, space to lunge—and worked with theRobyn Hoodcrew, but nothing replaces facing someone who breathes, moves, and thinks.
It’s about more than bad form.
It’s everything since the suspension. Lev saw past the rich party boy and made me something real. My impulsiveness—that need to be seen, to react, to fight—got me suspended.
I plant my feet wider, focusing on my burning thighs as I reset. Gotta prove I’m worth his time.
“Another gold medal turned you into a drama queen, Coach,” I say, masking the sting of his disappointment. “I’m fencing fine.”
