Page 90 of Cross Ice

“Your parents and Miguel probably know by now,” I said.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to call them.”

We were both silent for a moment. Then Nico moved to sit beside me on the couch, leaving a space between us.

“What do you need?” he asked. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

I thought about it.

Privacy. Control. My old life back. None of which were possible anymore.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?” I met his eyes. “Because right now I can’t see how. The media attention, my career, your family… how do we survive this?” My voice broke.

Nico reached for my hand. I let him take it.

“I can’t do this alone,” I said, the words coming out raw. “I need you. But I don’t know how to be with you when being with you means my clients are reading about me in gossip columns. When it means strangers are hunting for my name online, my work email is full of media requests, everything I built here is attached to a story I didn’t choose.”

He pulled me into his arms, and I let him. Let myself lean against his chest and just breathe.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I don’t know how yet. But we will.” He paused. “Wesley offered to help if this ever happened. He said to call him before anyone else.”

I remembered the name. Griffin Lapierre’s partner, the PR manager.

I also knew what PR managers did. Ryan’s team had been full of them: careful, professional, relentlessly focused on the narrative. They’d picked my clothes for red carpets. Coached me on what not to say. Decided which photos Ryan’s publicist would approve and which ones made me look like a liability. I hadn’t been a person to them. I’d been a variable.

“Let me think about it,” I said.

Nico looked into my eyes but didn’t push. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

I stayed in his arms for a long while. We didn’t solve anything. There was nothing to solve yet, just the wreckage to sit with and the phones that kept buzzing with things neither of us was ready to deal with.

The world had changed overnight, and there was no going back.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nico

Miguel called late in the afternoon.

I’d been watching my phone light up for hours by then—teammates, my agent, the PR director, numbers I didn’t recognize. I let them all go to voicemail. Told myself I’d deal with them later. Kept finding reasons later hadn’t arrived yet.

When Miguel’s name came up, I answered. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me.” Not loud—Miguel never got loud—but tight in a way I recognized. He was holding something back and doing it carefully. “Where are you?”

“Evan’s place.”

“Okay.” A beat. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine, Miguel.”