Chapter Thirty-Three

KATYA

“ H ello?”

Bryan snaps to attention, finally coming back into focus. “What?”

I nudge him. “What is it? You completely zoned out.”

“Sorry. I’m a little, um, out of it. Should’ve gone to sleep earlier.” He clears his throat. “Any news on the schedule for the show, by the way?”

“Nope. Lee says we should have it by tonight, though. Apparently there was a mix-up with one of the caterers, and it delayed everything.”

“Awesome,” he mutters, and I crease my eyebrows.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Is he mad at me for something? We’ve been having fun, haven’t we? Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged him half an hour away from everything else on our list just to take a picture. Things have been going relatively well—almost too well. Bryan would say it’s because I’m a cynic, but I can’t help but feel like something’s about to go wrong.

As if he can read my mind, he says, “Get out of your head, will you? Come on, there’s something I want to see.”

“ I may have miscalculated.”

I stare at the glass floor, where people are milling around, waiting their turn to walk on it. “You think?”

Turns out he’s dragged us to a death trap as punishment for me forcing him to do the photo on Cornelia Street—the One World Observatory. I remember Vanya saying once that it was on his bucket list, which probably just goes to show that only a lunatic would get within twenty feet of it, if Ivan Skorniakov had any interest. I turn back to Bryan, raising a single brow. “I dare you.”

He turns to see what I’m talking about, then scoffs. “No. No way.”

“Is Bryan Young afraid of heights?”

“Bryan Young is a sane human being,” he retorts. “And, for the record, I don’t see you running out there to risk your life, either. After you.”

I snort. “Please, Yasha, there’s no way in hell. You first.”

He pauses, looking back at me, brows furrowed. “What?”

“What? I said you first.”

“No, not that. You just called me something. What was it?”

I did?

“Yasha? Is it a cuss word or something?”

Oh. It must’ve slipped out. “No, it’s—“ I pause, frowning. “It’s like…” How do I explain? “I don’t know the word. Like Katya, for Ekaterina. Or Sasha for Alexandra.”

“A nickname?”

“Yes, but directly from the name.”

Unsurprisingly, Bryan nods like he totally understands what I’m saying, even though I can’t put it into words. He’s oddly good at that. “No, yeah, I get it.”

“Your name isn’t Russian, obviously, but I must’ve—” I hadn’t even realize I’d said it. I let out a little nervous laugh. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bryan says hastily. He has an odd look on his face. “Say it again?”

Why is he acting so weird? “Um. Yasha?”

His lip quirks. “Cool.”

I’m getting uncomfortable. “I don’t have to use it, or anything.”

“No, use it.” He’s got the strangest smile on his face. “Please.”

I draw my eyebrows together. “Okay, now you’re being creepy.”

“I’ll go if you go,” Bryan challenges as a response, looking over at the platform, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Challenge accepted, Young.”

We step onto the glass floor.

“Wow,” Bryan says breathlessly, and I’m inclined to agree. Because, really, wow . There are windows on all sides, with an uninterrupted, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the skyline spreading around us; the sky a cloudless cornflower blue above the sprawling expanse of steel skyscrapers, the hazy green tree-lined hills sloping in the distance beyond the city limits, the boat-spotted river glittering below.

I glance down— der’mo. That’s a mistake. Suddenly I feel like I’m about to plummet straight down into the streets below, the cars looking impossibly and nauseatingly tiny. My stomach sweeps, and I instinctively edge closer to Bryan, who glances down at me quizzically.

“You good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I reply, a little too quickly, and he steps back, taking me with him.

“‘Cause I’m about to puke,” he says. “You win that one. I want to get back on solid ground.”

I hope my face doesn’t show the amount of relief I’m feeling. “Well, if you insist. Glad to see you acknowledging that I’m better than you.”

Bryan rolls his eyes, keeping his arm looped around me as we get away from that death wish, then turns to me, clasping his hands together and dropping to one knee. “I worship at your feet, Andreyeva.”

“As you should, Young.”

I turn, expecting him to get over the joke and get up, but he’s not budging, still down on one knee.

“What’s wrong with you? Get up,” I hiss, grabbing him by the arm and trying to wrench him up, but he’s too busy grinning and enjoying this like the absolute idiot he is. That’s when it sinks in.

“If you embarrass me, I will be pissed,” I warn, but he ignores me completely. He takes both my hands, gazing up at me with those big blue eyes, pretending to be all supplicant and humble, and the people around us are starting to stare, probably getting a very wrong idea. Oh, for god’s sake.

“O Katya, Savior of Ice Sport, patron goddess of the under-appreciated and the overachieving, won’t you do me the honor of being my partner forever and ever?”

“Everyone’s looking at us. Stop it.”

He furrows his eyebrows gently, being so good at faking innocence it would be impressive if I weren’t extremely pissed. “Not until you say yes.”

“I’m going to kill you,” I say under my breath through a broad fake smile. “Yes,” I say loudly, and the tour groups around us burst into applause.

“Get that smile off your face before I punch you,” I inform him, and Bryan pops up to his feet, looping an arm back around my shoulders.

“You wouldn’t dare ruin all of this,” he fake-gasps, slapping his hands to his face.

“Just try me, we’ll play a fun little game, called how swollen can your jaw get before exploding?”

“Ha. Very funny.” Then he slaps his hand back over his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just—” he pulls away, doubling over and shaking with laughter. “Oh, Savior of Ice Sport—”

I smack him. “Shut up!”

“Never. I love it when you get all red.”

I give him an absolutely filthy look, not that it does much good. He’s still laughing at me, and I shove him, knocking him back into a wall.

“Ow,” he says, but he’s so busy choking on laughter that he can barely even say it. “Oh my god, you should see the look on your face.”

I’m fuming. “I’m going to kill you.”

He’s still practically turning blue from lack of oxygen, and I raise my hand threateningly. “You don’t think I can make you regret the day your mother dropped you on your head to make you this crazy, mudak?”

He stops laughing, looking at me before shaking his head solemnly. “Of course not. I’m very scared of you.”

“Good,” I grumble. He must not be that scared of me, though, because he gets off the wall and puts his arm around my waist, pretending like he isn’t smiling like the dumbass he is every time I glance back at him.

“You know I would never let you fall, right?” he says suddenly, and I look up at him.

I do. The answer comes up so automatically that it surprises me. Because I do know. He’s always there to break it for me. That time at Nebelhorn, in competition, at every practice we’ve ever had—it should be reassuring.

Instead, I just think about the one time he won’t be able to.