When the Heart Falls(42)

He pulls me against him as we sing, and we dance together on stage, singing to each other even as the crowd cheers.

During a musical interlude, Cade whispers in my ear. "I'm glad to be dancing to this song again. Thank you."

My heart bursts with emotion, my body alive with the feel of him, and I can't stop myself this time. I tilt my face up and use my hand on the back of his head to pull him closer to me, pressing my lips against his, tasting him again.

Locked together in a passionate embrace, the sound of the crowd chanting, "Ice Queen. Ice Queen. Ice Queen," fades out, and all I hear is our hearts beating in synch. I don't care what people say.

I am the Ice Queen.





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 18





MAYBE IT'S THE weather, a bit dreary and wet, like the sky can't stop crying. Maybe I miss the heat and the sun and the essential Vitamin D it provides. Or maybe it's spending another week struggling in French. Whatever it is, my thoughts have turned dark as I wrestle with whether or not to read the letter once and for all. Time has smoothed out the envelope and given permanence to its folds and creases, but the glue that keeps its secrets sealed holds strong.

Since the phone call with my mom, the night I kissed Winter, I've sat with this letter nearly every night, weighing my choices. To read or not to read? To know or not to know? Would anyone really want to know? Would anyone really be able to resist the lure of knowledge gained?

My cell phone vibrates again, and I send the call to voicemail. It says Mom, but I know it's Dad. He's called twice a day since the Eiffel Tower, but I can't speak to him.

Because I don't know what to say, and I can't defend my choices to him if I don't know what they are. I don't want his guilt manipulating me into a decision I'll regret. This is a path I have to travel alone, to decide on alone.

My avoidance sounds noble, but it's not. At heart, I'm a coward, unable to face the truth of my past, unable to face my family, unable to decide the course of my life.

Indecision. The mortal flaw I share with Hamlet. It didn't end so well for him, and I fear a similar fate for myself.

I toy with the edges of the envelope and wonder if today I will face at least one ghost, but someone knocks at my door, and I shove the letter under my pillow. "Who is it?"

"Winter."

Her voice fills me with light, the kind that can scare away the demons in my heart, if only temporarily. I run a hand over my face and walk over to open the door.

In her blue sundress with exposed shoulders, Winter takes my breath away. The color suits her and reminds me of Bastille Day, of the sheer joy I felt for one night with her, no worries, no pressures, no future or past, just that moment. I wish I could capture that feeling and carry it with me always.

She has her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes."

I do as told and realize how much I trust her. I don't close my eyes for anyone but Stevie, until now.

I feel her moving closer to me, smell her shampoo as her hair tickles the side of my face, and finally taste her lips as she presses them against mine. I deepen the kiss, parting her lips with my tongue, pulling her by the hips until her body is pressed against mine, her curves conforming to me.

"Yum." As the kiss ends I pull away and start to open my eyes.

"Not yet." Her small, cool hand covers them. "Wait. Now open."

Her hand moves, and she's holding what looks like two tickets. She's shaking with excitement that's contagious.

I smile. "Where are we going?"

"Where do you think?"

There's only one place I can think of that would need train tickets, that we've talked about going. The trip we missed last week for the Louvre. "No way!"

"Oh yeah." She wiggles her bottom and waves the tickets in front of me. "I got two train tickets to Mont Saint-Michel, bitch." She does some kind of gangster hand thing, mimicking Jenifer, and it's so out of character for her I laugh. I'm glad the two of them are getting along again; she seemed so sad when she and Jenifer were at odds with each other.

"When are we leaving?" I ask.

"Now, doofus. That's why it's a surprise."

I mentally clear my weekend, which consisted of studying and finding ways to spend time with Winter that don't involve studying. "Great. Let me get all my worldly possessions." I grab my book bag and phone. Winter's fixing her lipstick in the mirror, so I reach under my pillow, pull out the letter and stuff it in my bag.

Mont Saint-Michel awaits us, but even as we leave for a journey to history, I'm haunted by my own past. Perhaps what came before us never leaves, but is dimly reflected in the present as it wields its ghostly hands to shape the future.



The French countryside passes beside us, hills of green and grazing sheep and sky so blue it looks Photoshopped.

Winter studies my most recent French test. "75%. Not bad."

"Not good enough. Not even as good as the last one." I sound sulky, which I know isn't attractive in a man, but this class is kicking my ass.

Winter shrugs. "They get harder as the semester progresses, but you're getting better faster than they're getting harder. We'll get you to an 80% soon."

"Sure." Her eternal optimism never dims. "If you work hard enough at something—"