Page 3 of Your Sharpest Edge
“Did you hear the big news?” he asked.
That got my attention, so I looked back up at him. “No.”
“I figured it would’ve gotten telephoned back to you.”
“Uh... no?” It came out as a question, but mostly because the people at the skate shop most definitely touched my laces because they didn’t fit right.
Fuck. Fuck. I had a routine, and I hated when it got messed up.
“I’m getting married.”
“The fuck?” I dropped my skate and looked up at him as he sat down on the bench next to me.
“Yeah.” He shook his head with excitement, giving me a chance to size him up.
His curly blonde hair framed his face, adding a touch of youthfulness to his otherwise imposing figure. He stood tall, easily towering over me, with a height of about six foot five to my six foot three. His lanky build contrasted with my solid frame. While he had a boyish charm, my broader shoulders and defined jawline gave me a more rugged appearance.
“Who are you getting married to?” I asked. “Anyone I’d know?”
I figured it was since he mentioned that I may have a clue about the news.
“Yes.”
I turned toward him. “Who?”
“Anastasia Illyiana.”
I paused for a second, trying to figure out why that name sounded so familiar. “The ice-skater?”
He nodded. “Yup.”
I cocked my head to the side. She lived in Moscow, but sometimes we’d share the same rink times with the ice-skaters, so I’d seen her in passing, but never really knew her.
“I thought she was in a relationship with her partner. She’s practically a kid,” I remarked, puzzled by the situation.
The last I had heard from gossip sites indicated she was already taken. Moreover, she was renowned as one of the bestpair ice-skaters in the entire country. It seemed illogical for her to give up such a successful career to come to the States. Back in Russia, she had fame, money, and recognition—starting new here didn’t add up.
“No, she’s nineteen,” he replied, shaking his head. “So, you do keep up with the gossip?”
“Here and there,” I grumbled and then went back to lacing up. “So . . . marriage . . .”
He nodded. “Yeah. She moved here to be with me.”
Ah. That made more sense. But what I still wasn’t understanding... “She left everything to be with you?”
“Da. I can give her a better life here. She’ll still skate, but her parents and I think she needs to be domesticated. She needs money to skate in the States. I have money, but I need a wife. Anastasia will stay home and learn her place.”
And there it was. This was an arranged marriage. He took her away from her home, isolating her completely just to “domesticate” her. It was fucking cruel. She was a phenomenal skater.
“I’m glad she’s still skating here.”
He shrugged. “Yes, and hopefully with time, she’ll be able to move away from partner skating and more into the individual. She’ll do better there.”
He was so assured in his statement that if I didn’t know anything about figure skating, I’d have thought he was correct. But switching from individual to partner and vice versa was like starting over. From my limited understanding, she would’ve needed to learn new routines, get a new coach, even go so far as to practice in an entirely different way, exercising different parts of her muscles.
But it wasn’t my business. I didn’t know Anastasia.
“Well.” I finally managed to get everything laced up. “Congrats are in order then, man.” I stood up, giving the guya quick pat on the back before we walked out toward the rink together.
