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Sara was enjoying her newfound freedom.
She loved Michele, of course. He was her brother, her twin. It was difficult to explain that bond to people who didn’t know what it was like. On top of that, they were both figure skaters – their lives went hand-in-hand.
But she was twenty-two, and sick of her brother’s overprotective streak. He was only a few minutes older than her; that didn’t give him the right to boss her around.
She was hardly going to win gold with Michele micromanaging her, and neither would he. Just look at the Rostelecom Cup! Michele had skated his best after she told him she was through with the inseparable twin act.
Her own skating had improved tremendously, too. At least if this competition was any fair gauge.
(She apologized to Emil Nekola, too, for Michele’s overprotectiveness. She promised him that it wasn’t his fault, and that Michele could be aggressive with anyone who was a bit too friendly with Sara – and that that was all over now. She was her own woman. He still didn’t ask her on a date, and she didn’t know why she felt relieved.)
She had dinner with a few of the other female skaters after she’d finished her free skate, and they all told her how it was a good thing she’d done. It had taken her long enough.
Mila Babicheva caught her eye. “I don’t know how you dealt with it for so long.”
Sara shrugged. “He’s my twin brother. I’ve never known anything else.”
“And now you do. You can do whatever you want. Within reason.”
“Yeah,” one of the other skaters agreed. “We’ll go to the club with you but we’re not bailing you out of jail.”
That brought a round of laughter to the table, as if Sara would do anything worth getting arrested.
Sara laughed, too.
The world was her oyster now. It was just a matter of what was next.
