the river. And as it climbed into the blue afternoon sky, her spirits rose with it. Today, she’d been pushed, shoved, scowled at, snarled at and chased out of a church, but not once had anyone recognized her. No one had whispered or pointed. Cody and all the other bad memories were six thousand miles away. She’d even done a good deed. And she hadn’t given Anton Belikov a single thought.
Well, okay. Three out of four wasn’t bad.
Chapter Six
It wasn’t until they’d toured the gym and director’s house that Anton learned why Valentin Egorov wanted to speak with him alone.
“We intend to create one of Eastern Europe’s best training centers, catering to all disciplines of skating,” Valentin said, gazing out over the Lake Shosha rink’s pristine ice. Between the freshly painted boards and state-of-the-art, stop-motion video system, it was hard to believe this was the run-down former sports school Egorov and his coach bought cheap at auction two years ago.
Egorov continued. “We have commitments from an Italian ice dance coach who will bring two junior teams here in the spring, and next season Yulia Nosova intends to relocate from Saint Petersburg. I’ve committed to a tour immediately following the Games and need someone here to manage business, oversee the renovations and respond to the needs of the skaters. Of course, you will be generously compensated.”
The salary he named was impressive, though after poaching Anton’s partner, it was the least the man could do. Egorov was thirty-four, ancient in the skating world, but looked much younger. He’d led a charmed life and was offering some of the spoils. Still, Anton wasn’t ready to leap. Not quite. He gave a disinterested shrug. “I’d planned to coach when I’m through competing.”
“And you would have the opportunity to do so, through our developmental programs and also a charitable foundation I intend to establish that will assist promising skaters who lack financial means. You and I have been fortunate in that regard, but so many others are not.”
Valentin came from a rich, well-connected family. Galina did, as well. In their expensive sport, it was a big advantage.
“You have a diploma from a top university, and you’re well regarded in the skating world.” Egorov paused, and shifted his gaze toward the ice. “I also have great respect for you. While my competitive nature can prompt thoughtless actions, I hope we can move forward.”
Valentin Egorov admitting fault was almost as surprising as the job offer. Even if Anton wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, the guy deserved credit for owning up to what he’d done.
It was more than he could say for some.
They returned to the director’s chalet. Egorov’s boyfriend Adrian had asked them to bring back the extra case of wine he’d brought from Moscow. This weekend, the chalet was serving as a guesthouse for those who’d come for Valentin’s annual Cuban bash, and the main room was cluttered with bags, pillows and blankets. But Anton saw beyond the mess. The fieldstone fireplace and the rich tones of the old plank floor, covered with colorful, rustic rugs. If he took the job, this was where he would live.
The kitchen window looked out over the meadow behind the house. He imagined the big dome sky pink with sunrise, or shimmering with the aurora borealis. The stillness broken by birdsong, not traffic.
He was city-born and raised, but his first time in Lake Shosha brought a peace he’d never known was missing. Schedules, airports and pressure defined his skating life, and though he’d worked too hard to give it up just yet, more often he craved moments when he could simply...be. Times when he could watch the sunset and hear his own thoughts. This was a place to do that. He was ready for a saner, less regimented life...and the right person to share it.
Only problem was, Olga wouldn’t agree to this in a million years.
* * *
Back at Valentin’s dacha, the party had grown
Well, okay. Three out of four wasn’t bad.
Chapter Six
It wasn’t until they’d toured the gym and director’s house that Anton learned why Valentin Egorov wanted to speak with him alone.
“We intend to create one of Eastern Europe’s best training centers, catering to all disciplines of skating,” Valentin said, gazing out over the Lake Shosha rink’s pristine ice. Between the freshly painted boards and state-of-the-art, stop-motion video system, it was hard to believe this was the run-down former sports school Egorov and his coach bought cheap at auction two years ago.
Egorov continued. “We have commitments from an Italian ice dance coach who will bring two junior teams here in the spring, and next season Yulia Nosova intends to relocate from Saint Petersburg. I’ve committed to a tour immediately following the Games and need someone here to manage business, oversee the renovations and respond to the needs of the skaters. Of course, you will be generously compensated.”
The salary he named was impressive, though after poaching Anton’s partner, it was the least the man could do. Egorov was thirty-four, ancient in the skating world, but looked much younger. He’d led a charmed life and was offering some of the spoils. Still, Anton wasn’t ready to leap. Not quite. He gave a disinterested shrug. “I’d planned to coach when I’m through competing.”
“And you would have the opportunity to do so, through our developmental programs and also a charitable foundation I intend to establish that will assist promising skaters who lack financial means. You and I have been fortunate in that regard, but so many others are not.”
Valentin came from a rich, well-connected family. Galina did, as well. In their expensive sport, it was a big advantage.
“You have a diploma from a top university, and you’re well regarded in the skating world.” Egorov paused, and shifted his gaze toward the ice. “I also have great respect for you. While my competitive nature can prompt thoughtless actions, I hope we can move forward.”
Valentin Egorov admitting fault was almost as surprising as the job offer. Even if Anton wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, the guy deserved credit for owning up to what he’d done.
It was more than he could say for some.
They returned to the director’s chalet. Egorov’s boyfriend Adrian had asked them to bring back the extra case of wine he’d brought from Moscow. This weekend, the chalet was serving as a guesthouse for those who’d come for Valentin’s annual Cuban bash, and the main room was cluttered with bags, pillows and blankets. But Anton saw beyond the mess. The fieldstone fireplace and the rich tones of the old plank floor, covered with colorful, rustic rugs. If he took the job, this was where he would live.
The kitchen window looked out over the meadow behind the house. He imagined the big dome sky pink with sunrise, or shimmering with the aurora borealis. The stillness broken by birdsong, not traffic.
He was city-born and raised, but his first time in Lake Shosha brought a peace he’d never known was missing. Schedules, airports and pressure defined his skating life, and though he’d worked too hard to give it up just yet, more often he craved moments when he could simply...be. Times when he could watch the sunset and hear his own thoughts. This was a place to do that. He was ready for a saner, less regimented life...and the right person to share it.
Only problem was, Olga wouldn’t agree to this in a million years.
* * *
Back at Valentin’s dacha, the party had grown
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