Suddenly I felt more visible, and that made things dangerous.
A journalist near the center raised his hand again. “Luka—quick follow-up.”
I flashed him a polite, practiced smile.
“We’ve seen you spending quite a bit of time with Team USA’s Dean Foster this week.”
It took everything in me not to react. My heart raced, and I resisted the urge to wipe my palms on my pants.
It might have been my imagination, but the energy in the room shifted a little. Beside me, Mila sat so still.
The journalist continued before either of us answered.
“You’ve both spoken positively about the atmosphere in Milan and the friendships developing between athletes.” His smile widened. “Would you say Foster has become one of your closer connections during these Games?”
‘Closer connections.’
The words were safe enough.
I kept my expression neutral. “We all interact,” I said in an even tone. “It’s the Olympics. Everyone trains in the same spaces.”
Adrenaline shot through me, and I fought to breathe.
The journalist nodded, as though he’d expected that answer. Then he leaned forward, his eyes bright, and I knew he wasn’t done.
“But specifically with Foster… People have noticed you together quite often.”
A few reporters glanced up from their laptops and tablets, clearly interested.
The journalist tilted his head. “Some fans online are already calling it an unexpected Olympic bromance.”
Laughter flickered through parts of the room, harmless. I played along, laughing, but my heartbeat went into overdrive, hard enough that I felt it in my throat.
Bromance. It was said as a joke.
That did not make the situation any better.
“Do you think those kinds of cross-team relationships help performance?”the journalist continued, his voice clear. “Foster seemed especially invested in your skate last night.”
I kept my smile in place, my chest tingling.
Beside me, Mila spoke before I could.
“We’ve known many of these athletes for years.” She spoke calmly. “Competitions overlap constantly. You build familiarity.”
A professional, contained response, far better than I was capable of producing in that moment.
The journalist smiled again. “Of course. But Luka and Foster seem particularly comfortable together.”
Comfortable.
That word carried weight, because he was right. Ihadbecome comfortable with Dean.
That was the problem.
I forced myself not to glance anywhere beyond the press line, especially not toward the back of the room where delegations and media staff clustered together in blurred movement and shadow.
Then I realized the journalist expected an answer.
