Chapter 26
My hands won't stop shaking.
I stare at myself in the locker-room mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back. The Princess Blanca costume is perfect and fits me like a glove. The ice-blue bodice is dusted with tiny rhinestones, and the large blue and white tulle skirt floats when I move. It was supposed to be chopped down to make skating easier, but Scotty suggested keeping the length to hide… well, my terrible skating skills.
I take a deep breath, noticing the glitter catching on my collarbone as I flick my curled hair over my shoulder.
The tiara on top of my head is unmovable. My makeup could survive a hurricane.
I look exactly like the version of me the judges want, but that still doesn’t stop me from wanting to throw up.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper, but my voice cracks. “You’re one of the only three Princess Blanca's who made it to this stage. You’ve practiced. Scotty’s here. We’ve planned to distract. You can do this.”
The pep talk is supposed to help, but it doesn’t.
What if I can’t do this?
What if I fall in the opening thirty seconds again?
What if the blade catches? What if I choke on the first note?
What if everyone out there sees right through the costume to the girl who still doesn’t belong on the ice?
My stomach twists hard, and I grip the tulle of my dress until my knuckles go white.
Nope.
Can’t keep spiraling.
Can’t pretend positive affirmations will magically fix the fact that my knees feel like damp spaghetti.
I need Scotty.
Not his pep talks, not his coaching—him.
His voice. His steadiness. His way of grounding me with one look like I’m not a disaster waiting to happen.
I grab my phone with trembling fingers and type a message.
Laura:Please tell me you're here.
I hit send and stare at my screen, praying he answers fast, because I’m one cracked breath away from unraveling all over the glittering rubber floor.
He responds instantly, but it still feels like it took hours.
Scotty:I'm here, Princess. Right outside your door. You want me to come in?
Laura:YES. Please.
I pace the locker room, my skates digging into the floor. My stomach is in knots. My throat is tight. This is it—the thing I’ve been working towards for months. The thing I’ve lost sleep over, cried over, bled over during falls that still bruise my knees. The thing Scotty rewrote his entire schedule for.
If I mess this up—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Scotty slips inside the second I turn the handle, shutting the door behind him quietly, and gives me a smile, already knowing I’m seconds from unraveling. He’s already wearing Prince Alaric’s costume, and at least that’s a gooddistraction. Fitted white pants, a blue military jacket with silver trim and black skates.
Shit, I shouldn’t be getting hot over this.
