by Piper Rayne
“We have a problem, Vanya, a big problem.” The words are urgent, and even though the person doesn’t introduce himself, I know the firm voice of my agent—and brother-in-law.
“Problem?” I ask. My mind races, thinking of anything that could have gone wrong over the past few days or weeks. I couldn’t pinpoint any, unless it had to do with my sister. “Is Stasya okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine.”
I wipe my forehead and relax a bit.
“This is about you and Katya,” he continues. “In a few hours, your relationship is going to be all over the newspapers.”
“You called me at five a.m. to tell me my relationship is going to be in the newspapers.” I yawn loudly in his ear. “It couldn’t have waited until eight?”
“She was photographed leaving your place last week,” he says, throwing random information at me like pieces of a puzzle, and I’m having a hard time putting them together. I’m really confused at why he’s so concerned. “Are you listening to me, Vanya?”
“Yes, I’m listening,” I reply, clearing my throat and wiping my sleepy eyes. “You’ll have to explain what’s going on because I’m confused,” I confess. He’s moving too fast for me this early.
“We have a scandal on our hands.”
“What’s the scandal, Kirya?” I swallow hard as I speak, my fingers reaffirming the grip on the receiver.
“A seventeen-year-old was photographed leaving your private residence. You were also spotted together in Chicago. The media is going to rail you. She’s underage, Vanya.” He’s taken the time to explain, yet his concern is still clear as mud.
“What does it matter? She turns eighteen next month. And—" I rub my forehead again. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because the media here is always trying to create drama. They aren’t going to say ‘Oh, they’re Russian and that’s normal for that culture.’ They’re going to say, ‘He’s a pedophile,’” he replies.
Using that word feels like he threw cold water on my face.
He’s right. It’s something I didn’t think of because I don’t think of Kayta as a child. She’s a woman—a professional. She’s been away from her parents—on her own in the tennis circuit—for years. We’re close because we have so much in common. I’m not a monster who preys on children.
Back home, a twenty-five-year old man being in a relationship with a seventeen-year-old wasn’t a big deal; in fact, it’s very normal. It’s not about age, it’s about stability. Russian women don’t want men with future potential, they want men who are established.
In America, though, they have a different culture and a way of doing things, and even though Katya and I are not American, it’s not going to matter much to the media. Kirya is right, we have a really big problem.
“What do we do now?”
“You’re going to have to lay low until she turns eighteen.”
“It’s so stupid! You don’t just turn into an adult because your age changes.”
“We both know that, but it’s a magic number here. A legal number,” he emphasizes. “You must promise me you won’t see her again until she turns eighteen.”
“I promise.” I pause, then continue quickly. “I’m not attracted to children, Kirya.”
“For fuck’s sake, Vanya. I know that! Zhenya went through the same thing, and she was sixteen when they dated. We both know he’s not interested in children either. He’s interested in hot, Russian models, like any warm-blooded male.”
After Kirya’s call, I can’t sleep, so I get up quietly and get ready to go to the arena early. I plan on pounding the treadmill and weights until morning skate.
“Dude, I’m sorry about the news,” Simmons, says when we take the ice. “They make everything sound so seedy.”
I skate to his left side, reaching for a rogue puck near the boards. “If you listen to the press, it’s like they think I’m prowling high schools for dates.”
“Right?” Novotný chimes in from behind me. He places his helmet on his head. “Athletes at our level have been adults since we were teenagers. We’re old enough to get drafted and sign contracts, but not old enough to date each other. It’s fucked.”
“Don’t let it get to you, V,” Simmons bumps my shoulder with his glove. “It’ll blow over as soon as she turns eighteen. Then you’ll turn into their power couple.”
Suddenly, I realize I may have more in common with my teammates than I originally gave them credit for. We may have grown up in different environments, but we’re all professionals. We all had to conduct ourselves as adults before we turned any technical age.
I squirt water into my mouth, drop the bottle back in the holder as I spit, and hit the ice, ready to put this drama behind me and get my head ready for tonight’s game against the New York Americans.
After the game, I head back to the hotel instead of grab a drink with the boys. They tried to lure me by saying they’ll go to the Russian Dining Room, but not even that can sway me. I want to talk to Katya to see how she’s feeling about everything.
Kirya was right, we’re all over the news. He told me to ignore all the drama and go about my regular schedule as if nothing were happening, so I did. But I have a gnawing feeling Katya wasn’t able to. She does a great job of ignoring the stories, but I know it gets to her.
When I get to my room, there’s a message from her saying she wants to talk and she’ll be here at eleven. I’m relieved she’s coming. We’re in this together.
“She should be here by now,” I mumble to myself as I check the time.
It’s 11:13 p.m. I keep pacing, biting my nails, my heart racing as I wait for her to arrive. I should have gone to her hotel. But there are more paparazzi outside her place than at the one the guys and I stay at.
“Finally!” I jump up as soon as I hear the knock. “Come on in,” I say hurriedly, as she steps in. You never know who may have followed her, lurking behind with their camera ready. “Are you okay?” I ask.
