The Olympics were still happening. Velkarya was still waiting for him on the other side of them. We still had no idea what came next. And yet the room felt different somehow.
Maybe because there were no more unsaid things sitting between us.
“I guess you’ll be spending most of today on the ice,” I said, giving my reflection one last glance before I ventured out. Ethan had already sent two increasingly dramatic messages asking whether I’d died somewhere in the Village overnight.
Luka sighed. “This morning, yes, but not more than that. I do not want to aggravate my hip. Mila is meeting me at the arena and we will go through the program a few times.”
“Are you worried about tomorrow?”
“That is the strange thing,” he admitted. “I should be. Usually by now I would have convinced myself disaster was inevitable.” He grinned. “Instead, I keep thinking about the fact that you snore.”
“I do not snore. That is slander.”
“Would you like me to record you?”
I laughed, reaching for my phone as another notification buzzed. The date flashed across the screen and I paused. “Oh, hey.”
Luka raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
“You know what today is?”
“The day before the pairs short program,” he answered immediately, dead serious. “Why?”
I stared at him. “Wow. You really have gone full Olympic monk.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
I waved my phone. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
That got a blink out of him. “That had not… how do you put it?… made it onto my radar.”
I laughed. “Wow. You’re sounding more and more like an American.”
He snorted.
I dropped onto the chair beside the bed and started scrolling. “Apparently Italy takes this stuff ridiculously seriously too. Listen to this.” I cleared my throat dramatically. “‘Couples often celebrate with intimate dinners, romantic weekends in Verona, Venice, or Florence?—’”
Luka groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.
“Oh, it gets worse,” I continued. “‘Luxury desserts, candlelit wine tastings?—’”
“I hate this article already.”
I grinned. “No, you don’t. You hate that you secretly want all of it.”
The pillow shifted enough for one blue eye to appear. “And what exactly are we supposed to do? Share stale pizza in your room while Noah Bennett inevitably interrupts us looking for condoms?”
“First of all, rude. Second, leave this afternoon free.”
That made him lower the pillow completely. “Why?”
“Because I have a plan.”
I didnothave a plan. I had desperation, optimism, and approximately four hours to turn those into romance.
Luka studied me long enough to know I was improvising in real time, but whatever he saw must have satisfied him because his expression softened.
“You are trying very hard to make me happy.”
