The others dispersed to their rooms to get into costume. I hung back, pretending to study my elaborate braided hairstyle in the mirror by the door. Bella had extended an olive branch to me, and I felt compelled to do the same for her.
“We need to talk,” I said as soon as Bella and I were alone.
“About what?” She’d taken out a compact to touch up her still flawless eyeliner.
“About Heath.”
The friendly, flirty demeanor he displayed around Bella—that wasn’t at all the way Heath would’ve acted if he actually had feelings for her. It was a show, and I was the audience.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two—and I don’t want to know.” I took a deep breath. “But wherever Heath was for all those years, whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t have come back solely to skate. Once he’s gotten what he wants…”
“And what is that, exactly?” Bella said. “You?”
“No, that’s not wh—”
“Not everything is about you, Kat.” She snapped the compact shut. “And it’s not like you give a damn about Heath anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
“You didn’t want him. You tossed him aside for my brother.”
“Becauseyoutold me to!”
“As if anyone could ever makeKatarina Shawdo something she didn’t want to do.”
It sounded like something Heath would say. It was probably something hehadsaid to her, in a moment alone after practice. Or huddled close on a long-haul flight.
Or in bed in a Tokyo hotel room, whispering together in the dark.
“Our friendship never meant anything to you, did it?” I asked, though I wasn’t expecting an answer. “All you care about is winning.”
“That’s all we both care about.” Bella turned away, busying herself with stowing brushes and palettes back in her custom monogrammed makeup case. “That’swhywe’re friends.”
I wrenched open the door. “Not anymore.”
—
When I made my way to the rink after dark, I was still seething. If only the event that night had been a competition. Then I could have focused my fury on beating Heath and Bella.
But this was some frivolous party, a bunch of SoCal businessmen getting soused on overpriced champagne while their trophy wives hung off the arms of their designer jackets. There would be no winning, no medals. No satisfaction at all.
Garrett waited for me beside the rink, the glow of the firepit next to him glinting off the crystals that decorated his shoulders like fresh snowfall. The flames danced over faux stone pellets, so there was no comforting scent of woodsmoke, only the chemical tang of propane.
He took one look at me and asked, “You okay?”
My head burned from the braids—which I was starting to suspect Bella had made too tight on purpose. My makeup was already melting in the balmy evening air. The crystals on my bodice scoured my bare arms like steel wool. My former best friend was probably sleeping with the only man I’d ever loved, and I wanted to open my mouth and scream until every rich asshole on Coronado Island turned to gape at me in horror.
“I’m great,” I said. “When do we start?”
“Any minute now. We’re skating second.”
“Second? Who’s skating first?”
Garrett shrugged. In a competition setting, the later you skated, the higher your rank. But at an event like this, where the crowd would grow more distracted (and drunk) as the evening wore on, opening the show was the plum spot. All I wanted was to get our performance over with, so I could focus one hundred percent of my attention on Nationals.
The lights shifted, projections of snowflakes swirling across the ice. “Ladies and gentlemen,” came a male voice over the sound system. “Please gather round for a special performance from the Lin Ice Academy!”
A spotlight hit the other side of the rink, and music started to play. A trumpet fanfare.
