Page 87 of About to Fall

“I'm sorry. I've been really busy with—”

“I was fucking worried. I almost called your mom.” She jabbed the vodka bottle at me. “You don't get to disappear on me. Not after everything. That's not how this works.”

“Kat, I'm fine. I promise. I should have texted you back.”

“Well I’m here now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

She shoved her way past me into the apartment, eyes already scanning—the two place settings, the candle I'd lit on the counter, the coat that was clearly not mine draped over the armchair—and then she froze.

Adrian was standing in the hallway leading to the bedroom. Barefoot. In a tank top and sweatpants. Hair still damp from the shower he'd taken 20 minutes ago.

I shot him a look that I hoped communicated what happened to hiding with sufficient intensity. He gave me a small shrug that said she was going to find out eventually with zero remorse.

The silence lasted approximately two decades. Kat’s eyes moved slowly over Adrian and her grip shifted slightly on the heavy glass bottle like she was deciding whether she needed to wield it as a weapon.

“You're Katerina Smirnova,” Adrian said, recovering first. “I saw you dance in Vancouver. Your fouettés in Swan Lake were insane—thirty-two in a row without travelling. Disgusting, honestly. If I had that kind of control in a spin, I’d be unstoppable.”

Kat's eyebrows rose a fraction. She looked him up and down—the pink hair, the tattoos visible on his exposed arms, the bare feet. He was clearly very comfortable here.

“Call me Kat. And you're Adrian Zhao,” she said coolly. “I saw you skate in Toronto. Landed five quads. Very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“You still finished second though.” A beat. “Behind Nico.”

Adrian laughed—genuinely delighted, the kind of surprised bark that meant someone had actually caught him off guard. “I don't mind finishing behind Nico. Or on top of him. Depends on the night.”

“Adrian!” I smacked him on the arm, my face flaming.

Kat cackled gleefully. Then she looked at me, tilting her head. I braced for impact.

“So this is why you're avoiding me?” she asked.

“I wasn't avoiding you.”

“So you two are a thing now? Not just hooking up?”

Adrian raised his brows at me, surprised that I had told Kat about Osaka at all. “Yes, it's official.”

She rolled her eyes. “How long?”

“Since Paris.”

She gasped. “Since Paris? And you didn't tell me?”

“It's complicated.”

“It's always complicated with you.” She looked at Adrian again, then back at me, then set the vodka on the counter with a decisive thud. She shoved the pint of sorbet she'd been carrying into my chest. “Fine. I'm staying for dinner. And you're telling me everything.”

“Dinner’s almost ready. I'll get another plate,” I said, escaping to the kitchen to put the sorbet in the freezer and take the chicken out of the oven.

“Excuse me, I’m going to grab some glasses.”

Adrian followed me, positioning himself between me and Kat's sightline. “Are you okay, Nicky?” His voice was low, just for me. “I know you didn't want anyone to find out.”

I looked at him—this man who had just been confronted by a fierce Russian ballerina wielding vodka but whose first instinct was still to make sure I was all right.

“Yeah, of course.” I squeezed his hand. “It's Kat. We can trust her.”