She looks exhausted. Her usual, bubbly smile is missing, and her eyes are rimmed with red.
“I don’t know, Vanya,” she says, running her fingers through her lifeless locks as she drops onto the couch. She buries her face in her hands. “I’ve gotten dozens of calls today. It’s all so overwhelming.” She sighs deeply, sounding tired and defeated. “Did you read the papers this morning?”
“No. I’m trying to avoid them,” I reply, sitting next to her.
“Well, I’ve seen them. Charlie brought some to me. It’s a scandal, Vanya. A man with an underage girl. They can’t let that part go. I’ll be eighteen in two months, but they make you sound like—” She lowers her head and inspects her nails. “It’s ridiculous that they make such a big deal over nothing,” she adds, huffing and rubbing her eyes.
I place a hand over hers. “Is it nothing?”
She slowly turns her head toward me, silence hanging in the air as we stare at each other.
“What do you mean?” she asks. The leather squeaks when she adjusts her position to turn to me.
“Look Katya, I know we have a lot of things to talk about, and I know things seems really crazy right now. But ever since the moment we ran into each other in Chicago, I’ve had only one thing on my mind.” I hold her gaze as I speak. I want her to know everything is true, and it comes from my heart.
“What is it, Vanya?” she asks gently, the words coming out in a whisper.
I shift closer to her on the couch, closing the gap between us as I take her hand in mine. “You, Katya. All I can think about is you. Day and night. During games. While I’m—while I’m doing anything.”
She stares at me, blinking a few times as if trying to understand, but not speaking.
The silence is killing me. I want her to say something, anything—even if it’s rejection. I can handle rejection. I can’t handle not knowing how she feels.
All of a sudden, her hands are on my face, cupping it gently. She leans closer, so close I can feel her warm breath on my f
ace. Then she kisses me. It’s a quick touching of lips at first, very brief before she pulls back, her eyes searching mine as if seeking my approval.
“Can I?” she whispers.
“Always,” I say before she kisses me again. It’s longer this time, more passionate. She presses her lips to mine, our mouths moving together as she pulls me even closer. Her lips are soft, delicate, and taste like bubblegum. My mouth has never touched anything better. Her tongue flicks at my lips, seeking entrance.
“Mmm,” she moans softly as I open for her, our tongues clashing as the passion begins to consume us. I kiss her back, matching her energy. She tugs my hair as she clutches it. Things are progressing faster now, mouths and hands exploring each other.
“Wait, we should stop,” she says, breaking away from the kiss, ending the moment just as quickly as it started.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We can’t do this, Vanya. I thought I could, but—” She touches her lips with her fingertips. She breaks eye contact and backs away. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong? You don’t feel the same way?” I ask. I thought we were on the same page. All of our interactions—every smile, every touch—has led us to this moment.
“No, Vanya, I feel the same way. I promise, I do. But we can’t do this right now. We can’t be together.” She faces me, making eye contact again as she says the words.
“Why?” I swallow hard.
“We’re all over the papers already, and we’ve haven’t even started dating officially.” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s just—a lot of things are holding us back.”
“What? What things are holding us back?”
“I just don’t see a way this could work.” Her voice shakes, and tears well up in her eyes.
“We can make this work. It’s going to take a lot of effort and some sacrifice from both of us, but we can do it.” There’s confidence in my words. I don’t see this as a situation that needs to tear us apart.
“There are lot of things at stake here. My career, your career. Charlie said I could lose my endorsements,” she replies. She’s sniffing, trying hard to blink back the tears. “I know you care about me, and I care about you, too. But this can’t work, Vanya.” As she says my name, the first tear breaks free, trickling down her face. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
She rises quickly and leaves without looking back.
“Katya!” I call after her. The world seems to stop for a few seconds. The back of my throat feels dry and irritated. The words sting, hurting in ways I could have never imagined.
At first, I think about running after her, trying to convince her that we could make it work, but I don’t. She’s freaked out, upset, and thinks this is bigger than it is. Nothing I say right now will change her mind. I just sit there, stuck to the couch, thinking of her words and thinking of how I lost her over media pressure—something so stupid and seemingly insignificant.
Something so stupid that will be a part of our lives for as long as either of us is in the spotlight.
8
Katya
While in Vanya’s room, my chest tightened and it felt like the walls were closing in. As soon as I’m outside, I breathe in the cool air and rush to the curb, raising my arm to hail a cab.
“Four hundredth block of Madison Avenue, please,” I reply as I hurriedly get into the car.
“You know the number?” he asks.
“Umm, no. It’s a hotel, the Castle.” It’s getting harder to breathe, and when I look out the window, I can barely see with the tears clouding my eyes.
“I got ya,” he confirms in a thick New York accent. “You okay, ma’am?”
“Yes, j-just drive, please.” My voice shakes so badly, the words are barely audible.
I had been holding it in since I told Vanya he and I couldn’t be together, holding back the tears from streaming down my face as I flagged down a cab. But now that I’m heading back to the solace of my own hotel room, and the driver’s attention is solely on the road ahead, I can finally let myself go. I lean back into the seat, rest my head on the window, and allow the tears to stream down my face.
