Page 49 of Love Worth Gold
“How does it feel to have the Hollis-Senn dynasty dominate the sport?”
Isaline breathed through the practiced calm she had cultivated over the last four years. She met the barrage with a steady smile. Her gaze occasionally moved to the edge of the scrum where Blaire stood, arms crossed, watching with an intensity that burned through the camera flashes.
“It feels incredible to do this here,” Isaline began, her voice even. “I couldn’t have asked for a better team, or a better family to see me through it.” She nodded toward Matthias, who stood just behind the line of reporters. “And of course, I had twoexcellent coaches in my corner. One retired Swiss legend, and one retired American one.”
Laughter rippled through the press corps. The cameras panned briefly to Blaire, who offered a small, proud dip of her chin. Isaline’s smile softened.
“I know you all want to talk about the next quad,” she said, her voice dropping just enough to command their full attention. “But this was it for me. This was my last Olympics.”
A hush fell that was immediately replaced by a fresh onslaught of frantic questions. Isaline held up a hand. “My knees have been very generous, but they’ve given all they can at this level. I would much rather walk away like this, standing tall on home snow, then be carried off it in a heap later.”
The announcement hung in the air, bold and final. There was no changing her mind. Blaire stood back letting Isaline own the space, own the narrative, own the ending. It was a mirror of Blaire’s own farewell, but this time, neither of them was walking away alone.
As the press conference finally broke apart, Isaline moved through the thinning crowd with a singular focus. Her path led directly to the woman in the Swiss team jacket. She didn’t hesitate. She reached up, tangled her fingers in the collar of Blaire’s jacket, and pulled her down for a deep, unapologetic kiss that tasted of victory and future. The few remaining cameras scrambled, their flashes erupting in a final, desperate burst, capturing the image that would define the Olympic Games: not just the win, but the undeniable love between two Olympic gold medalists from two different countries.
The Olympic circus packed its tents and rolled out of the valley, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the snow. After the last camera flash, their house near St. Moritz breathed with a quiet it hadn’t known in weeks. This was one of their two anchors now: winters here, where Isaline’s name was a piece oflocal lore, and long, sun-drenched off-seasons at Blaire’s place in the States—close enough to visit her parents, whose guest room had lovingly become a shrine to their combined careers.
Isaline walked through the downstairs, her bare feet silent on the heated stone floors. Half-unpacked bags leaned against the entryway wall, spilling a mix of Swiss team gear. Bouquets from neighbors and sponsors crowded every surface in the kitchen, their competing perfumes a sweet, wilting memory of the podium. By the front door, a heavy ceramic bowl overflowed with a tangle of lanyards and credentials, the plastic badges of their Olympic lives tossed in with the house keys.
From the living room, the muted television murmured, replaying the downhill for the hundredth time. A British commentator’s voice rose with excitement, throwing around phrases like “storybook ending” and “home-soil perfection.” Isaline glanced at the screen, saw the tiny, distant version of herself crossing the finish line, and felt the faintest echo of that moment. The next happy ending was about to unfold in their bedroom upstairs.
The house held the life they had built in the spaces between races and continents. It was no longer a temporary camp or a maybe-someday plan, but a foundation solid enough that the whirlwind of their careers just happened to orbit it. Isaline turned off the TV and flicked off the lamp by the sofa, letting the dark swallow the ghosts of the Olympic Games. The commentator’s voice vanished. The only light left spilled in a warm, golden rectangle from the top of the stairs, promising a different quiet, and a welcome that had nothing to do with a finish line.
She took the stairs slowly. The shower was already running at the end of the hall, where Blaire had gone the second they got home. Five minutes, I need to stop smelling like coffeeand press rooms, she’d said, dropping a kiss on Isaline’s temple before disappearing.
Isaline stepped into their bedroom.
She undressed without turning on the overhead light, letting the bedside lamp and the spill of moon through the window do the work. Jacket, pants, sweater, bra, socks, panties—each landed in a small, careless pile on the chair. When she finally stretched out on the bed, the duvet was cool against her back. She placed her downhill medal around her neck and the gold lay cool against her bare chest. The ribbon was a sharp red-and-white slash over her skin.
She placed the Super G medal on the nightstand. Balanced in the center of it she placed a simple platinum ring with a single diamond.
Water still ran in the bathroom. Isaline let her hand drift to the medal between her breasts and smiled as she waited patiently for Blaire to walk in and see exactly how their storied careers would end.
Blaire stepped out of the ensuite, wrapped in a towel. Her damp hair was spread around her bare shoulders. She paused in the doorway as her gaze swept over the powerful lines of Isaline’s naked body relaxed against the sheets. She wore nothing but the downhill gold medal that was gleaming against her chest. Then she walked closer and saw the deliberate placement of a diamond ring on the other medal. Her breath hitched with a soft, audible intake. “Switzerland’s official champion, looking decidedly un-official,” she murmured and then gave a soft laugh of approval.
