But there's less venom in it this time. More resignation. Maybe even the faintest hint of amusement.
She finishes her skates and stands, testing the fit. Then she pulls out her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Required social media documentation." She holds up her phone. "Smile, Thornhill. Let's show everyone what a perfect fake date looks like."
She snaps a selfie of us on the bench, my skates half-tied, both of us looking miserable.
"That's not going to convince anyone," I say.
"Good. Because I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything except that we fulfilled the contract requirements."
She posts it before I can argue. I catch a glimpse of the caption:Date 1/5: Ice skating with my auction winner. #ThornhillGala #CharityDate #SendHelp
"Send help?" I raise an eyebrow.
"What? It's funny."
"It's going to start rumors."
"Good. Maybe someone will rescue me."
She heads toward the ice, moving with the kind of confidence that comes from years of experience. I follow more carefully, gripping the boards as I step onto the ice.
The rink is cold and bright, sunlight streaming through the glass roof. A few other skaters circle lazily. Romantic music plays over the speakers probably part of the Valentine's theme.
Isla glides away from me effortlessly, her movements smooth and practiced. She does a small spin, then looks back at me still clutching the boards like a lifeline.
"You really can't skate."
"I can skate. I'm just... cautious."
"You're terrified."
"I'm not—" My feet slide out from under me, and only my death grip on the boards keeps me upright. "Fine. Yes. I'm terrified. Happy?"
She skates back to me, and for the first time since the auction, something other than anger crosses her face. Curiosity, maybe. Or pity.
"When's the last time you skated?"
"Ten? Eleven? My father took me once. Said it was 'character building.' I fell, broke my wrist, and he never took me again because Thornhills don't break."
The words come out before I can stop them. Too honest. Too revealing.
Isla's expression shifts to something I can't read.
"So you suggested ice skating why, exactly?"
"It was on your list of date activities." I remind her.
"Because I actually know how to skate. You could have picked something else."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She studies me for a long moment. Then, incredibly, she holds out her hand. "Come on."
"What?"
