Clary wished that she would have paid more attention when her father was telling her to learn English, and she was cursing her mother for leaving them Anna Karenina style to run off to America with her lover. Everything was falling apart, and she was about to throw her father's pearls out into the street.
Walking through the streets of Moscow in the winter was supposed to be magical but all Clary could think was how cold her feet were. Russia was her home, and she loved exploring and the snow, but she was always surprised at how many layers she needed to function. Her dad was still at the meeting, and she had been wondering around the Red Square for twenty minutes because her practice had finished early, and he promised he would be on time. He was never on time.
The snow was very pretty as it fell on her red curls, and for once she was glad that the square was dead. She loved the constant movement of Moscow - the trains, the subways, the people - and she loved living with her father in the penthouse overlooking the city. He was a high class government official, and with all of the American drama, he had been slammed with more and more meetings than he had been in the last ten years.
When she finally saw him come out, the sky was beginning to blacken and the snow and wind were picking up.
"Привет, моя любовь, мы должны поговорить, когда вернемся."
(Hello my love we must talk when we get back.)
Clary paused and pursed her lips, her brother was standing behind her father in a menacing way that only Russians could, and it made her very aware of how her sweat coated hair was beginning to freeze to her head.
"Я уверен, папа, у тебя хорошая встреча?" (I am sure daddy, how was your meeting?) She scowled slightly, rubbing off the snow that was sticking to her shoes.
"Лучше, чем я надеялся, но мы лучше всего доставим тебя домой. Твой брат был звездой сегодняшнего шоу, не так ли?" (It went better than I had hoped, and your brother was the reason, weren't you?) Her father looked over to her brother in pride. Clary rolled her eyes and started scraping the growing layers of snow off her shoes again.
They walked over to their driver in her father's car. The men from the meeting were starting to emerge from the building followed by a large array of armed guards. Clary followed her father, and, in silence, they drove back to their apartment. She felt the dread sinking to the bottom of her stomach as they walked to the elevator.
Clary was a world class figure skater who was projected to compete at the upcoming Olympic Games in Moscow the next winter. She trained nearly 6 hours a day, 6 days, sometimes 7 days, a week and worked with one of the best coaches in the world. Her best friends drove her and their sisters to the rink daily, and she was homeschooled by the best teachers her father could afford. At 16, she was fluent in Russian, French, and most English, and was well beyond her years in her studies. She figured that her success could have something to do with her mom's abandonment, and that she threw herself into her activities to avoid her pain, but a lot of the pressure came from her dad. She had to be the perfect daughter of the high Russian official; and she did not mind.
When her father walked over to her sitting at the kitchen island, Clary already knew what he was going to say.
"Ты собираешься жить со своей мамой в Колорадо в течение года. Мы обсуждали это со всех сторон, и федерация, и я думаю, что это лучший выбор." (You're going to live with your mom in Colorado for the year. We have discussed it from every angle, and the federation and I think it is the best choice.) Clary remained silent.
"И почему это может быть?" (And why might that be?) she responded in a snarly, yet sophisticated tone.
"Вы знаете, что вы в опасности, пока нам не удастся убить Себастиона, и мы не можем сделать это слишком внезапно, потому что это будет опрометчиво," (You know that you are in danger until we succeed in killing Sebastian, and we cannot do it too suddenly, because it will be rash.), her father sighed and turned to her brother who was pouring himself and her father a glass of vodka on ice. The bottle probably cost more than most people's rent. "Ваша мать находится в аэропорту и будет там, чтобы получить вас, когда вы приедете через неделю." (Your mother is at the airport and will be there to get you when you arrive in a week.)
Clary nodded her head in silence and slowly retreated back to her room. That was it, her Olympic career and everything she had worked for was thrown out the window because her father's fellow official decided that he was power hungry and ready for a complete take over. She wanted to scream, but she knew that it would only make things worse. Her father loved her very much, but was impossible to argue with. It was what made him such a wonderful politician, but a very mediocre father.
She looked over at her pictures taped onto her wall of her, Tessa, and Alinya. Alinya had been her training buddy since she was a kid, and someone that Clary had always fallen short of. Tessa was probably even better, but was unpredictable and often let the nerves get the best of her. She was constantly outshined, but she had learned to not mind. It was nice being able to do what she loved without the constant pressure that the other girls faced, and it was especially nice to not have to deal with the divas from France, Japan, and Korea. The competition was getting out of hand, and although she was excited to compete at the upcoming Olympics, she was glad that there was no pressure to get a medal. She did not know if she could deal with the pressure, or her father's and her coach's disappointment if she failed.