Page 107 of Hate You Most

Viktoriya couldn’t stand for that smile. She leaned in, and kissed Dakota's freckled shoulder, then turned around and grabbed her phone.

A green light illuminated her arm and shoulder. On the lockscreen her father’s name lit up the screen.

Fuck.

Her chest constricted instinctively, before she'd even decided whether or not she wanted to answer. It was just a phone call, he wasn't physically outside their window with binoculars or a gun—she could let it go to voicemail and go to bed and everything would be completely fine. Probably.

Dakota glanced at her from the other side of the bed. She looked annoyed that the phone call was disrupting their privacy.

“You going to get that?” she asked.

Viktoriya didn’t respond immediately.

The phone kept ringing in her hand.

“Yes,” she said, and fought to keep her voice steady.

“Hello?” She answered in Russian.

“Viktoriya,” her father said, his voice already irritated. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”

Whatever distance she had tried to place between herself and her father and Russia was gone. There was no distance, and in that moment she felt like she'd never left her childhood bedroom.

Viktoriya moved to face the wall, her gaze dropping, unfocused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You were photographed,” her father said, his tone making it clear that this was not a conversation he intended to have, but something that needed correcting. “Filmed. On the ice. Performing like—like that.”

Viktoriya’s jaw tightened slightly. “It was a local competition, there were no camera’s.”

“That is not the point.”

Viktoriya realized then, that there was no way she was getting out of this conversation while getting what she wanted. It was what her father wanted, and she did not have a single say in it.

She couldn't just give up, though. She knew where the conversation was headed and where it was going to end. “Then what is?”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “The point, Zvezdochka,” he said, more slowly now. “Is that you are forgetting yourself and your values.”

Viktoriya’s fingers curled slightly around the phone. “I don’t think I am.”

“You think wrong.”

Her chest tightened. Something sharp inside of her pressed against the inside of her ribs as she forced herself to remain still, to remain controlled. She was still in control of her life, he didn't own her.

“It was one competition.” She has to press the words out of her lips. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes your reputation,” her father replied. “It invites attention. The wrong kind of attention.”

Viktoriya moved her head, looked briefly back over her shoulder at Dakota. She was watching her, concern smothered across her face. It was probably driving her mad, she couldn't understand a single word of this conversation. For the first time in her life, she was actually grateful that Dakota couldn't understand her.

“What kind of attention?” Viktoriya asked, though she already knew the answer.

“The kind of attention that leads to speculation,” he said. “The kind that connects you to people you should not be connected to. The wrong people.”

Her grip tightened.

“You mean Dakota?” she asked.

There was no immediate response. And somehow, that said all she needed to know.