CHAPTER 9
Ember
“Be nice,” I instruct Freja when Ransom takes Calypso to the other end of the cable car where the German tourists are taking pictures.
“She called me rude,” she hisses.
“Be nice,” Aksel repeats. “He likes her.”
Freja gives us a look that asks, ‘Really?’ without saying a word.
Aksel chuckles. “I know! Look, I thought maybe they’re just friends with benefits, but…I don’t know anymore. He’s never brought anyone over…so this must be special.”
Crack! Oh look, my heart broke…again.
“Why?” Freja shakes her head. “I mean…she’s?—”
“Mama and Aunt Tanya like her,” I remind her, cuttingher off.
Our mother isusuallya good judge of character, as is Aunt Tanya.
“Fine,” Freja concedes grudgingly.
We make an effort to be more inclusive of Calypso in the gondola, which she gracefully allows.
Ransom stays away from all of us, and I worry that he’s angry with me because I told Calypso off. I thought I did as nicely as possible, but when she called my sister rude, it got my back up. Freja curates everything she says all the time—so when she’s home alone with Jonathan or with us, she lets loose. It’s her only release.
The gondola doors hiss open, releasing us into the cold brilliance of the summit.
The air up here is thin, sharp, and smells like snow and sunburn.
We click forward onto the rubber matting, skis slicing across it with that familiar grating sound, and step out onto the ridge where the trailheads begin.
Aksel and Freja move ahead. Ransom lingers behind, adjusting one of his bindings. I pause to tighten the strap on my glove.
Calypso glides into step beside me, her smile a bit too bright beneath her mirrored goggles.
“I know you don’t like me,” she says cheerfully, like she’s commenting on the weather, her voice low like she doesn’t want Ransom to hear what she’s saying.
I don’t like confrontations, which is partly why Ishut up when I know the conversation is ripe for conflict.
“That’s not true,” I reply, not letting her see how my heart is hammering. I don’t like this at all.
She shrugs one sleek shoulder. Her ski outfit is perfectly tailored and impractical—more runway than ski run.
Stop being bitchy when you think about her, Ember. He likes her. He’s going to marry her. We have to tolerate her. Accept her.
“It’s okay. I’m not trying to be your best friend. I just thought I should say something, you know, woman to woman.”
I say nothing. The snow crunches underfoot as we move slowly toward the ridge.
“I know you and Ransom have history,” she continues, voice lilting. “He mentioned it. You were entertaining for a time, but nothing more.”
I freeze.
He told her about us?
Oh God.He’s serious about her because, otherwise, he’d never have shared something so intimate.
