After My Fiancé Chose His Skating Partner, I Learned the Truth

"He's going for the quad!" a woman beside me yells over the deafening arena music.

"He'll nail it," I shout back, keeping my eyes glued to the ice. "He hasn't missed one in practice all week."

"You know him?"

"I'm his fiancée." I hold up my left hand. The diamond catches the harsh stadium lights.

"Oh, wow! You must be so proud."

"More than you know." I grip the plastic wrapping of the two dozen red roses in my arms.

Ethan Carter launches into the air. One, two, three, four rotations. His blades hit the ice with a sharp, satisfying scrape. He glides backward, arms raised in triumph. The buzzer blares. The arena erupts into a frenzy of screams and applause.

"That's my guy," I whisper to myself.

Ten seasons. Ten years of waking up at four in the morning, icing his bruised ankles, and skipping my own practices until I just stopped skating altogether. He just won the National Figure Skating Qualifier. We are finally going to the Olympics.

Reporters immediately swarm the barrier. Flashbulbs explode in rapid succession.

"Excuse me, miss," a security guard grunts, shoving past my shoulder to hold back the crowd.

"I'm with him," I tell the guard, holding up my VIP lanyard. "I have his flowers."

Out on the rink, Ethan skates toward the center. Sophie Blake, his pairs partner, glides up beside him. Her blue crystal costume sparkles under the spotlight. They join hands and bow to the judges.

"Kiss the ice!" someone shouts from the stands.

"Kiss the trophy!" another fan yells.

"Great job, you two!" I yell, stepping closer to the plastic barrier.

Ethan doesn't look in my direction. Instead, he turns fully toward Sophie. He grabs her waist. He pulls her flush against his chest.

"Wait, what is he doing?" the woman next to me asks.

Ethan leans down. He presses his mouth directly onto Sophie's lips.

"Oh my god," the woman mutters.

The crowd goes absolutely feral. The noise shifts from celebratory cheers to frantic, deafening shrieks. Camera shutters sound like machine-gun fire.

"Are they a couple?" a photographer asks, pushing his heavy lens past my shoulder to get a better angle.

"No," I say. My voice sounds entirely hollow. "No, they aren't."

My fingers go completely numb. The massive bouquet of roses slips from my grasp. The flowers hit the concrete floor, petals scattering across the dirty ground.

"Hey, you dropped your flowers," the photographer points out, not taking his eyes off his camera.

I don't answer him. I just stare at the giant jumbotron hanging from the ceiling. The kiss replays in slow motion on the massive screen. Ethan's hand tangled in Sophie's blonde hair. Sophie smiling against his mouth.

I turn around and push my way through the throngs of screaming fans.

The backstage athlete corridor smells of cold air and sweat. I pace in front of the locker room doors, my heart slamming against my ribs. Ten minutes pass before the heavy double doors swing open.

"Ethan!" I yell down the concrete hallway.

He spins around. He holds his gold medal in his right hand, still wearing his sequined performance jacket. Sophie is nowhere in sight.

"Ro! We did it." He steps toward me, his arms wide open.

I step back. "Don't touch me."

"Whoa, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Are you insane? You kissed her."

"Keep your voice down," he mutters, glancing around the empty corridor.

"Why should I? You didn't seem to mind an audience five minutes ago."

"It's just PR, Aurora. Calm down."

"I am calm," I lie. My hands shake so violently I have to ball them into tight fists. "Explain it to me. Right now."

He sighs heavily. He runs a hand through his damp hair. "Apex Athletics wants a champion couple. The network loves a romance angle. It drives up engagement."

"We are a couple," I say, pointing aggressively at my ring. "I'm your fiancée."

"You're not a skater anymore," he shoots back.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stare at him, my mouth slightly open.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean," he says, his tone softening just a fraction. "The fans want to see two athletes in love. They don't care about the guy who skates and his girlfriend who works at a real estate office."

"I work at a real estate office to pay for your choreographer!"

"And I appreciate that. I really do. But this is the big leagues, Ro." He pulls his phone from his pocket and shoves the screen in my face. "Look at Twitter. We are the number one trending topic globally. #EthanAndSophie. The brand reps from Apex just texted my agent. They want a joint endorsement deal."

"I don't care about the money or the trends."

"You should," he insists. "Seven figures, Aurora. Do you know how many mortgages that pays off? How many Olympic training camps?"

"You shoved your tongue down another woman's throat for a paycheck. You could have warned me."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," he says smoothly. He takes a step closer. "Sophie's agent suggested it right before we went out on the ice. I didn't have time to text you."

"It looked pretty rehearsed to me."

"Ro, listen to me." He reaches out and grabs both of my wrists. He rubs his thumbs over my pulse points. "This kiss isn't about love. It's for our future."

I stare into his blue eyes. The same eyes I fell in love with when we were teenagers. The same eyes that watched me pack away my own custom skates so he could afford to travel to international competitions.

"Our future," I repeat, testing the weight of the words.

"Exactly," he says, flashing his winning, camera-ready smile. "We get this endorsement, we buy that house in the hills. We get married after the Olympics. Just like we planned. Sophie is a coworker. You are my wife."

The exhaustion of the last ten years suddenly weighs me down. I have invested everything into this man. My youth, my talent, my bank account. If I walk away now, I leave with absolutely nothing.

"Fine," I say, forcing my voice to stay level.

"Fine?" he asks, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"If it's just business, you need better representation."

"What do you mean?"

"Your agent is taking twenty percent. He's terrible at negotiating commercial rights. I can handle the Apex Athletics contract for you. I know their brand manager from my old skating days."

"You want to negotiate my fake showmance contract?"

"I want to make sure you aren't getting screwed over by the sponsors," I correct him. "If we are doing this for our future, I want control over the money."

Ethan laughs. A bright, relieved sound echoes off the cinderblock walls. He pulls me into a tight hug, burying his face in my neck.

"That's my girl," he whispers. "Always looking out for me."

"Always," I murmur to the empty hallway.

I truly believed him. Standing in that freezing corridor, I believed every single word that came out of his mouth. I didn't know that "for our future" was just another line in a script he had written without me.

"I have to go do the press conference," Ethan says, pulling away and checking his watch. "Wait for me by the car?"

"I'll be there."

He jogs down the hall. I watch his back disappear around the corner.

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I pull it out, expecting a text from my mother about the broadcast.

Instead, it's a message from an unknown number.

*Check his hotel room keycard. Room 412.*

I stare at the glowing screen. The hallway suddenly feels much colder.