Page 10 of Love Worth Gold

Isaline sat among them, laughing at something Reto said. Her nearly white, blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and it made her high cheekbones look chiseled. The light caught her profile just right, and for a second, the room went slightly out of focus around that one image.

Blaire forced herself to keep moving. She found the table where Tess and Jordy were already sitting, dropped into the chair, and stabbed a piece of broccoli. Her plate was loaded with grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and brown rice—fuel measured in grams, not taste.

“You good?” Jordy asked without looking up from her phone.

“Perfect.”

From across the room, Isaline’s attention broke away from her team and her eyes met Blaire’s head-on. There were no smiles between them. No little waves. Just a look that lasted one beat too long before Isaline turned back to her food. Any camera or teammate would read it as nothing more than athletes noticing each other. But the history beneath the glance was well understood by both of them.

Blaire chewed methodically, tasting nothing.

Twenty minutes later, she stood to refill her water bottle. The drink station sat near the Swiss table. She told herself it was a coincidence, not a choice. As she reached for the carafe, Isaline appeared at the adjacent beverage station, filling a mug with tea.

“Hello, Blaire.” Isaline’s voice was light, friendly, perfectly calibrated for public consumption.

“Good to see you, Isaline.”

“Getting settled in?”

“Same as always. As best as possible.” Blaire poured her water with steady hands. “You?”

“Well, given it’s my first time in the Olympic Village, it is different from what I imagined in my mind. It’s much louder than I expected.”

“You get used to it. Use it to your advantage… it might force you to stay focused.”

Isaline’s mouth curved, just barely. “I’m good at taking advantage of situations.”

The words hung between them for half a breath before Blaire capped her bottle and stepped back. “Good luck in training, rookie.”

“Good luck holding on to your medals, Goldilocks,” she answered as her mouth curved into a smile. “I don’t plan on slowing down for anyone.”

Isaline walked away first, rejoining her team with that same easy warmth she seemed to radiate without effort. Blaire returned to her table, sat down, and pretended to focus on protein intake and hydration schedules.

Underneath the table, her knee bounced before she forced it still.

She was acutely aware of exactly when Isaline stood up, when she laughed at something Matthias said, and when she finally left the hall with Reto’s hand briefly on her shoulder.

Blaire finished her meal in silence.

In her room, Blaire went through her nightly ritual: stretching on the floor, checking schedule notifications, reviewing the training plan for the next day. Through the walls she could hear laughter and muffled music from someone’sroom. It was the typical constant energy of an Olympic dorm that never fully slept. The environment made it impossible to pretend she was alone in the world with her thoughts and routines.

Her phone sat on the small desk, face up now. In her contacts list, Isaline’s name and number waited. She opened the contact more than once, typed a line, erased it. Anything honest felt dangerous; anything too casual felt like a lie. She tried to convince herself there was no reason to reach out—every interaction they needed could happen on the hill.

The argument didn’t hold. In the end, she typed something short and bland on the surface. It was just enough to justify the contact.Don’t hold it against me… I’m finally using the number you left in November.Team USA’s beds are pure cardboard. Did Switzerland do you any better, or are we all suffering together?

It read like harmless small talk between colleagues. But it felt like cracking a door she’d sworn to keep closed.

She hit send before she could stop herself.

Blaire flipped the phone face-down before she could see if Isaline was typing back. She lay on her back with her eyes closed while the village was busy around her and told herself this didn’t change anything about how she would ski.

The part of her that knew better stayed very, very quiet.

Chapter Six

The morning after arrival, Isaline was greeted with a wall of cameras and microphones that magnified the cold alpine air. Swiss reporters already knew her by sight. They had known her story for years and had been waiting for this exact moment to call out her name with the type of familiarity reserved for returning heroes.

“Isaline! How does it feel to finally be here?”