Chapter 47 Portia

Chapter 47 Portia
Mia's POV

She was in the lobby with a paper cup and a smile that had too many teeth in it.

I saw her before she saw me. She was leaning against the front desk with one ankle crossed over the other. Hair down. Training jacket fitted. She looked like a woman who had come early on purpose and wanted everyone to know it.

I kept walking.

"Mia. Five minutes."

"No."

"Then I'll talk while you walk."

She fell into step beside me. Her stride was longer than mine. She matched my pace without effort.

"I'm going to say something and you're going to want to hear it."

"I doubt that."

"Luca tried to leave me as his partner three weeks ago."

I kept walking. My legs did not stop. My face did not change. But my hands tightened on my bag strap and she was close enough to see it.

"He came to me after a Tuesday session," she said. "Sat me down in the changing room. Told me he wanted to end the partnership. No explanation. No apology. Just done."

"Why are you telling me this."

"Because I talked him out of it. I sat there for forty-five minutes and I reminded him what we've built and what we'd lose and what it would look like if he bailed mid-season. And he stayed. But not because he wanted to."

"Then why did he stay."

"Because I made it impossible for him to leave without looking like a coward. And Luca Harmon would rather skate with a woman he doesn't want than look like a man who ran."

We reached the rink doors. I pushed through. She followed.

"You should know," she said, "that he is exactly as committed to our partnership right now as he was the day before you came back."

"And how committed is that."

"Not at all."

I stopped. I turned to face her.

She was close. Close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something clean and expensive. She had the kind of face that was hard to read because everything on it looked deliberate. The smile. The warmth. The eye contact that held a beat too long.

"What do you want, Portia."

"I want you to know what you're dealing with."

"I'm not dealing with anything. Luca and I are not together."

"No. You're not. But you're not not together either, and that's the problem. Because while you're standing in the middle trying to figure out which direction to fall, my season is going to hell. My ranking is going to hell. And the man I have spent two years building a program with can't focus for more than ten minutes without looking at the door to see if you've walked through it."

"That's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was your fault. I said it was your problem. Because you're the only one who can fix it."

"Fix it how."

"Choose. Him or Mercer. I don't care which one. Just stop dangling both of them and pick one so the rest of us can get on with our lives."

"I'm not dangling anyone."

"Sweetheart. You are dangling two grown men in front of an entire skating circuit and every single person in that circuit can see it except you."

My jaw clenched. Nobody called me sweetheart. Nobody. Especially not a woman who was smiling at me like she was doing me a favor.

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"Bullshit. Nothing about you is habit. Everything is on purpose."

Her smile widened. Just a fraction. Like I had passed some kind of test she had been running.

"Fair enough," she said. "I'll skip the pleasantries. You want the truth? Here it is. Luca is in love with you. He has been in love with you since he was fifteen years old. He has been walking around that rink pretending to be my partner while his head is three doors down the hall in your bedroom. And I am tired. I am tired of picking up the slack. I am tired of skating with a man who is somewhere else. And I am really goddamn tired of pretending I don't know why."

"Then leave him."

"Excuse me?"

"If you're so tired. If skating with him is so unbearable. Leave the partnership."

"And throw away two years of work because you can't make up your mind? No. I don't think so."

"Then stop coming to me about it. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask Luca to feel anything. I didn't ask him to try to leave you. I came back to skate. That's it."

"That's it." She repeated my words back to me with a softness that felt like sandpaper. "Mia. If that was it, we wouldn't be standing here."

She stepped closer. Half a step. Enough that I had to choose between holding my ground and stepping back.

I held my ground.

"I'm not your enemy, Mia. I just know things about him you don't."

"Then keep them."

"I plan to. Most of them." She tilted her head. "But I'll give you one. Free of charge."

"I didn't ask for anything from you."

"You didn't have to."

I turned away from her. I walked to the boards. I sat down. I started lacing my skates. Left foot first. Pull. Loop. Pull. The rhythm was automatic. I had been doing it since I was four years old and it was the only thing in my body that did not feel like it was on fire.

I did not look up. I told myself I was not going to give her the satisfaction of asking.

I felt her standing behind me. Not moving. Just standing. Waiting. She had the patience of someone who knew exactly how long it took for curiosity to beat pride.

I laced the left skate. I laced the right. I pulled both tight. I reached for my guards.

She was still there.

"Suit yourself," she said. "But ask him why his ankle wrap is on the right foot today." She paused. "It's been on the left for three years."