by Leddy Harper
My mother stepped out wearing bright red high heels with a matching red dress. Leave it to Joy Rossi to dress like the First Lady. She pulled her stark white jacket tight around her waist, her eyes skittering around, not a blond hair out of place. Judging by the scowl on her face you'd think we were in the dingiest place on Earth.
"This is probably where muggers hide at night and bums come to sleep. Of all the gyms, I can't believe Konstantin picked this place. It looks…disgusting." I couldn't tell if her shiver was from the chilly breeze we weren't used to, or the fact that she thought I had purposely picked some remote serial killer town with no running water or electricity.
"Joy," my father warned.
I shook my head, not agreeing with her judgmental attitude. How she came to that conclusion in a matter of two minutes was beyond me. Deep down I knew Dad would have never agreed to this had he not done his own research and thought it was safe.
Glancing around, all I could see were commercial buildings nearby and hunter green dumpsters placed sporadically outside. Obviously it was a part of town where businesses were located–a commercial area–not fancy five-star restaurants where my mother was used to dining at or ritzy boutiques. Unfortunately, she didn't see things my way. What she saw were dim colors with no life, and most importantly, a place where she would gain nothing.
I saw my future. I saw my dream staring at me from behind the concrete walls daring me to get my ass moving.
Dad placed his arm out gesturing for me to lead the way, and I headed up the walkway toward the entrance. Grabbing the cold door handle, I pulled it open and stepped inside World Cup with my parents following closely behind.
The smell of chalk permeated the air and my stomach quivered at the first inhale. It was a distinct scent to a gymnast, practically part of our food groups, difficult to explain to anyone not involved in the sport. I guess I'd say it was similar to baby powder, but chalkier smelling. Muffled music blared through the speakers, a spring board rebounded, and the sound of the uneven bars being released ricocheted and shook, grabbing my attention. It was music to my ears, the kind of sound that got my adrenaline pumping and my pulse thumping, beckoning me to drop everything and wrap my hands around the bars or to feel the spring floor beneath my feet. A smile curved my lips.
Taking another deep breath, I exhaled, unable to hide my splitting grin. My heart was ready to explode. Finally, I was where I was supposed to be.
Looking around the empty lobby, I wasn't sure where to go, but the window to my right showed a view of the huge facility. It was completely deceiving from the outside...cue the anxiety. Intimidation definitely hit hard in that moment.
Gymnasts, both male and female, were scattered around, white chalk dusting their skin. I could see not just one, but two floors, three sets of uneven bars, and seven balance beams along with two vaults. There was also a tumble track, various equipment for men, and a high bar with a foam pit and resi-mat, which is a huge mat on top of a foam pit for practicing new dismounts. It was for softer landings at first. Farther back, I could see a few rooms closed off, but had no idea what they were used for.
Even my parents both seemed to be in awe of the gym, if their wide eyes were anything to go by. Goose bumps traveled up my arms in anticipation as the rush of adrenaline began beating through my veins at the sight before me.
A few feet away, a slamming door shook me out of my stupor compelling me to look over my shoulder. My parents followed the sound, and I spotted a tall, muscular man. He placed his hands on his hips as his eyes connected with my parents’ first before trailing down and locking with mine, his narrowing gaze holding me in place. His powerful presence demanded attention, and without a doubt, he had all of mine.
Never in all my life had I ever seen someone so unbelievably gorgeous. There was no other word I could use to describe him than that. His commanding eyes made me think it was possible that he could be a coach, but no coach I'd ever seen had been that young looking—or attractive. Come to think of it, none of them had ever really been under the age of forty without a pot belly and receding hairline.
Since Konstantin had purchased this place, did that mean the former coaches still worked here? Surely this couldn't be one of them.
