Page 3 of Hate You Most

She didn't stop. She recognized Dakota's voice immediately. Americans were loud and obnoxious even when they were trying not to be.

“Hey,” the voice repeated, closer now. “Russian skater. Silver medalist.”

That was enough to make Viktoriya turn around.

The American stopped a few feet away, still in her competition jacket, hair damp from sweat. Up close, she looked younger than she had on the podium—less polished. Her smile faltered when she met Viktoriya’s gaze, like she’d just remembered who she was talking to.

“Yes?” Viktoriya asked and hated how harsh her Russian accent sounded.

“I just—” the American shifted her weight, hands flexing like she didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I wanted to say you were incredible out there. Your double lutz was really good.”

Viktoriya blinked once. Praise from judges was expected. Praise from Dakota Sanchez was not. She’d just taken home the gold medal, and Viktoriya couldn’t tell if this was kindness or just another way of reminding her she’d finished second.

“Congratulations,” Viktoriya replied. “You skated well.”

The American’s grin widened. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

There was a beat of silence. The hallway buzzed with distant noise—laughter, camera shutters.

“I’m Dakota,” the American added, sticking out her hand. Viktoriya looked at it for a fraction too long before taking it. Dakota’s grip was warm.

“I know who you are,” Viktoriya replied without emotion and moved her hand to her side.

A flicker of emotion moved across Dakota’s face and almost as soon as Viktoriya had recognized its presence, it had disappeared.

“Right.” Her eyes dropped briefly to the silver medal around Viktoriya’s neck before returning to her face. “You skated beautifully out there.”

A compliment was worse than an insult.

Viktoriya forced a tight smile. “Enjoy your medal.”

Dakota laughed softly. “Trust me, I will.”

Something sharp twisted in Viktoriya’s chest.

She hated Dakota.

Hated her effortless smile, hated the gold medal around her neck, hated the way the crowd had loved her only minutes earlier. Most of all, she hated that Dakota had beaten her. One day it was going to be her winning gold at the Olympics, and no American skater would stand in her way. Judging by the look in Dakota’s green eyes, Viktoriya was certain the feeling was entirely mutual.

They were competitors. Rivals, even.

Viktoriya turned and walked away without looking back. Before disappearing behind a corner she stopped, turned around and found Dakota still looking at her.

The only difference between the two of them was that Viktoriya had a silver medal around her neck, and Dakota had won gold. She was going home to Russia with a silver medal. She may as well have had “massive disappointment” written across her forehead for everyone to see.

“I’m Viktoriya,” she said, the space between them almost like a physical barrier. “I skate better when there's competition. I will beat you next time, do not get used to the gold.”

She told herself later that she never thought about that moment again. That was a massive lie.

CHAPTER TWO

April 30th, 2011.

— World Senior Figure Skating Championships, Ladies Free Skate, evening. Moscow, Russia.

Viktoriya knew she had won before the scores came up.

There was a particular stillness that followed after a perfect skate—a quiet certainty that settled into her bones as she held her final pose. Her lungs burned and sweat cooled too quickly against her skin. Every jump had landed exactly how it was supposed to.