Chapter 7 #3
“Remember, little snow bunnies,” she says in a voice several octaves higher than her normal one, “a proper curtsy always includes eye contact.” She’s holding the edges of her dress up, letting it float in front of her as she demonstrates a perfect, if not overly exaggerated, bow.
The girls attempt to copy. Some are more successful than others, and there’s a tiny redhead in the front row who keeps falling over, giggling every time.
I linger in the shadows, keeping myself out of Laura’s line of sight. I meant to hit the bar, really, but watching her like this…yeah, I can’t go anywhere now.
“Now, who would like to hear about the time I had to save Nibbles from the Ice Troll?”
The girls erupt in excited shouts, and Laura—Princess Blanca—laughs. It’s not her real laugh, though. I heard that once, briefly, when my horrible equipment joke landed. No, this laugh is smoother, rehearsed…yet it still pulls me in.
“Well,” she begins, settling on the throne, “it all started on the coldest day of winter…”
She starts her story, and the kids are instantly drawn in. So am I. Her voice rises and dips, along with her hands and her expressions bring every detail to life.
I’m in awe.
She’s in her element, confident, relaxed, and completely herself. This isn’t just a job to her. She’s performing, creating magic for these wide-eyed kids, and it’s…impressive as hell.
“And then,” she whispers, leaning forward as the children instinctively lean in too, “Nibbles did the bravest thing any snow fox has ever done.” She pauses dramatically, and I realize I'm holding my breath along with everyone else. “He tickled the Ice Troll's foot!”
The girls erupt in giggles, and Laura demonstrates the tickling motion, her fingers wiggling in the air. “The Ice Troll laughed so hard that all the icicles fell from his frozen beard!” She mimics things falling, her hands fluttering downward. “And do you know what happened then?”
“What?” the children chorus.
“The Ice Troll wasn't grumpy anymore! He was just lonely and needed a friend to make him laugh.” She smiles warmly. “Nibbles visits him every third Tuesday now for tea and snowball fights.”
There's a collective “Awww” from the group, and I find myself smiling too.
“And now,” Laura says, rising from her throne, “it's time for Princess Blanca's special snow song!”
A wave of cheers rises from the kids as Laura moves to the sound system near the wall. She presses a button, and delicate music sweeps through the ballroom, warm and bright. She turns back to the semicircle of girls, inhales slowly and begins to sing.
The whole place shifts.
I freeze, completely unprepared for that.
Her voice… is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Soft and strong at the same time, it booms through the ballroom. Does she even need a microphone?
As the chorus starts, her polished princess act slips away, and that’s when I see her.
Not the performer or the costume or the version she shows the world.
I see the real Laura. The woman who carries quiet ambition in every breath.
The one who dreams bigger than she lets on.
The one who is brave enough to choose her own happiness even when it costs her.
She looks effortless and alive, completely unburdened by expectations.
I can’t remember the last time I felt that free. I don’t think I ever have.
The children sit mesmerized, some swaying gently to the melody, others watching Laura with wide, wonder-filled eyes as she sings about winter skies, brave hearts, and finding light in darkness. Even the hotel staff pause what they're doing to listen to her.
They’re all captivated by her performance. But no one is more affected than me.
Her voice wraps around me like it’s some tangible thing, pulling me closer, stirring feelings I do not even have names for.
This is her soul, laid bare through music.
Fuck, this is it, isn’t it?
This is me falling, hard and fast, with no hope of recovery.
My chest constricts as I watch her. Something deep inside twists and settles at the same time, a feeling that should scare me but somehow doesn’t. I only know one thing for certain: I want her. Maybe I don’t fully understand what that means yet, but I know I want to be wherever she is.
When the song ends, there's a moment of perfect silence before the children cheer. Laura curtsies gracefully, her smile genuine and a little shy, as if she's surprised by their enthusiasm.
I remain rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak or even think clearly. All I know is that something fundamental has changed. I want to hear her sing again. I want to hear her sing forever. I want to be the one she’s singing to.
A mom holding a tray of blue-frosted cupcakes appears at my side. “She's really something, isn't she?” she whispers. “Worth every penny.”
“She's amazing,” I say softly, the words woefully inadequate for what I'm feeling.
