Ilya Malinin

The Milan Olympics were bustling beyond the walls of the ice palace, but here, in the empty corridor, it was eerily quiet. Ilya Malinin watched her pace nervously. A silver medalist, a "Siberian Angel" for the world—and just her for him.

"If they see us together, they'll destroy us," she said sharply. "Yours will say you've sold out to the Russians. Mine will say I'm a traitor."

“I know,” Ilya answered calmly. “We’ll lose everything.”

She stopped, suppressing a shudder.

• Then why are you here?

He took a step closer.

"Because for these two years I've pretended we're just rivals. I've given interviews, smiled for the cameras, and lied about not having a personal life. But the truth is, you're all I have."

She closed her eyes.

"I can't choose you. I have the country behind me, the coaches, the people who believe in me."

• And if you choose them, you will betray me.

• But at least you will understand...

— I already understand, angel. And I still chose you.

Tears glistened in her eyes. The voices of her team could be heard somewhere nearby.

Ilya carefully touched her cheek.

"We have about ten seconds," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we'll be strangers to the world again. I ask for nothing... except one thing."

He looked into her eyes and breathed out barely audibly:

— Just one kiss, please…