Love on ice

Chapter 8: The dinner

The emerald sundress hugged my waist like it had been sewn with me in mind, the halter neckline showcasing my collarbones and the faint tan line from the summer sun that hadn't yet faded. I twisted my hair into a loose braid, letting a few rebellious strands frame my face, just as the stylist had shown me during one of those spa days Lillian insisted I try. I felt strange.

Not like me, exactly. But not entirely unlike me either.

Feminine. Strong. Maybe even... pretty.

The thought was terrifying.

When I stepped downstairs, the effect was immediate.

Nikolai let out a long, dramatic whistle. "Look at you, sestra. Anyone would think you're trying to win over America."

"Shut up," I muttered, swatting at his arm but my cheeks betrayed me with their warmth.

Dad looked up from his book. His expression shifted in an instant his eyes turned glassy, his mouth pulling into a soft, stunned smile. “You look just like your mother.”

That stopped me cold.

For a heartbeat, all the bravado drained away, replaced by something raw. Fragile. I nodded once, lips pressed tight. Then turned on my heel.

The drive to the Wilders’ mansion was a blur of motion and noise, Nikolai belting out '80s rock ballads, Lillian offering gentle corrections in rhythm, and my father humming low in the passenger seat. I stared out the window, heart lodged somewhere near my throat. I wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just... alert.

Aware that tonight might matter.

The Wilder mansion was every bit the architectural brag I’d expected tall white columns, sweeping verandas, hedges trimmed with military precision, and lights glowing golden against the growing twilight. It looked like the sort of place where secrets were buried beneath marble staircases and whispered about over crystal decanters.

My new heels clicked against the polished foyer tile as we stepped inside.

Mrs. Wilder met us with a warm smile and a hug that smelled of vanilla and wealth. “Anastasiya! Nikolai has told us so much about you. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

I gave a polite smile, resisting the urge to check for lipstick smears on her cashmere. “Thank you for having me.”

And then I saw him.

Jace leaned lazily against the staircase, arms crossed, like he’d been born in that exact pose, confident, effortless, and frustratingly observant.

Dark jeans hugged his hips. A navy button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposed forearms strong enough to make a girl forget the French Revolution. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered or wrestled a bear. Unclear.

His gaze found me instantly. “Like what you did with your hair,” he said, that smirk creeping onto his lips. “Takes the murder out of your eyes.”

His cedarwood cologne wrapped around me like a spell. Dangerous and warm.

My mouth twitched. “What, you thought I’d wear black?”

“I always pegged you as a leather-and-glaring kind of girl. I stand corrected.”It seems you favor the color of envy and jealousy. He added in.

Green signifies restoration, rebirth and nature. I retorted.

He grinned. “Believe whatever helps you sleep.”

The dinner hadn’t even started, and I already wanted to stab him, with a salad fork. Or maybe kiss him. Which was worse.

Dinner was a blur of laughter and sparkling wine, clinking silverware and polite inquiries. Mr. Wilder asked about my recovery, his expression genuinely kind. Lillian complimented the roast.

Nikolai ever the actor laughed too loudly at every joke, especially Jace’s.

And Jace? He sat beside me.

Worse, his knee brushed mine under the table. Once. Twice. Three times. I chalked the first one up to accident, the second to coincidence, the third to war.

Each touch sent a subtle spark along my thigh, igniting nerves I thought had gone dormant.

Every time I looked up, Jace was already watching me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t stop solving. His gaze lingered too long at my collarbone, the curve of my neck, the way my fingers tapped against the water glass. I hated how aware he made me of my own body.

And I hated how I didn’t hate it.

After dessert, the adults vanished into a study for coffee and conversation. Lillian looked like she wanted to follow them, but Nikolai was already tugging my arm.

“You have to see the rink,” he said, excitement lighting up his face.

The private ice rink was tucked behind the house, beneath a domed skylight that cast pale moonlight over the smooth surface. My breath caught. It was beautiful. Intimate. The kind of place where moments happened.

Jace appeared beside me, holding a pair of well-worn skates.

“Try these.”

“I have my own”

“Which are gathering dust in your closet. These are broken in. Less stress on your ankle.”

His voice was low. Gentle. And just like that, he disarmed me again.

I shouldn’t have said yes.

But the ice called to me like a long-lost friend.

The moment my blade touched the ice, I slipped.

Straight down onto my butt. Graceful.

Jace’s laugh rang out as he stepped effortlessly onto the rink. “Need a hand, Princess?”

“I hate you.”

“You keep saying that.”

He reached for my wrists and pulled me upright. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. I let him.

Nikolai was gone. Jace and I were alone in this frozen bubble.

“Relax,” he said, skating backward with maddening ease. “I’ve got you.”

His fingers laced with mine, guiding me gently. I focused on the sound of blades slicing across the ice, the cold biting my cheeks, the heat of his body so close to mine.

My balance faltered again and he caught me. One strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My hands landed on his chest. Solid. Warm.

“You’re staring,” I whispered, breathless.

“So are you.”

His thumb traced the bare skin just above my hip where my dress had risen slightly. My breath caught. My thoughts scattered.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words were a whisper, but they struck like lightning.

He leaned in.

His eyes dropped to my lips.

My heart screamed.

And then

“Hellooo?” Nikolai’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Are you two making out or just holding hands dramatically?”

We sprang apart.

Jace cleared his throat, backing away as he adjusted his sleeves. “We should, uh”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, stepping off the ice.

But as we walked back, his pinky brushed mine.

And I didn’t pull away.