From Lukov with Love
Page 46
He snorted and leaned closer to whisper into my ear, “Clearly. Your butt still looks better than hers.”
I snickered, and he smiled. We were already plastered at our sides, perfectly lined up from hip to thigh. His arm was pressed to mine. Ivan slipped it out and raised it, throwing it over my shoulder and hugging me to him even more than he already had. I lifted my legs and draped them over his lap, earning me a kiss on the cheek before we both faced the screen again just in time for the announcer to whisper, “Incredible!”
There were so many groans in the room, I couldn’t count them.
I wouldn’t use the word amazing, but….
“I bet you two could still win if you competed,” Jojo muttered.
I nodded, watching as the couple did a death spiral that I bet Ivan and I could still do faster. It wasn’t like we trained anymore, but a lot of mornings, before the rink was filled with young, hopeful figure skaters, he’d take my hand and we’d go through reserved versions of our old programs. We’d laugh through half of it, replacing triples with doubles most days, but every once in a while, we’d catch each other’s eye and know we were thinking the same thing. And we’d do a triple toe. Or a triple toe loop. Rarely, on really, really good days, we’d do a triple Lutz. Just to know we could still do it.
And then, the kids would show up, and we’d get to work. Coaching. Ivan had several boys, and I had a few girls.
We had talked about coaching a pairs team… but only if and when we found the right team. We just hadn’t yet.
It had been four years since we had retired, and it still didn’t feel like enough time had passed.
Four years since Ivan had a surgery to fuse his spine. A surgery that had been so dangerous I had thrown up twice in the waiting room. Four years since the doctor had said it would be reckless for him to continue to skate pairs.
And four years since Ivan had looked at me and said, “Find another partner. You don’t have to retire because I am.”
What a fucking idiot. Some shit never changed. Like there was anyone else I would ever want to partner with.
It had been five years since we had won our last—and third—world championship.
Eight years since we’d won our second world championship.
Eight years since we’d won two gold medals. One in pairs and another in the team skate. Making Ivan the most decorated U.S. figure skater in history.
Nine years since we’d won our first world championship, and the first of three national championships.
Most importantly, it had been nine years since we’d gotten married. Nine years and three months from the moment he had said, panting and red-faced, out on the ice at the end of our long program while the crowd went fucking nuts, “I think you should marry me, Meatball.”
I’d only made him ask three times. And when we got married in the same nondenominational church that Jojo had married James, it had been the greatest moment of my entire life.
And then Danny, Tati, and Elena had happened.
“Daddy,” a little voice said from the floor. “That double Axel was sloppy, right?”
“Very sloppy,” Ivan lied, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“You’ll tell me if I’m sloppy, right?”
I glanced at Ivan and raised my eyebrows, watching as he made a face at me because we both knew the truth. Him telling his little baby she did something wrong? Get real.
“I’ll tell you if you’re sloppy,” a seven-year-old voice came up from the direction of the floor too. “You were yesterday.”
“No, I wasn’t!” the six-year-old shouted, sitting up so I could see her dark head for the first time since we’d all—three dogs and two pigs included— taken over the living room to watch the short program part of the night.
“Yeah, you were!” Danny claimed, still out of view. “I watched you!”
And either like she wanted to join in or if she was going to eventually be the mediator between her brother and sister, Elena gave a cry from where she was lying with my brother.
And just like that, the argument ended. There was a long, drawn-out sigh, and then another long, drawn-out sigh, and then the six-year-old laid back down beside her older brother.
The silence lasted maybe ten seconds before I heard them start bickering back and forth with each other.
God, they were nightmares. They were exactly the kind of argumentative, bossy, stubborn, strong-willed kids that I used to think were adorable, when they were really a pain in the ass.
But I loved them so much; they were worth the two seasons that Ivan and I had taken off to have them. Danny would never know he’d been conceived on accident the night we won our second world championship… but he definitely knew that once I’d found out I was pregnant, I had thought it was the best news of my life. Ivan and I had created a life. Something that was both of us on one of the best nights of our lives.
And twelve months later, when I ended up getting pregnant again, we had done it on purpose.
It had only taken me years to figure out I could make everything work with the right person. And this idiot beside me who hugged me and grabbed my ass at least a dozen times at the LC randomly throughout the day, who took care of me and motivated me and wanted the best for me every single day of my life, was it.
And like he knew exactly what I was thinking, Ivan leaned over and kissed my temple, squeezing me to him even tighter.
“Mom, Danny just flicked me on the forehead!” Tati wailed, totally blowing it out of proportion. Probably. “I’m gonna kick his b-u-t-t!”
“What’s a b-u-t-t?” Danny asked a moment later.
My mom turned around from where she was sitting next to Ben and shot me a smug look. And I knew exactly what she was thinking.
I was going to pay for all my sins with these three.
And I wasn’t even dreading it.
Acknowledgments
A book is never written without a lot of love and attention from an army of people.
First, a massive thank you to all of my readers. I wouldn’t be writing this right now if it wasn’t for your support. I say it every time, but you guys are seriously the absolute best. Thank you for sticking with me and just being awesome in general.
To the greatest reading group in the history of the Internet, my Slow Burners, thank you for your patience and love. To my pre-readers/friends for putting up with me and the horrible drafts I send you. Ryn, I can’t thank you enough for not just being a good friend but for also helping me out with this freaking blurb. To my new friend Amy who kept me company so many nights doing writing sprints and for letting me vent randomly, this book would have taken me way longer to finish (and it would have been less fun).
Eva, Eva, Eva. The list of all the shit you do for me is endless. You’re a wonderful friend and every book is so much more special thanks to your eagle eye and honesty and your constant reassurances that you love it. I can’t thank you enough for everything. (Especially for putting up with me.)
Thank you to Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs for bringing to life my vague ideas for book covers. Jeff Senter at Indie Formatting Services for always being so great. Virginia and Jenny at Hot Tree Editing for your kindness with edits. Lauren Abramo and Kemi Faderin at Dystel & Goderich for all those foreign rights we’ve been selling.
A great big thank you to the greatest family I could ever ask for: Mom, Dad, Ale, Raul, Eddie, Isaac, Kaitlyn, my Letchford family, and the rest of my Zapata/Navarro family.
Last but not least, Chris, Dor and Kai. Every book is for you, my loves.
About the Author
Mariana Zapata lives in a small town in Colorado with her husband and two oversized children—her beloved Great Danes, Dorian and Kaiser. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, spending time outside, forcing kisses on her boys, harassing her family, or pretending to write.
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