“Do you work for the company too?” she asks.
“No, I'm just her… friend.” I claw back my previous boyfriend declaration but even that word feels both insufficient and presumptuous.
Are we friends now? I want to be.
I want to be more than that.
Laura stands now, smoothing down her massive blue dress. “Who wants to learn how to make snowflakes with magic?”
The children jump up, hands raised high, voices overlapping as they shout variations of “Me! Me! I do!”
Laura laughs, producing a small bag from somewhere in her voluminous skirts. She pulls out what looks like glitter and sparkly confetti. “Now, this is very special snow magic,” she explains in a serious tone. “You must promise to use it only for good.”
The children nod solemnly, hands over their hearts.
“Repeat after me: I solemnly swear to use my snow magic only for good.” She places one hand over her heart and raises the other in the air.
The girls copy her, their little voices joining in a chorus of “I solemnly swear to use my snow magic only for good.”
Laura beams at them, her smile radiant. “Very good, my little snowflakes! Now, everyone form a circle…”
Soon the room is filled with twirling little girls and falling sparkles, laughter and squeals echoing off the walls. Laura moves among them, adjusting a throw here, praising a spin there, making each child feel special and seen.
She catches one girl who's about to trip, steadying her with gentle hands. “Careful, Princess Emma,” she says. “Even royal snowflakes sometimes need to catch their balance.”
The little girl beams up at her, completely starstruck, and in that moment, I know exactly how the little girl feels because I'm falling too.
Hard and fast, with no hope of catching myself.
I've dated before, but this is different.
For the first time, I understand why Romeo risked everything for Juliet after one meeting.
Some connections simply feel…inevitable.
Laura turns then, still smiling from her interaction with the little girl, and her eyes sweep the room until they land directly on me.
I freeze, and there’s a moment I think she might not be able to see me under all the lights.
When her perfect smile drops for a split second, I know I’ve been spotted.
Shit.
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but to her credit, she doesn't break character. Instead, she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head before returning her attention to the children.
“Who wants to play Pin the Carrot on the Snowman?” she asks brightly, her voice not betraying a hint of the murder I'm sure she's mentally planning for me.
As the kids cheer and rush toward another part of the room, Laura makes a subtle gesture toward the hallway, her eyes flicking briefly in my direction again. The message is clear: Get out.
I give her a sheepish smile and a small wave before slipping into the darkness, fully prepared to leave. It’s only when the man I met earlier—the birthday girl’s dad, I assume—comes in with a cake and the lights go down, that I realize I can’t leave. Not just yet, at least.
“And now, my little snowflakes, it's time for us to celebrate Princess Emma's special day with a royal birthday song!”
She stands, gathering her dress, and begins to sing “Happy Birthday” in a clear, beautiful voice.
The other children join in, but Laura's voice carries above them all, sweet and sure. I find myself unable to look away from her face, illuminated by the glow of the candles as Emma’s father carries the cake toward the little redhead.
The little girl's face is absolutely radiant as everyone sings to her, her eyes darting between Laura and the glowing castle cake like she can't believe her luck.
When the song ends, Laura kneels carefully beside her chair. “Make a wish, Princess Emma,” she says softly. “The most magical wishes come true on birthdays.”
Emma closes her eyes tight, thinking hard, then opens them and blows out all the candles in one determined breath. Everyone cheers, and Emma turns to Laura with a conspiratorial smile.
“I wished that you would come to my birthday next year too,” she whispers, loud enough for those nearby to hear.
Laura's smile softens into something genuine, a flash of the real her peeking through the princess facade. “That's a lovely wish,” she says. “But you know what? You didn't need to use birthday magic for that. You can just ask me.”
Emma's eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really,” Laura nods. “Royal snow promise.”
They hook pinkies, and something in my chest tightens at the sincerity in Laura's expression. She might be playing a character, but the kindness she's showing this little girl is real.
It's official. Everything about Laura is perfect to me, and I know for a fact I’m screwed.
As the mom begins cutting the cake, Laura stands, smoothing her dress again. Her eyes meet mine briefly across the room, and though she quickly looks away, I catch the message in them: You are so dead.
Worth it, I think, watching her help distribute cake to the excited children, her blue dress shimmering under the party lights.
Completely worth it.