Aleksy shouted something in Velkaran behind us that absolutely would not have passed Olympic broadcast standards. Irina burst out laughing. Anya clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes shining.
And Sokolov smiled. It didn’t last long, but it had been there.
Mila turned toward me so fast her hair whipped across her shoulder. “Did you see that?”
“I think we may need medical assistance,” I muttered. “Coach appears to be experiencing emotion.”
That did it.
She doubled over laughing, half from exhaustion and half disbelief, her hand still locked tightly around mine while flashes exploded around us from every direction.
Beyond the lights and noise, I found Dean in the US section.
He stood straight, his eyes locked on me, his smile so wide and bright it could have powered the arena.
He is proud of me.
I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to that.
The press conferenceroom was colder than the arena.
The lights overhead were hot enough to sting my eyes after the ice, and the crush of bodies, cameras, and equipment filled the air with warmth and movement.
This was a different kind of pressure, sharper and more controlled.
Mila and I sat next to one another behind the long table reserved for medal contenders, microphones positioned neatly in front of us, tiny national flags lined up along the edge. Behind us, the Velkaran flag hung against the backdrop alongside Olympic branding and sponsor logos, every surface designed for visibility.
For narrative.
Sokolov sat several feet away with the federation representatives, unreadable as ever. Marek stood near the wall, arms folded, his attention fixed on the room rather than on us.
I kept my posture loose, composed, the same expression I had worn through hundreds of media appearances.
The cameras flashed constantly.
Mila handled the first questions, answering smoothly, calm and articulate as always, giving them enough warmth to keep the room engaged while revealing nothing real.
I listened, adding comments where necessary, aware of every angle in the room, every lens trained on us.
Years of practice had made this automatic.
Then the moderator pointed toward the second row, and a journalist smiled politely as she stood, tablet balanced in one hand.
“This question is for Luka and Mila. There’s been growing discussion in Velkaran media about your partnership extending beyond the ice. Many fans are inspired by what they perceive as a romantic bond between you. Would either of you like to clarify the nature of your relationship?”
Several cameras adjusted position almost simultaneously, and I heard the soft mechanical hum of lenses zooming in.
Beside me, Mila remained perfectly still. She did not look at me.
I inhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my pulse to settle. “Our relationship is built on years of trust and discipline,” I replied in an even tone, a safe neutral answer.
A ripple of approving applause moved through part of the room.
The journalist smiled again, polite and relentless. “So you’re not confirming that you are a couple?”
I felt Mila shift beside me before she spoke. “We are partners,” she said calmly. “On and off the ice.”
The journalist opened her mouth again, but the moderator stepped in immediately.
