Page 87 of Ice Princesses
I glance down, and there he is.
For a second, I just stare, like my brain needs time to catch up to what it’s seeing. The black and white fur, the familiar shape of him, completely at ease like this is exactly where he is meant to be. Natalie Portman jumps straight onto my lap.
“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” The laugh comes out of me before I can stop it, surprised and a little incredulous all at once. My hands come to his back automatically, settling around him as he adjusts his weight like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
He blinks at me, slow and unbothered, already purring and closing his eyes.
Rodrigo goes still beside me, but his eyes are shining with amusement. It’s the exact same way he looked at me on the ice a few weeks ago. He knows something is up, but is being a little shit and making me squirm instead.
“You know this cat?” he asks finally. It’s not quite a question. More like a statement of fact, followed by the annoying lift of the corner of his mouth.
I let out a breath, still half caught between amusement and confusion.
“Yes.” There’s no other explanation that makes sense.
He shifts closer, studying the cat more carefully now, then looking back at me. “Did you adopt a cat?”
“When would I have time to adopt a cat?” I say, rolling my eyes. He’s grinning now, and he pumps his eyebrows twice because heknows. “I’m literally with you all the time.”
“Not true. I know you sneak out at night.”
“Yes, to adopt black and white cats named Natalie Portman.”
At that, the cat perks up, lifting his head slightly and looking at me. There’s a moment of confusion that passes between us, but after a second he settles back down on my lap, the purring intensifying.
“That’s a weird name for a cat.” He tilts his head and extends his hand to pet Nat.
“This is Isabella’s cat.”
I don’t look at him when I say it. There’s a small pause in his breathing, a little gasp that is barely audible over the sounds of the town. When I glance up, Rodrigo’s expression has changed slightly. Not dramatically, like he normally does, but just enough that I can tell he’s registering more than the words themselves.
“Wait—”
“Nope, absolutely not.”
“This is a little surreal,” he says.
“Oh, yes, I know.”
For a few seconds, that’s all it is. A break in that important conversation.
Then, slowly, the words find themselves back to him. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, his attention back on me.
“I spoke to my parents,” he says, more measured this time. “And to Sandra. About where I go. What I choose.”
I nod, waiting. I haven’t spoken to Sandra more than a few times since we got here, weekly progress report emails so that she knows where we stand, how Rodrigo is progressing, and a quick update on what his prospects are looking like.
“And I keep coming back to the same thing.”
He pauses, like he’s deciding how to phrase it.
“I don’t want to end up somewhere that doesn’t make sense for both of us.”
I still my hand against the cat’s fur.
“Rodrigo,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You cannot make that decision based on me.”
“I’m not making it based on you,” he says, shaking his head. His eyes are closed, and I think it’s because he doesn’t want me to see how his emotions are surfacing. “But you are a big part of it.”
