Chapter 8: The Examination
The morning light came sharp and white through the penthouse windows.
Leonid blinked awake, disoriented, the silk sheets tangled around his legs. The space beside him was empty, the pillow still carrying the faint scent of her perfume. Bergamot and something floral, something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn't name.
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. His body was sore in ways that had nothing to do with skating, and the marks on his chest were still pink, still tender. He touched one, tracing the curve of a nail mark with his fingertip.
The door opened.
Jennie walked in, already dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and high-waisted trousers. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and there was a coffee cup in her hand.
"You're awake," she said. "Good. Drink this."
She handed him the cup. He took it, the warmth seeping into his palms.
"What time is it?"
"Seven thirty." She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. "We have a physical at nine. Dr. Markova has a full day, so we can't be late."
Leonid took a sip of the coffee. It was black, no sugar, just the way he liked it. He hadn't told her that.
"How did you know—"
"Leonid." She cut him off with a look. "I know everything about you. Every habit. Every preference. Every weakness. That's my job."
He nodded slowly, drinking his coffee.
"I'll get ready," he said.
"Good." She stood and walked toward the door, then paused. "Leonid?"
"Yes?"
"You were perfect last night."
She left before he could respond.
He sat there for a long moment, the heat rising to his cheeks, the words echoing in his chest.
The examination room was cold.
Leonid sat on the edge of the stainless steel table, a thin paper gown crinkling beneath him. The air smelled of antiseptic and latex, and the overhead lights hummed with a sterile buzz that made his teeth ache.
Jennie stood against the far wall, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She had barely spoken on the drive over, her focus turned inward, her eyes fixed on the city passing by the car window.
He wished she would look at him.
The door opened.
Dr. Elena Markova entered like a woman who owned the building. She was tall, nearly Leonid's height, with sharp cheekbones and hair the color of burnished copper, swept into a low bun. Her white coat was immaculate, her stethoscope gleaming, and her eyes were the pale, piercing blue of winter ice.
"Mr. Manoban," she said, her accent curling around the edges of his name. "I've heard a great deal about you."
Leonid glanced at Jennie. She hadn't moved.
"It's nice to meet you, Doctor," he said.
"Please, call me Elena." She picked up a clipboard from the counter, scanning it with practiced efficiency. "Your file is impressive. No major injuries, a few minor strains, and the ankle I've been hearing about."
"It's healed," Leonid said quickly.
"So I've been told." She set the clipboard down and looked at him. "I'm going to need you to undress. Down to your boxers, please. I need to do a full musculoskeletal assessment."
Leonid's throat tightened.
He glanced at Jennie again. She was still watching him, her gaze steady, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"Go on," she said. "Don't keep the doctor waiting."
He slid off the table and removed the paper gown, folding it neatly. He hesitated for only a moment before stripping off his shirt, then his sweatpants, leaving himself in a thin pair of black boxers.
The air was cold against his skin.
Elena stepped closer, her eyes running over his body with a clinical, almost detached appreciation. She didn't touch him yet, just looked, her gaze traveling from his shoulders to his chest to his legs.
"Exceptional definition," she murmured. "You've clearly maintained an aggressive training regimen."
"I've been skating since I was five," Leonid said.
"Not just skating." She reached out and placed her hands on his calves, her fingers pressing into the muscle. "This kind of development comes from years of discipline. Controlled movement. Repetition."
Her hands moved up, sliding over his knees, his thighs. Leonid's muscles twitched under her touch, an involuntary response.
"Relax," she said. "This will be easier if you relax."
He tried to breathe. Her hands were cool and precise, her fingers finding the knots and tightness in his muscles with a practiced ease.
"You carry a lot of tension here," she said, pressing into his hip flexor. "That's common in skaters. Your hips bear an enormous amount of load."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "You're extraordinary. But you're not fine. There's a difference."
She moved her hands to his lower back, her thumbs tracing along his spine.
"This is working well. Reconditioned. But there's some slight asymmetry here." She pressed harder, and he winced. "You favor your right side. It's unconscious, but it's there. It's going to cause problems if we don't correct it."
"How do we correct it?" Leonid asked.
"I'll give you some exercises. It's manageable." She moved around him, her fingers drifting over his shoulders, his pectorals. "You're remarkably well-proportioned. Have you ever considered that?"
"Considered what?"
"Your body." She paused, her hands resting on his shoulders. "You have the proportions of a classical athlete. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong lower body. It's rare. Most skaters are built one way or another, but you're the complete package."
"Thank you," he said, his voice rough.
Elena moved down, kneeling in front of him. Her hands found his ankle, the one he'd injured weeks ago.
"This looks good," she said, her fingers moving along the joint. "The swelling is down completely. You've been icing it?"
"Yes."
"And taking the anti-inflammatories?"
"Yes."
"Good." She pressed on a specific point, and he flinched. "There's still a bit of residual stiffness here. Nothing that will hold you back, but I want you to be careful. You're putting yourself in a position where you're going to be pushing through some serious pain over the next few months."
"I can handle it."
"I don't doubt that." She stood, her hands moving to her hips. "But with a body like this, you owe it to yourself to push harder. You have rare genetic gifts, Mr. Manoban. It would be a waste to let them go unused."
Leonid felt the heat rise to his face.
"I plan to use them," he said.
Elena smiled. It was a small, controlled smile, but there was warmth in it.
"I'll finish up the paperwork and send you a detailed report." She turned to Jennie. "He's in excellent shape. Better than I expected, honestly. This is the first time I've examined an athlete who didn't need substantial corrections."
Jennie nodded, her face still unreadable. "He's special."
"I can see that."
Elena looked at Leonid one more time, her eyes traveling down his body and back up to his face.
"It was a pleasure, Mr. Manoban. I look forward to working with you."
She left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Leonid stood there, his body bare, the cold air prickling his skin. He reached for his clothes, then stopped when he saw Jennie's reflection in the window glass. She was standing behind him, her arms still crossed, her lips curved into a smile she hadn't shown anyone else.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked quietly.
"I did." She walked toward him, her heels clicking against the tile floor. "Do you know why?"
He turned to face her. "Why?"
"Because you sat there, completely exposed, and let her touch you without flinching." She reached out and placed her hand over his heart, her palm warm against his bare chest. "That takes trust. And trust is the most important thing in this world."
He looked down at her hand. Her fingers were long and elegant, her nails manicured, and he remembered how they had felt digging into his skin the night before.
"I trust you," he said.
"I know you do." She dropped her hand and stepped back. "Get dressed. We have a training session in an hour."
He pulled his shirt over his head, then his sweatpants, his movements slow and deliberate. Jennie was already at the door, waiting for him, but her eyes were on his face, not his body.
"When we get to the rink," she said, "I want you to push yourself harder than you've ever pushed before. Not because I'm asking you to."
"Then why?"
"Because you want to." She tilted her head. "Because you want me to watch you and know that every single thing I've invested in you is worth it."
Leonid finished dressing and stood straight.
"I'll give you something to watch."
"Good." She opened the door. "Then let's go."
He followed her down the corridor, her heels echoing against the bare walls. The city gleamed through the windows, golden and bright, and the sound of the rink below drifted up to meet them.
He was her champion.
Her masterpiece.
He was going to prove it.
Every last aching, bleeding, glorious second of it.