I sob quietly as thoughts of Vanya, the only man I’ve ever fell hard for, swim around in my head. I don’t know where I summoned the courage to break his heart, to break my own heart, but I had to.
I can’t have him thrown off his game over some stupid stories in the press. I can’t have him thinking about me instead of thinking about his career.
I blamed it all on the press, the American press, who love to ruin whoever they consider celebrities. They killed off the flame before it even got a chance to ignite. The papers and media portray Vanya as a predator and me as a helpless girl who needed saving. They said because I’m still seventeen—underage in American laws—they make it appear like Vanya is a monster.
“You said the Castle, right?” the driver, who had been quiet since we started moving, asks.
His question draws me out of my thoughts. “Yes,” I reply, blinking fast, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hands.
“We’re here,” he replies, stopping in front of the massive brick building. The full name of the luxury hotel is, The Castle New York, which makes total sense because I feel like a princess when I stay here.
“Thanks,” I reply, wiping my eyes one last time before stepping out of the car.
“It’s a beautiful hotel,” he says as his eyes admire the place.
“Here you go.” I hand him some bills, without waiting to find out how much the fare was.
After entering the hotel, I race up the grand staircase, not because I need to take them to get to my room—there are elevators on the main floor—but because I can’t be here without taking them. I don’t see how anyone could stay at a place called a ‘Castle’ that has something they call a ‘grand staircase,’ without using it.
When I walk into the sitting area between my room and Charlie’s, he’s there, sitting on the couch, with a bottle of flavored-water beside him. “You’re back,” he says, looking up with a smile. His expression quickly turns to concern. “Are you okay?”
Charlie is more like a second father than a coach. We’ve spent more time together over the last few years than I have with my own parents. He knew me before I became a star, before all the fame, glitz, and glamour.
“Yeah, why?” I reply, sniffing as I try to force a smile. I side step him and go straight to my door. “I’ll be right back, Charlie. I need to use the restroom.”
The last thing I want is questions about why I’ve been crying. When he agreed to let me come to New York to shoot a commercial for an international make up brand, I told him I’d be completely focused on preparing for my match this weekend. He’d know immediately if—
“You went to see him, didn’t you?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“What are you talking about?” I gather myself quickly but don’t turn to face him.
“Don’t play that game with me, Katya. I know you too well,” he says gently, almost as if he’s pleading with me, begging me to tell him what was going on. “I see your eyes, I know you’ve been crying.” He gets up and walks towards me. “Did you go to see Vanya?”
“Yes, I went to see him,” I say quietly. Then I take a deep breath and will myself not to start crying again, but I can feel the tears well up.
“Are you okay?”
I pause before speaking, thinking of what to say. If I tell him I’m okay, yet lock myself away in my room. he’ll know I’m not. Hell, even if try to keep it together, Charlie will know. He’ll know in my demeanor. He’ll know during training. I might as well just bypass the drama and come clean.
“I’m not okay, Charlie,” I turn around, letting the tears stream down my face. This time, I let myself go, sobbing louder than I had in the cab.
“Come here,” Charlie pulls me into an embrace, stroking my back as I let it all out. He consoles me for a few minutes, saying nothing, just allowing me to cry. “Do you want to tal
k about it?”
“Yes,” I reply, sniffing as I break away from the embrace.
When I start wiping at my tears my fingers, Charlie leads me to the couch. He grabs a box of tissue off the table and hands it to me sitting down. “What happened?”
“He’s in town for a game. So, I went to his hotel. I know it wasn’t a good idea to go see him, but I had to, I needed to see him.” I sniff as I speak, still trying to blink back the tears as the words roll off my lips.
“I understand, Katya. When you said you were going out, I didn’t try to stop you or go with you. I knew you were going to see him,” he says. “Was Vanya upset about everything that’s going on?”
“Yes. He was angry and annoyed with the media. It’s ridiculous that we can’t just live our lives. Don’t we have enough pressure?”
Charlie nods.
“He—Vanya told me he has feelings for me,” I tell him as if he doesn’t already know.
“And you have feelings for him, too, don’t you?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t be crying like this if I didn’t have feelings for him, Charlie. I haven’t been able to keep him out of my head since the first day I saw him at that party you invited me to in Detroit.” I wipe my face again. “Do you remember that party?” I ask wistfully, smiling as the memories from the night we met flood my head. Everything still seems so fresh: the way he spoke to me, the way he smiled, the things we talked about.
“I told him we couldn’t be together though.” I lean back into the couch, a failed attempt to send back the coming tears.
“Why did you tell him that?” he asks calmly. He’s treating me like a fragile doll, and I’m not. Just because I’m letting my emotions out doesn’t mean I’m going to have a total breakdown.
“You brought the papers to me this morning, Charlie. You intercepted the calls from the media. You saw the horrible things they said. We haven’t even started dating yet. It’s a distraction,” I say, wiping the tears forming at the corner of my eyes away.