My lips parted as he stalked toward us with power and poise radiating off him. The beating of my heart nearly leaped into my throat as I stared like he was some sort of Adonis. He was so incredibly hot with unshaven dark stubble that dusted his squared jaw combined with full lips, the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, and hair so dark it was nearly black. I was pretty sure I’d heard the angels sing their praise upon him when he entered the room. Sweet baby Jesus, the man was perfection, and I couldn’t wait to tell my best friend, Avery.
Crossing the room, he extended an arm out. "Frank, it is good to see you again, old man." The muscles in his forearm flexed, the veins signifying the strength he wielded. It was incredibly difficult for me to tear my eyes away as he gave my father a firm handshake. He was, absolutely, drop dead gorgeous. Avery would call him fucking hot. She loved to add fucking to the beginning of everything.
"Kova."
This guy was my dad's friend? And he owned this place? No fucking way. He looked like he was fresh out of college, no more than twenty-five years old–max. Dad didn't have very many young friends I was aware of...I could count on one hand the friends I had met who were younger than him. Typically, they had greying hair, crow's feet, and overworked, quickly aging skin. The complete opposite of what was right in front of me.
Wait. Why did he call him Kova?
So Kova was Konstantin? Where that nickname came from was beyond me. But the more talking they did, and the camaraderie I witnessed before me, the more I realized this was the man who my dad indeed talked about.
So many things ran through my head at the moment. This couldn't be right. Vaguely, I remembered hearing the name years ago in the gymnastics circle. It wasn't much other than he was one of the most decorated gymnasts to date, bringing home more medals to Russia than any other male athlete ever had. He'd competed in two Olympics and dominated in each one of them. Rumor had it he was supposed to try for a third Olympics but pulled out at the last minute due to unforeseen reasons no one knew about. Many rumors circulated, some even saying steroid use was the reason he didn't compete.
"Welcome to World Cup Academy of Gymnastics."
That accent was most definitely Russian. And the more I stared, the more I realized it truly was him. I was completely dumbfounded and felt like a fool for not putting two and two together.
For a gymnast, Kova was tall. Probably around six feet, give or take a few inches. Pair that with his heavily muscled shoulders and firm chest, evidenced by how tight his shirt was stretched. He looked like the perfect package, if there ever was one.
My cheeks flamed, heat rushing to the top. And now I was checking out his package! Oh, my God. What the hell was wrong with me?
"You remember my wife, Joy, and our daughter, Adrianna. Or Ana as we call her."
I internally rolled my eyes. My name was Adrianna, not Ana. I've always hated that nickname. It made me feel like a child being reprimanded, yet they constantly called me that knowing how much I detested it. Grin and bear it, I told myself. Grin...and bear it.
As Konstantin shook my mother's hand, I chuckled on the inside. Her hand was enveloped in his and I would bet she was worried that he'd crush it. It was a damn handshake for Christ’s sake yet she acted like she was so fragile. There was nothing more annoying than when my mom acted like she was made of porcelain. I guarantee her dainty, cold fingers were resting in his hand like they were dead, which only seemed to match her icy demeanor. I only knew this because I've seen her do it a million times.
"Hello again, Kova. You have a nice…facility," she tried to say with sophistication. Only I could see right through her bleached teeth at her pretentious personality. An air of money surrounded her and she wore it like a second skin. My mother and I couldn't be more opposite.
>
Konstantin turned my way and I nearly lost all common sense. His emerald eyes were encircled by a thick black ring with faint web-like lines reaching his irises. Mesmerizing. They reminded me of a rainforest—beautifully alluring, uncharted territory with no true knowledge of what lurked around. Framed between thick lashes, his gaze was penetrating, like he could read my deepest, darkest secrets.
"Ana, it is a pleasure to see you again. Last time I saw you, you barely reached my knees and were running around with pigtails. You've grown so much," he said.
Pigtails? I think I stopped with the pigtails around five. If that was the case, he was clearly over twenty-five.
"Adrianna." I emphasized my name. The ends of his lips curved upward just a hint and my stomach tightened. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear demurely and returned the smile.
