Chapter 195

Chapter 195
Étienne

Morning came too soon. Elena was already awake when I opened my eyes, propped on one elbow watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"You're staring," I said, my voice rough with sleep.

"You were thinking so loudly you woke me up." She traced a finger down my chest, following an old scar. "What were you thinking about?"

You. Always you. "How this changes everything," I said instead, catching her hand before it could wander lower. "How we navigate this when we get back to Paris. What we tell people."

"Do we have to tell anyone?" She shifted closer, and I bit back a groan as her bare skin slid against mine. "Can't we just... be? Figure it out as we go?"

It was so perfectly Elena—direct, uncomplicated, refusing to acknowledge the complexity of what we'd done. But I was the one who'd spent thirteen years managing every detail of her life, and I couldn't simply turn that off.

"Your mother arrives in two weeks ," I reminded her, gently extracting myself and sitting up. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache, but I needed distance to think clearly. "She's going to notice if we're..." I gestured vaguely at the rumpled sheets, the evidence still visible on both our bodies.

Elena's expression shuttered, and I hated myself for putting that look on her face. But we couldn't afford to be reckless, not when so much was at stake.

"So what do you suggest?" Her voice was carefully neutral, but I heard the hurt beneath it. "That we pretend last night didn't happen?"

"No." The word came out more forcefully than I'd intended. "Never that. But we need to be strategic. Your qualifier is in four days. You should be focused on training, not..." I gestured between us.

"Not yet," she repeated, and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. "So when, Étienne? After the qualifier? After the Olympics? Or are you already regretting—"

I kissed her, hard and possessive, cutting off the spiral of doubt I could hear building. When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"Listen to me," I said, framing her face with my hands, forcing her to hold my gaze. "I don't regret this. I will never regret this. But you have worked your entire life for the Olympics. I won't be the reason you lose focus now."

I saw her process that, saw the fear give way to understanding and then determination.

"Then come with me," she said. "To Jakarta. Watch me compete. Be there when I finish."

Everything in me wanted to say yes. To follow her across the world and be there whether she soared or fell. But I'd already disrupted her training by bringing her here, by letting my control slip.

"I can't." The words tasted like ash. "The board meeting is Friday. My father will use any excuse to question my commitment. If I fly to Jakarta—"

"Then watch the livestream." She pulled back, and I let her go, hating the distance. "Like you always do. From your office or wherever you hide when you're pretending you're not obsessed with my every move."

The bitter accuracy stole my breath. She'd been watching me as carefully as I'd been watching her.

"I'll watch," I promised. "I'll clear my schedule. Nothing will be more important."

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. But Étienne?" She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "When I get back, we're not pretending anymore. No more careful distance. I want everyone to know you're mine."

The possessiveness in her voice sent heat straight through me, and I had to grip the sheets to keep from pulling her back. "Everyone?"

"Everyone." Her smile was fierce. "Let them judge. I don't care anymore."

God, I love you. The words stuck in my throat, too enormous to voice, but she must have seen them because her expression softened.

"I love you too," she said quietly. "Now feed me. I'm starving, and we have a long drive back."

---

The return journey felt both too long and too short. Elena dozed in the passenger seat while I navigated mountain roads and tried to reconcile the man I'd been yesterday with the one I'd become overnight.

She woke as we descended into the valley, immediately reaching for her phone. I watched her scroll through messages, saw her expression tighten.

"What is it?"

"The qualifier schedule changed." She held up her phone. "I fly out tomorrow morning instead of Thursday. They moved everything up a day because of a venue conflict."

My hands tightened on the wheel. "That gives you less than a day to adjust. That's—"

"Standard procedure," she finished, her voice flat. "Michel already confirmed. I need to be at Charles de Gaulle by six AM."

I calculated quickly. Jakarta was six hours ahead, which meant... "When do you compete? Local time?"

"Saturday at 3:50 PM." She was already doing the same math. "So 9:50 AM Paris time."

"I'll watch." I cut her off, perhaps more sharply than intended. "I'll be there. Nothing will keep me from seeing you compete."

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "You always watch. Even when you pretend you don't. I've known for years, Étienne. I can feel it when you're in the VIP box. When you're monitoring my stats from whatever control room you've set up."

The accuracy should have disturbed me. Instead, I felt oddly relieved that she knew.

"I can't help it," I admitted. "When you're performing, pushing yourself to the limit... I need to know you're safe. That if something goes wrong—"

"You'll be there to catch me." She reached over and laced our fingers together. "I know. That's why I've never asked you to stop."

"Only seventeen boundaries crossed?"

"I'm being conservative." Her thumb traced circles on my hand. "The actual number is closer to forty-seven, but who's counting?"

"You, apparently."

"Someone has to." She squeezed my hand. "Don't worry so much. It's one competition. I'll be back before you know it, and then..."

And then we stop hiding. The thought should have terrified me—the scandal, the judgment, the questions about whether I'd abused my position. But looking at her, at the certainty in her expression, I found I didn't care about any of that nearly as much as I cared about making sure she came home to me.

"And then," I agreed, bringing her hand to my lips, "we stop pretending."

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from years of knowing someone so well that words become optional. By the time we reached Paris, the sun was setting, and I felt reality settling back onto my shoulders.

Tomorrow, she would leave. Would fly to Jakarta and compete in the qualifier that would determine whether she made the Olympics. And I would be here, watching from thousands of miles away, unable to do anything but trust that I'd prepared her well enough.

Trust. The word felt foreign. I'd spent thirteen years ensuring I never had to trust anything to chance, building systems and backups and contingencies for every scenario. But I couldn't control this. Couldn't guarantee the outcome.

All I could do was watch. And pray that the woman I loved more than my own life would come back to me safely.