Page 42 of Love Worth Gold
Isaline let herself be pulled toward the staging area. Her legs were shaking and her heart was about to burst wide open, knowing she’d just seen her father cry in public for the first time in her life. For her.
On the podium stairs, Isaline’s legs suddenly felt lighter than they had all day. The bronze step waited for her—third place, the medal that almost wasn’t. She climbed proudly onto it and looked sideways.
Blaire stood on the top step in gold, with the Italian on the other side of her in silver. Three flags hung ready to climb. Three women who had thrown themselves down the same mountain at speeds that broke bones and ended careers, now stood together in the thin mountain air with medals around their necks.
When the anthem started for Blaire, Isaline let herself watch without hiding it. The cameras wouldn’t read anything into one bronze medalist looking at the woman who took gold during a ceremony. They never did.
What they saw: two rivals sharing a podium.
What Isaline felt: the woman beside her wasn’t the invincible ice queen from TV. She was the person who had kissed her against a training room wall at midnight, who had texted her after the Super-G fourth place instead of pretending she didn’t exist, who had crashed in training and still chosen to show up for this race anyway.
The medal around Isaline’s neck was heavier than she’d imagined. It was warm through the fabric of her race suit where it pressed against her chest. Real. Hers. Not a training run time or a provisional ranking—an actual Olympic medal that would follow her name for the rest of her life.
Cameras flashed in waves. The crowd roared beneath them, creating a wall of sound that felt both enormous and far away. The three of them lifted their bouquets on cue, smiling for the photographers who would turn this moment into posters, highlight reels, and history books.
For the first time in her career, Isaline didn’t feel like the supporting cast in someone else’s story. She felt exactly where she was meant to be.
The anthem swelled toward its final verse. Blaire stood tall on the top step with her eyes bright in a way the cameras would call intensity. Isaline knew it was something closer to awe and relief. The look of someone who had chosen her own ending and actually made it happen.
The last notes hung in the cold air, fading into the wind.
In the stillness between the anthem ending and the crowd’s next roar, hidden by flowers and medal ribbons and the gap between podium steps, Blaire’s fingers brushed lightly against Isaline’s where their hands hung at their sides.
It was small and secret. The slightest contact that no broadcast would ever catch.
Isaline’s breath hitched. She tightened her grip on her bouquet to keep from reaching back, from turning that quick touch into something deliberate and obvious. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
This was the moment that would divide her life into before and after.
Not just the day she became an Olympic medalist. Not just the day she stood on a podium beside the woman she’d grown up watching, admiring, wanting to beat.
It was the day she knew—with the kind of certainty that came from standing in a start gate and choosing to fly—that she wanted her future tied to the woman standing one step above her.
Chapter Nineteen
Blaire finally shut the door on the last of the obligations—media, doping control, a round of congratulations from officials she barely knew—and stood in the center of her room like she didn’t quite know what to do next. Her downhill bib, still damp with sweat and champagne spray, hung over a chair. The downhill gold medal sat on the nightstand in a neat little coil of ribbon. For the first time in years, there was no next race to hold in her head, no split times to chase.
She sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in hand, scrolling to Isaline’s name. A week ago, she would’ve let the medal be the night’s only trophy and left whatever was between them atthat was fun. Instead, she looked at the phone and argued with herself about using the word date like a nineteen-year-old, but typed it anyway. She invited Isaline for a walk and hot chocolate, specifying it wasn’t a team thing, just… them on an official date.
The cursor blinked at her as if it were mocking her. She deletedofficial, then put it back. Deleteddate, and replaced it withcatch up. Then she growled at herself and changed it back toofficial dateagain.Want to take a walk? Maybe hot chocolate? Not a team thing. Just us. An actual official date, if you’re interested.Finally, she hit send before she could spiral any further.
When Isaline’s reply came back immediately with a joke aboutgoing on a date with a retired legendfollowed by three question marks asking if Blaire was feeling alright, Blaire felt nerves flutter in her stomach in a way they hadn’t even at the start gate.
She typed back quickly.I’m fine. Just figured I should probably take you on a proper date before you forget about me and move on to chasing another medal.
The response was immediate.Too late. Already stuck on you. What time?
Winning had been both adrenaline and relief. This felt like a risk of a different kind. One that had nothing to do with gravity, and everything to do with letting someone see her without the armor of the sport.
She tugged on a clean team hoodie and then pulled her down jacket over, slipped her accreditation lanyard over her head, and left the medal on the nightstand. She was choosing to meet Isaline as Blaire the woman tonight, not Blaire the highlight reel.
~~
Blaire noticed the difference in Isaline’s appearance like a physical jolt. Tonight, Isaline wasn’t the rival in a race suit; she was the woman Blaire couldn’t stop wanting. Isaline’s bright blonde hair was loose under a red Swiss beanie, jacket zipped to her chin, boots dusted with snow. Blaire’s stride slowed, not from nerves, but because she wanted to take in every second of this version of the Swiss skier who had captured her heart.
They ordered hot chocolate from a kiosk worker who tried very hard not to stare at the two medalists standing at his counter like regular humans. Blaire stepped aside while the machine hissed and steamed, hyper-aware of how close Isaline stood, and how their shoulders brushed when someone squeezed past them in line.
When the worker handed over two ridiculously oversized cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, Blaire wrapped her fingers around the paper cup and made an offhand crack about being “unemployed as of twelve hours ago.”