"Are you sure you are ready for this? I can assure you that this is going to be nothing like your old gym, which I have already explained to your father. You are going to be exhausted, and probably bruised and sore until your body adjusts to the training. Just because your dad and I go way back, do not think for one minute I will be easy. I hope you are ready for that kind of conditioning."
Ever get the urge to repeat a thick accent after just hearing it? Like you wanted to throw your hands in the air and speak extra loud like an Italian? I wanted to repeat every word Konstantin had just said. The way he spoke was so sexy, and that whole intense demeanor thing he had going on worked in his favor.
"I am," I responded timidly.
Glancing back at my parents, he said, "How about we head into my office and go over some paperwork before taking a tour of the gym. Yeah?"
The next thirty minutes were spent going over all the fine print and signing medical release forms. My mother appeared as if she'd been suffering from constipation no matter how hard she tried to look composed. Gymnastics, along with legal documents, were so out of her element. Pretending to be a concerned mother was not in her comfort zone. Charity fundraisers were more her thing where she could dress up, plaster on a phony smile, and act like she gave a shit about something. It was hard to blame her as my own thoughts drifted around the room, taking in the various medals and trophies, quickly losing interest in the topic myself.
I didn't care about all this paperwork, all I wanted to do was get on the floor and feel the carpet beneath my feet. Floor was my absolute favorite event. It was where I felt free and could let go, flying through the air at my heart's desire. I loved tumbling, loved defying gravity, and secretly prayed to God that I wouldn't land on my ass each time.
I despised beam with pure hatred. But that was another story entirely.
I looked over at my dad as he was deep in conversation with Konstantin. He was actually interested in knowing more about my training, but then again he liked reading the small print and knowing exactly what he was paying for. It was why he'd done so well with his own company. No one could nickel and dime him. He loved money and made sure he knew where every penny he made was going. And it didn't matter that this was a friend he should probably be able to trust, he was still going to check and cover his ass.
In the midst of explaining the forms and going over my strict training regimen, I heard 'dance class' and my attention snapped back to the conversation.
"Dance class?" I butted in.
Konstantin lifted a perfectly arched brow, his eyes narrowing as if just noticing me. "I was mentioning to Frank that you will be taking ballet class, along with jazz."
My mouth gaped open. "Ballet?" I asked, annoyed. Please tell me that was a joke. There was no way I was taking that. I hated ballet!
"Yes, Adrianna. Ballet. It helps with posture and grace on the floor. Not to mention, flexibility and core strengthening."
"I have grace and fluidity on the floor already. I don't need these extra dance classes." I've never had to take them back home, why would classes like that matter here? All these extra classes were going to do was take away from the one thing I came here to do, and I refused to let that happen. Surely I wouldn't have to take that stupid class.
Konstantin placed his expensive looking, shiny pen down slowly. It was unnerving the way he stared at me and I wanted to look away. However, I refused to look weak so I kept my eyes trained on him, focusing on the black flecks glittering in his eyes.
"I am going to keep it easy and simple for you. You play by my rules here. You either take the classes or you will not train at World Cup."
Easy and simple? As if I was some moron who didn't comprehend complex words? My parents hadn't spent thousands of dollars a year on a private tutor for nothing.
Slapping on a fake smile, I said with a sugary voice, "Ballet really isn't necessary. It would be a complete waste of time. I've never needed it before and I sure don't need it now." I finished with a few rapid blinks, a tight lipped smile, and waited for his response. This was what I liked to call my social event face my mom taught me. Sweet, innocent, and full of shit. A typical Palm Beach fashion.
Konstantin paused and simply stared at me for a few heartbeats. Just when I thought I'd won, he snatched back the papers my dad had in his grip. Looking to my dad, he said, "I can see Ana is not yet ready for this kind of commitment, Frank. It takes dedication, hard work, and most importantly, listening skills. And until she understands it is my way—"
What was that supposed to mean? Blood pumped rapidly to my heart. Was he seriously rejecting me, saying that I couldn't train here? No...I refused to let that be an option, so I cut in before he spoke another word in that stupid Russian accent of his I loved only moments earlier.
