She wasn't going to turn her life around just so he could win the Championship. She'd been so tired of putting him first, constantly, and it had shown. Yes, she'd been selfish and a little stupid. But had she done it intentionally? "I never meant to hurt you," she admitted, her voice soft. "Not like that. Not the way it all happened. I didn't set out to..." To fall in love with his opponent? Obviously not. And it hadn't happened, not instantly. Florence was too practical to believe in love at first sight. But the attraction was impossible to deny. "I didn't intend to end up with him, if that's what you're thinking. It's just..." She hated admitting her weaknesses. But hell, why not? He knew them all. "I was so angry with you. I needed someone to lean on and he was there and we talked and..." She couldn't complete a sentence. Not with him looking at her that way.
His guilt trips were practically famous. Every single time she'd threatened to leave, he'd simply lay out another one and she'd go crawling back, taking all the blame. And now, the one time he deserved to guilt her, she refused. She wasn't going to be that woman anymore, dragged around and put on show and then ridiculed when he felt like it. Not for him, and not for Anatoly, either.
Not trying to be cruel? It sure felt like it. As he so often did, he was able to tap into parts of her that she didn't ever consider. Things she pushed aside in order to not think about. And then her hand was in his and he was telling her that he might actually still love her and what the hell was she supposed to do? Just jump over the table and maul him? That wasn't going to work on any level of any universe ever. But how honest could she be? Then again, the day was all about honesty, wasn't it?
"You don't," she chose instead. Because telling him that she'd never really stopped loving him was just stupid. He wasn't a part of her new life, or at least, she hadn't intended for him to be. The seal or whatever it was had forced them together, and she could accept that. But the independence she'd craved, the not needing either man because she was her own woman? She couldn't have that and still be in love with the man across the table. "You can't. After all that happened?" She bit her lip again, then stopped before he had yet something else to criticize. "Being here, seeing each other? It's sparked a lot of memories. But that's all. You just... You can't."
And yet, a part of her wished it were true. That he was holding her hand because he did love her and he wanted to be with her and they'd walk back to the complex holding hands and spend the day and late into the evening chatting about everything that wasn't Anatoly or Molokov or Communists at all. And then they'd do it again the next day and the next until things were just better. Back to normal, or maybe even better than that. Until she could get the courage to try kissing him without the fear that he'd always have an image of Anatoly in the back of his mind when she did.
That? Pretty much sealed the deal for her. Love him or not, they couldn't be together. Not with that hanging between them. And the thought made her want to cry.