Page 95 of Ice Princesses
“I’ll handle that,” I interrupt, the answer coming automatically, instinctively.
There’s a pause.
“You already did,” she says.
“I did?” I question, because I have no idea what she’s talking about. Competition training for Rodrigo means a tighter nutrition plan, a few extra hours of ice time, and daily cardio sessions that we haven’t planned for yet.
“Cecilia,¿qué te pasa?”
I hesitate, because any answer I give her will sound like bullshit.
“Sorry, I’m distracted today.”
Another pause, this one quieter, more deliberate.
“Isabella sent over his transition plan yesterday,” she continues. Sandra knows me well enough to hear what I’m not saying, but she lets it go anyway, moving on seamlessly to an all-business conversation. “You should have a copy in your email.”
“Perfect.Gracias.”
“Cecilia—”
There’s a knock at the door, and Rodrigo groans from the shared living area. He’s been in the same position scrolling on his phone for at least two hours, probably exhausted from the step sequence he started today.
“I’ll call you back,” I say quickly, already crossing the room before she can respond, ending the call mid-breath as I reach for the handle.
I pull the door open. Isabella is standing there, normal-looking. A short, sparkly dress under a thick, black parka. Her hair is styled to perfection, and her cheeks are a rosy color I don’t think I’ve ever seen on her.
“Hi,” she says.
I blink at her, the shift from one reality to another so abrupt it almost feels disorienting. “Hi.”
There’s a brightness in her expression that immediately sets me on edge in the best possible way, tightly contained and dangerously appealing and it makes my belly swoop. Her eyes shine like she’s holding on to a secret she fully intends to share.
Behind me, the couch creaks.
Rodrigo sits up, his phone still loosely in his hand, hisattention snapping into place the second he registers what’s happening.
“Oh,” he says, his entire face lighting up. “This is interesting.”
“Don’t,” I mutter, not even turning around.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, clearly delighted, “youneverget visitors.”
“I have visitors.”
“Not like this.”
I close my eyes briefly, already exhausted.
Isabella’s smile widens, and I can see she’s enjoying the way Rodrigo is messing with me. “Are you busy?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer automatically.
“No, you’re not,” Rodrigo cuts in immediately. “You’ve been staring at the ceiling in your room for the past thirty minutes.”
“Have you ever heard of the expressionsnitches get stitches?” I say it in English, just to make a point, and he chuckles. “You’re not helping.”
He shrugs. “I’m helping myself.”
