Page 115 of Going for Gold (Sweet Cravings 3)

I grabbed it and immediately walked away. I was just letting out a sigh of relief when the officer said, "Miss, wait." Another guard stepped in front of me and put his hand up.

Oh shit. I'm being arrested. Will they have to read me my rights, or will they just throw me in a prison to rot? Maybe I'll get one call to the embassy...

"You forgot this," said the officer.

I turned around and saw that I had left my purse on the counter. "Oh, thanks," I muttered.

"Are you okay?" asked the officer. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah," said the other officer. "Unless you're a fugitive or a smuggler, Gustavo is just a big teddy bear."

"Well I'm definitely not a smuggler," I said with a nervous laugh. "Or a fugitive. Nope. That's not me. I haven't done anything illegal at all. Nothing to fuge from." Fuge? That's not even a word! I turned to walk away and tripped over someone's luggage.

By some miracle, the officers just helped me to my feet and let me pass. I immediately found a souvenir shop and bought a Brazil hoodie and a pair of the biggest aviator style sunglasses they had available. Once I was suitably disguised, I followed the signs to my terminal.

Flight 786 - Nonstop to Miami - On Time - Boarding in 5 minutes.

Five minutes. If I could avoid arrest for another five minutes, I'd be home free. I'd still have to face the horrors of what I had done, but that was better than facing the inside of a Brazilian prison.

I glanced up at the TV to pass the time. It was the local Rio news, and the top story was of course about the ITA tiebreaker. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was to

o curious to see if they'd show my...performance. I was relieved when they just cut right to the medal ceremony. It didn't make it all worth it, not even close, but seeing Gabriela up on the silver medal podium looking so pissed did make me smile for a second. I had finally beaten her. Or had I? Sure, I had won gold. But at the same time, I had sacrificed everything I loved. I had lost Bryce, I had lost my dignity, and I could never speak to my Dad again, so I surely had lost the bakery. At best, it was a pyrrhic victory. At worst, it was the stupidest thing I had ever done.

The report about the ITAs was interrupted for some breaking news about a local gangster shot dead at the Copacabana Palace. I looked away before they could show the picture of the guy. It was time to board.

Chapter 51

Alina

One Week Later

The next week was a big blur. From Miami, I flew to LAX. At the time, I didn't know why I had done it. I told myself it was because there were tons of famous people in L.A. so it would be easier to blend in. Or maybe I just belonged there since it was where all the porn stars lived.

I spent my first few days in Los Angeles hermitting in a crappy motel, only having human contact to order the bare minimum amount of food required to not starve. I screened all my calls, and I didn't even go on my phone again after I received an email from the US ITA Committee informing me that my prize money for my gold and silver medal were being withheld pending a formal review of my disgraceful actions during the tiebreaker. In other words, I was probably never going to see that money, and even if I did, it would be well after my dad had already sold the bakery.

After three days, I finally got the courage to go get tested for every STD in existence. When the tests all came back clean, I was finally able to admit to myself the real reason I had flown to Los Angeles: I had to see Bryce.

I knew it wasn't fair to ask him to ever speak to me again, much less forgive me, but I had to try. I loved him.

What the hell am I going to say to him?

That question consumed my thoughts for the rest of the week. I kept trying to plan out the perfect apology, but the truth was, no apology could ever make up for what I had done. Maybe I just wanted to see him to get some closure. If I didn't try to get his forgiveness, it would eat away at me forever.

I was going to summon an Uber, but my phone had died days ago and my charger was in Brazil, so instead I pulled on my Brazil hoodie and aviators and got the front desk to call me a taxi.

When we arrived at the address I had found by doing some old-fashioned phonebook stalking on Bryce, I handed the cab driver my credit card to pay the fare.

"Alina Smith?" he asked, reading the name on my card. "You're the ITA tiebreaker girl, right? I didn't recognize you with that hoodie on."

"No, that's not me."

He ignored me. "Can I have your autograph? My friends are never gonna believe I met you!"

"You're mixed up. I'm pretty sure the tiebreaker girl was Aliba Stitch, not Alina Smith." Aliba? That's not even a real name.

"Are you sure? You definitely look like her." He glanced down at my chest.

"Yup. I'm sure." Is this what every day is going to be like now? I was going to need to buy an entirely new wardrobe consisting only of parkas and sunglasses.

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