Page 96 of Ice Princesses
Isabella laughs softly, the sound low and warm, and my fucking chest tightens. It’s a feeling that has become both familiar and increasingly difficult to ignore, especially as time passes.
“Come on,” she says, reaching for my wrist. “Rodri, throw me her coat.”
I don’t move. “Come on where?”
“You’ll see.”
Rodrigo leans back into the couch like he’s settling in for a show. “I think you should go, Ceci. This feels important.I don’t think the Ice Princess does house calls for everyone.”
“Jesus, Rodrigo, where did you learn to speak like that?”
He lifts his eyebrows and grins. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you all week, you know?”
Isabella’s grip tightens just slightly, not enough to force, but enough to insist.
“Ceci,” she says, softer now.
That’s enough. I exhale slowly, already giving in to something I haven’t fully decided to accept.
“Fine,” I mutter. “If I die, it’s on both of you.”
“Worth it,” Rodrigo says without hesitation. He throws me my jacket from the coat closet, and I let Isabella pull me into the hallway before I can reconsider.
“You have keys,” I say as we step out into the night and in the direction of the rink. The air changed a few nights ago, and it has suddenly felt cooler and quieter in this town. “We don’t need to sneak in.”
“I know,” she replies, lifting one shoulder casually.
“Then why are we sneaking in?”
She glances at me, her eyes bright with restrained excitement. “Because it’s more fun, and I really want to see if I can get the Zamboni going. I’ve never driven one.”
“Isabella, you run the place.” I sigh, a little dramatically for my taste, but her smile widens at the nagging. “I’m sure you can tell Gertrude to let you try.”
“That’s no fun.” She stops in front of the large entry doors and hums, considering her next move. “Let’s go.”
We move around the back of the building instead of heading for the staff door at the side, the lights inside dimmed to their minimum.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I whisper in her ear, and she stops. Her hand finds mine and she laces our fingers together, then drags me again as we walk slowly, trying to not make a sound.
“I never got to do this,” she whispers back, and there’s something in her tone that shifts the weight of the moment just slightly.
“Break into buildings you work at?”
She laughs softly. “Sneak out. Do something I wasn’t supposed to do just because I wanted to.”
She finagles with the door, shimmying it a little until it finally gives. “A-ha!” she exhales, then covers her mouth with her free hand and looks back at me over her shoulder.
“Ready?”
“For what?”
She pushes the door open, and we find ourselves practically on the ice in the practice rink, only a small stretch of rubber mats in front of us.
Of course the rink is empty. It reminds me of the first day here—when we got in early just to take a look around, try to get our bearings. Except that this time, it’s completely silent, save for the faint hum of the lights overhead and the sound of what I think might be the refrigeration system.
Isabella steps onto the ice like she’s been waiting for thismoment all day, her movement loose and unstructured even with her fancy patent shoes on.
“Come on,” she calls, already gliding in the direction of the Zamboni garage.
