Page 117 of Ice Princesses
That tone. I close my eyes briefly.
“Not now,” I reply, still not turning around. Still choosing to center Cecilia in all this.
“It is right now,” she says, just as quietly. “They’re here.”
Something in my chest goes completely still.
Ice cold.
I let out a breath that finally feels like a reset and my entire body shifts, locking into something else entirely. Something sharper that I haven’t let myself tap into in a long time. It reminds me of the moment I decided to give Ascend a try, the exact same feeling settling in my chest now—this quiet, undeniable pull towards motion, towards doing something that doesn’t just shift things for me, but changes the structure of everything around me.
When I open my eyes, I don’t look at Nina, I look at Cecilia.
“Come with me,” I say, already reaching for her hand. “So I can show you exactly how fucked up all of this is.”
This. This I can control.
And I’m not letting them walk in here, in a place where I belong, and define it for me.
CHAPTER 41
ISABELLA
We walkin hurried steps through the corridor and in the direction of the rink. I know they’ll be perched just outside the VIP section, perfectly positioned to be seen without ever appearing to seek attention, as if the entire structure of this sport naturally arranges itself around them.
I feel the shift of Cecilia’s grip. I hesitate for a second, because whatever I’m about to do has only very little to do with the conversation we were just having and everything to do with something much older, much deeper. Something that has been simmering under the surface long before she stepped into any of this.
My mother sees me first. Her expression changes almost imperceptibly, a quiet satisfaction slipping into place, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment, knowing that I would come to her.
I stop in front of them, close enough that there is no room for politeness and the faux smiles we’ve grown up around. I take a moment to look at them, taking in the calmand the composure. The complete lack of urgency in their posture.
“Did you do this?” I ask without preamble.
My father’s gaze flicks briefly to Cecilia, to the place where our fingers are laced, then back to me, assessing, recalibrating.
My mother doesn’t look away and instead, her smile tightens a notch.
“We supported you,” she says, as if that answers the question. “You are our daughter.”
“Supported me? You put my name forward,” I press, my voice steady in a way that feels almost detached. “Without asking me.”
“We advocated for you,” she corrects, and there’s something in her tone that makes it absolutely clear she doesn’t see the difference. “Because you are the obvious choice, darling.”
“Obvious to who?” I ask. “To the board? To you? Or to the version of me that exists only when it serves your idea of what this sport should be?”
There’s a shift now.
My father steps in, his voice lower, more measured, trying to bring things back into alignment.
“This is about influence, Princess,” he says. “About the ability to enact change at the structural level. You’ve proven you can build something. This is the natural next step.”
“Stop using the word influence, for fuck’s sake!”
My mother’s lips press together, not in anger, I don’t think. But in something closer to disappointment.
“Ascend is my next step. My forever step. That is the work and that is the change.”
“You’re thinking too small,” she says.
