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“And what do you think of my nose?”

Not gonna lie, I’d lick that too. “It's fucking perfect, just like the rest of you.”

“It wasn't always.” She taps the center of it. “There was once a hump right here, like a camel has on their back.”

“Is that so?” I lean in, scrutinizing her perfect fucking nose in a way that makes her giggle.

If I thought her laugh was a sound I wish I could record and play over and over again, I have to say it's got nothing on that giggle.

“I was perfectly content with the camel hump on my nose, but my mother decided for my 16th birthday that I would get it removed.”

I grind my molars together before asking, “She what?”

“She had hers done about a decade before that and wanted mine to look the same.”

The annoyance in her features and the sarcasm in her voice tell me she is not joking, not at all.

“I loved it at the time, but looking back I realized it was more that I loved her gushing over how beautiful and how perfect I was, now. Looking back, my heart hurts for that girl who thought she had to be perfect.”

“I’m sorry you experienced that.”

“I’m not; it made me stronger. What it didn't do is make me unique; every woman I know has the same nose. It's quite annoying.” She sighs.

I just look at her for a moment, afraid that if I do talk, I’ll admit I'd like to shove my fist in her father’s face for not having the balls to tell his wife it should have been Anna’s choice. He should have told his little girl how fucking beautiful she is, how strong she is, how perfect she is. The only reason that I'd swing on her father is that it is never appropriate to hit a woman, unless of course you are a woman. If I were, I would bitch slap her for making Anna believe she was not perfect just the way she was, and then come right back with a backhand for upsetting her today.

“I know, I know.” She rolls her beautiful eyes and turns back to the television. “Poor little rich girl.”

“I didn't have much growing up, but I do know that your bank account doesn't determine how you react to situations that fuck with your emotions.”

“If you had met my mother's mother, you might see she’s not as bitter as she could be. Agatha Foster was a very cold woman.” She forces a laugh. “Enough about me. Tell me about your family. I bet you they were wonderful.” She turns her head to look up at me.

“The family I was born into, I don't remember.” Anna may want people to think she's cold and emotionless, but she's anything but. The way she's looking at me now proves what I already knew. She's the kind of person who wouldn't hurt anyone if she could help it. I don't want to be the reason she's hurting when I'm not, so I continue. “I don't remember, so there are no feelings attached to it. My adoptive parents were older. They'd lost two children and wanted another.”

“How old were you when you were adopted?” She turns fully toward me, her back to the TV, blue eyes fixed on mine.

“Five.”

She gives me that look again. “They loved me. I was warm, fed, had clean clothes that fit me. I honestly had a good life.”

“And where are they now?”

“I have to believe they're in heaven. They sent me away to school because they were told I had a gift on the ice. If they hadn't, I wouldn't be here today either. I owe them my life.”

“Oh, Daniil, I'm so sorry.”

“I was told they didn't feel anything, that the smoke from the house fire got to them first.”

“Was it from…” She lets the question hang.

I shake my head. “No. I was fourteen.” I lean back and sigh. “Our country wasn't attacked until exactly a year later.”

She shakes her head as if she could erase it all if she tried hard enough. “And what happened then? Where did you go on school holidays? Who celebrated your birthdays, your wins, your losses, your life?”

“My aunt, who's very much alive and living a good life, one she deserves.”

“In Ukraine?” she asks quietly.

I shake my head, not wanting to get into this, wanting only to be here with her in this moment, before she inevitably leaves.