Fire and Ice: A New Adult Erotic Romance Read Online Free PDF

why he can’t love one single thing in earnest—other than himself.
    “Leave,” I say.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I want you to leave this wedding. I want you to leave the resort, the state, my life. Leave. Now.”
    “Whoa, can’t we just talk about this?”
    I’m not armed for battle, not one of words; I’m also not ready to make a scene during my sister’s wedding, so I let him lead me to the dance floor. Keep the peace. Keep the peace. Until midnight. Until David whisks Athena upstairs after the New Year is rung in. So I dance. With Caleb. George, I notice, is dancing with Miriam. Caleb notices too.
    “Fickle,” is his one word verdict. “All pretty boys are.”
    He’s one to talk. “I still want you to leave,” I say.
    “Look, I’ve done a lot of thinking since you walked out. You’re right. I was a bastard. I behaved like a little boy, a first-class asshole. But everything is different now.”
    “I don’t see how it could be,” I say, “and I still want you to leave.”
    “What else do you want me to say? That you were right and I was wrong? Because I’ll say it. I’ll admit that life is shitty without you. I can’t manage. Why do you think I flew out here at the last minute? Do you have any idea how expensive that is?”
    “You should’ve saved your money.”
    “I did it for you.”
    “No. You did it for you .”
    His grip on my arms loosens. I take a step back. I can’t actually escape, because I can’t leave him alone at my sister’s wedding. The music shifts, the strains familiar, romantic. As Time Goes By , from Casablanca .
    “They’re playing our song,” he says.
    Once upon a time, it was. Caleb took me to see Casablanca on our first date. I loved it; Caleb dissected it during our walk back to the dorms, criticizing everything from the writing to the direction to the fact it was, what he considered, 1940s propaganda. He even harped on Ingrid Bergman’s eyebrows.
    “But I thought you’d like it,” he had said.
    Back then, I’d heard nothing but consideration. It’s funny how easy it is to confuse that with condescension.
    The glitter ball above the dance floor has gone crazy, throwing stars across the parquet. Whoever mans the spotlight has also gone crazy, zooming the light about, highlighting Caleb, then me, the glare dazzling my eyes, making it hard to see, to think, to figure out what might happen next. Couples step back, anticipation on their faces. We stand in the middle of the floor, commanding all the attention, stealing all the attention.
    In one of the spotlight’s passes, I detect the bulge in Caleb’s suit coat pocket. It’s the size and shape of a jewelry box, the perfect size for a ring. His knees quiver. The look on his face? Like nothing I’ve ever seen. He is determined to do this thing, to propose. He knows I won’t—I can’t—refuse. I will not spoil Athena’s wedding with a scene. He’s counting on that. And once I’ve said yes?
    He’s just played his trump card.
    And I have no way of winning.
    I scan the dance floor. Athena is snug in David’s arms, the way it should be. Miriam still has George in her clutches, and perhaps that’s the way it should be as well. George set me on fire, but it wasn’t enough to melt all the ice I’ve built up inside.
    Ice. Yes, I think. My answer is in the ice.
    “All right,” I say to Caleb. “If you won’t leave, then I’ll will.” It’s impossible to propose to someone who physically isn’t present.
    Before he can stop me, I push through the crowd. If he truly wants me, he’ll deal with it; he’ll follow. He’ll propose to me in the snow, in the ice, in the cold. He’ll propose where no one can see him, praise him. I’m out the balcony door, down the flight of steps, and on the path that leads to the dock. I don’t walk quickly, but my strides are sure.
    There, at the dock’s end, floodlights turn night into day, illuminate the snow and ice. The hole they’ve cut into the lake looks dark and