Making History

Free Skate

The next morning was my free skate.

Viktor and I were the first to use the rink, and already there were people in the stands watching our warm-up. Not just fans—other skaters, coaches, officials. It was the most eyes I'd ever had on me during practice.

"I've never had people watch me like this before," I admitted as we walked hand in hand toward the ice.

"Yes, you have," Viktor said with a small, teasing smile.

I raised a brow. "Besides you and my family."

I leaned in and playfully kissed him on the cheek. He smiled tenderly.

"You'll do wonderful, like always."

"You're sweet," I whispered, still in awe that we were together. That he was mine. Every time he looked at me like that, like I was the only thing in the world he saw, my heart fluttered.

Before we stepped out onto the rink, we stopped. Viktor leaned in, and I kissed him softly. We lingered close even after the kiss ended, his hand gently stroking my cheek.

"Remember," he said softly, his voice rich and calming, "don't put too much pressure on yourself, krasivaya."

I brought my hand to his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble under my fingertips. "I'm grateful I have you," I said with sincerity.

He chuckled and kissed me again. "They're waiting for you on the rink."

"But this is more fun," I flirted, grinning.

"Let's not keep them waiting any longer," he replied, resting his forehead against mine. "You can do this."

He pulled me into a warm hug and kissed my forehead.

"Thank you," I whispered, giving him one last kiss before turning toward the ice.

⸻

The real event began later that afternoon.

The lights dimmed slightly as the music started—the song Viktor had chosen for me during our earliest practices. It floated out across the arena, delicate and haunting, filled with emotion. It felt like coming full circle.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice.

From the moment I began moving, I lost myself in the music. My routine had a theme: love. And every motion I made—the glides, the spins, the stretches of my arms—felt like telling our story. This wasn't just about precision or winning anymore. It was about feeling.

I imagined myself flying, graceful and free. All those years of ballet training as a child came rushing back, guiding my posture, my lines, my confidence. I skated like I was painting poetry across the ice.

The first big test came: the triple Salchow. I hadn't attempted it in a while, but something in me felt bold—anchored by Viktor's voice in my head, his belief in me.

I picked up speed, extended, jumped.

The spin was smooth, and when I landed—flawlessly—I barely believed it.

Applause erupted. Loud. Real. Encouraging.

But the loudest voice—above all—was Viktor's.

"Yes, Tessa!" he cheered.

His joy made mine even greater. I twirled gracefully, the cool air brushing my skin like wind through feathers. The rink, the crowd, the lights—they all blurred together in a beautiful kaleidoscope of color as I built up momentum for my final move: the quadruple axle.

I took a deep breath and launched into the air.

One spin. Two. Three... Four.

And I landed it.