I love him. He loves her. She loves him.Guess who’s the odd man out?
Maybe it’s time to move on.
Maybe? Hell, Ember, it’s been way past time to move on—for five years. You were supposed to have found someone and built a life by now.
But I didn’t know I was pining for Ransom—not really, I tell myself defensively—at least not until now, when this sharp alpine winter is ramming clarity down my throat like ice water.
He saidhe wants us to start over again, be friends.
My pathetic heart leaps a little at the possibilities.
Despite knowing it’s not healthy for me, not good for me, I let that hang inside me like a crystal from a chandelier—catching light and refracting it intosomething foolishly beautiful. Well, if I’m being honest, probably more foolish than beautiful.
For dinner, which is going to be casual as we are going to be dressing to the nines tomorrow for Christmas Eve, I pull on a soft sweater and jeans, even slick a little gloss onto my lips.
I look at myself in the mirror and find that I looknice, better than I have since I got here.
Hope is dangerous, Ember. It changes your posture.
I look away from the mirror, annoyed with myself, and head to the sunroom for pre-dinner drinks.
Everyone is already there.
Anika is playing chess with my father. Smarty pants. Thomas is running around with a car, pretending to be in the F1.
Heidi is sitting with Freja on a sofa, while Giselle is standing by the fireplace, talking to Jonathan.
Aksel and Latika are on the carpeted floor, watching their son play.
The fire crackles. There’s music low in the background, some soft French jazz that makes everything feel golden and warm until I seethem.
Hehas his arm around her waist. Her laugh is curling through the air like perfume. And then—as if my stomach knew before my eyes did—he leans in and kisses her.
Softly. Casually. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The room goes slightly off-axis. I starelong enough to be sure. To have nohopeof misreading. No hope at all.
I feel hurt. Ridiculous. Humiliated.
He said he wants to be friends, and I built castles in the air even when I knew better. Serves me right to see them intimate. Serves me damn right to have my heart ripped apart.
Grow a spine, Ember. It’s high fucking time.
I tear my eyes away from them—his hand on her hip, her laugh looping around his neck like a silk scarf—and grab a glass of champagne from a tray on the side table.
White. Cold. Merciful. Just what I need to drown my sorrows.
“Darling!” Aunt Tanya sing-songs, waving me over to where she and Uncle Bob are curled on a tufted loveseat, wine in hand, legs tangled like teenagers. “Come here and save me from this old goat who’s trying to convince me that pop music hasqualities.”
I force a smile and make my way toward them.
I sit next to Aunt Tanya, snuggle into her. I love my aunt. She can be a bit old-fashioned when it comes to myglassesand how I look, but she’s alright.
She kisses my forehead. “You had a good day?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
She hugs me close and strokes my hair that I’ve left loose to air dry, not wanting to blow-dry it.