"How many of these classes do I need to take?"
He looked back at me. "As many as I say you need."
The last thing I wanted was to show any real emotion so I clenched my teeth and dipped my head slowly in surrender. Despite his good looks, he was being a total ass, and that was something I wasn't used to with my other coaches.
There had to be some way out of these classes, and I was determined to find it.
Konstantin slid the papers back to Dad but his gaze never wavered from mine. "I spoke with your old coach and asked about your current training, where you could use improvement. He said you lacked flexibility which is where ballet comes into play—it helps open your hips, stretch your legs, and gives the long, lean body lines that gymnastics often hardens. Contrary to what you believe, he also mentioned that you could use more grace. Dance is an important element to have for balance beam and floor. We want you to flow, not come across as a robot. With that being said, my evaluation will decide what you need."
My blood pressure rapidly increased and it took everything in me not to refute his statement. Just when I though I’d moved forward, I’d really taken ten steps back. I was not a stiff robot on the floor like he insinuated. I knew how to move for fuck’s sake.
"And all these extra dance classes–ballet and jazz–are included in her new gym schedule?" My dad piped in and thank God he did. I was ready to blow a fuse. "She'll be doing two-a-day, along with training for a total of forty hours a week?"
Konstantin turned back to my dad. "Yes, she will have one full day off. What she chooses to do with that day is on her, but when she is here, she is under my supervision and the control of World Cup, along with the other coaches. As much as I want to put gymnastics first, school is more important so we work around a schedule for all my gymnasts. Once it is set, she'll have to take responsibility and balance it. Typically, there will be practice in the morning where we focus on strength and conditioning, break for school, then gymnastics in the afternoon. Dance will be on rotation." He took a breath and continued. "Most gymnasts here are in public school so their hours are always consistent. A few girls share an apartment to help keep their expenses lower. I understand that you have rented an apartment for her?"
Dad cleared his throat. "I'm sure you're aware after all these years now that money is no option for me, Konstantin. I've gone ahead and occupied one of the top floor cond
os at Cape Harbor for her. It's a two-bedroom condo across town in one of my gated communities, and I also purchased an SUV for when she's ready to drive.
"As you know, being a Rossi brings a lot of publicity, and I need to make sure Ana is safe. She appears much older than she is and has a strong head on her shoulders, unlike most girls her age. I know you'll be nearby if anything should happen, but I still worry with her being so far away. I took the necessary precautions before allowing her to move here. Ana doesn't want for anything, and anything she does need she'll have so she can focus on gymnastics. I've even gone the distance to have her meals delivered to her apartment and a tutor in place."
Kill me now.
Did he have to make me sound like a spoiled princess? Dad always managed to find a way to talk about money, or how much of it he had. It was humiliating and I hated how he spoke about it in the pompous manner that he did, friend or not. Stifling a groan of embarrassment, I chewed the inside of my lip instead. It was mortifying, especially sharing the fact that he ordered meals for me. He knew I was responsible enough to make wise decisions, unlike my brother who reveled in the Rossi name and money.
I stared at Konstantin trying to gauge his reaction at the unnecessary shit my father elaborated on, but his face gave nothing away. His cold stare–the resting bitch face–could rival my mother’s. He must've felt me drilling holes into his head because he glanced over but I quickly turned away. Stupid! My long auburn hair fell, shielding my face. I had this move down pat. I could peek through my eyelashes, going unnoticed and looking innocent at the same time. I loved my long hair, it protected me from times like this when I wanted to ignore someone without making it too obvious. The way he commanded attention caused my heart to hammer against my ribs. As long as he didn't open his mouth to spew more ridiculous ballet class suggestions, I couldn't help but be drawn to him.