Isaline smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. Her green eyes held Blaire’s. “Come here, Coach Hollis-Senn,” she whispered, the hyphenation deliberate, tasting the future name on her tongue.
Blaire crossed the rest of the way and stopped beside the bed. Her gaze locked onto the diamond sparkling atop the Super G gold medal. Her brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed into pure, stunned wonder. She reached out, her fingertip hovering just above the ring, not quite touching it. “Isaline…?” The question hung in the air soft and hopeful.
Isaline lifted her hand, capturing Blaire’s hovering fingers, and guided them gently to rest on the ring. “Full circle,” she breathed, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. “From stolen nights in Olympic Villages to gold medals on home snow. From rivals to lovers.” She placed the ring on Blaire’s finger. “Let’s make it official. Blaire Hollis, will you marry me?”
A choked sound escaped Blaire, part sob, part laugh. Tears welled and then spilled over her cheeks as she leaned down. “There is nothing I want more in this world,” Blaire whispered.
Blaire dropped her towel, and her lips found Isaline’s in a kiss that was like its own answer. It was soft at first, a trembling exploration, then it deepened. The kiss was fueled by years of shared triumph, quiet understanding, and a love that had weathered every race. Blaire’s hands, trembling slightly, framed Isaline’s face. Her thumbs brushed away the moisture on Isaline’s cheeks before sliding down the strong column of her neck, and then over the smooth plane of her bare shoulders.
The medal shifted and its cool edge brushed Blaire’s wrist as she lowered her mouth to Isaline’s collarbone, tracing the line with soft kisses. Her hands moved lower, skimming the swell of Isaline’s breasts. Her thumbs circled hardened peaks until Isaline arched into the touch with a low moan. Blaire’s lips followed the path her hands had charted, tasting salt and victory on Isaline’s skin. Her tongue swirled and sucked gently, drawing gasps that filled the quiet room. The medal moved gently with Isaline’s movements, reminding them of their shared success.
Isaline’s hands tangled in Blaire’s damp hair, urging her lower. Blaire obeyed without hesitation. Her kisses blazed a trail down Isaline’s stomach and lingered at the dip of her navel. The medal shifted against Isaline’s chest with every breath. Blaire eased her knees apart, spreading her soon to be wife open to the cool night air. The chill barely had time to register before the searing heat of Blaire’s mouth replaced it. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the apex of the Swiss skier’s toned thighs.
Isaline moaned as she lifted her hips off the bed. Blaire’s tongue was relentless, a slow, deliberate exploration that mapped every fold, and every hidden point of pleasure. She licked broad, flat strokes, then focused with devastating precision, circling Isaline’s clit with firm, rhythmic pressure. Isaline’s fingers tightened in Blaire’s hair, not pulling, just anchoring herself as sensation threatened to sweep her away. Blaire slid two fingers inside her, curling upward, finding that sweet spot with unerring accuracy, while her mouth never left its task. Isaline’s world narrowed to the exquisite pressure building low in her belly, the relentless pull of Blaire’s mouth, and the cool weight of gold against her heated skin.
“Blaire…” Isaline gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m coming… almost…”
“Not yet,” Blaire whispered. She withdrew both her fingers and mouth and surged up Isaline’s body in a fluid motion. Their lips crashed together again, tasting each other, and sharing breath. Blaire straddled Isaline’s thigh, grinding down, seeking her own friction for her own release. Their bodies moved in perfect, desperate sync. Blaire pumped two fingers back in and Isaline arched up to meet the downward thrusts. At the same time, Blaire rocked against Isaline’s strong thigh. Isaline’s hands roamed, clutching and caressing. Blaire pumped two fingers in and out while Isaline gripped Blaire’s hip, guiding her rhythm.The medal lay across Isaline’s chest as a hard reminder of the journey they had just completed.
The peak hit them almost simultaneously. Isaline shattered first as a sharp cry tore from her throat as her body bowed. Blaire followed instantly. Her own cry was muffled against Isaline’s neck as she ground down hard. Waves of ecstasy washed over her, leaving her trembling.
They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and shared breath. Blaire rested her forehead against Isaline’s, letting their noses brush. Isaline reached up and traced the curve of Blaire’s cheek. Blaire’s mouth came to rest gently on Isaline’s lips.
“The medals were everything I dreamed of as a girl staring up at these mountains. Every sacrifice, every fall, every comeback… was for the gold,” Isaline whispered. Her voice was thick with emotion as her gaze locked on Blaire’s tear-bright eyes. Her thumb brushed Blaire’s lower lip. “But loving you, Blaire…” She paused as the truth resonated deeper than any anthem. “That’s love worth gold.”
The words hung in the moonlit silence, settling over them like a blessing. Outside, the timeless Alps stood watch. Inside, wrapped in the warmth of their shared victory and the promise gleaming on Blaire’s finger, there was only the profound peace of a journey completed, and a love that outshone every podium.