Chapter 9 Ember
Ember
“Be nice,” I instruct Freja when Ransom takes Calypso to the other end of the cable car where the German tourists are taking pictures.
“She called me rude,” she hisses.
“Be nice,” Aksel repeats. “He likes her.”
Freja gives us a look that asks, ‘Really?’ without saying a word.
Aksel chuckles. “I know! Look, I thought maybe they’re just friends with benefits, but…I don’t know anymore. He’s never brought anyone over…so this must be special.”
Crack! Oh look, my heart broke…again.
“Why?” Freja shakes her head. “I mean…she’s—”
“Mama and Aunt Tanya like her,” I remind her, cutting her off.
Our mother is usually a good judge of character, as is Aunt Tanya.
“Fine,” Freja concedes grudgingly.
We make an effort to be more inclusive of Calypso in the gondola, which she gracefully allows.
Ransom stays away from all of us, and I worry that he’s angry with me because I told Calypso off.
I thought I did as nicely as possible, but when she called my sister rude, it got my back up.
Freja curates everything she says all the time—so when she’s home alone with Jonathan or with us, she lets loose. It’s her only release.
The gondola doors hiss open, releasing us into the cold brilliance of the summit.
The air up here is thin, sharp, and smells like snow and sunburn.
We click forward onto the rubber matting, skis slicing across it with that familiar grating sound, and step out onto the ridge where the trailheads begin.
Aksel and Freja move ahead. Ransom lingers behind, adjusting one of his bindings. I pause to tighten the strap on my glove.
Calypso glides into step beside me, her smile a bit too bright beneath her mirrored goggles.
“I know you don’t like me,” she says cheerfully, like she’s commenting on the weather, her voice low like she doesn’t want Ransom to hear what she’s saying.
I don’t like confrontations, which is partly why I shut up when I know the conversation is ripe for conflict.
“That’s not true,” I reply, not letting her see how my heart is hammering. I don’t like this at all.
She shrugs one sleek shoulder. Her ski outfit is perfectly tailored and impractical—more runway than ski run.
Stop being bitchy when you think about her, Ember. He likes her. He’s going to marry her. We have to tolerate her. Accept her.
“It’s okay. I’m not trying to be your best friend. I just thought I should say something, you know, woman to woman.”
I say nothing. The snow crunches underfoot as we move slowly toward the ridge.
“I know you and Ransom have history,” she continues, voice lilting. “He mentioned it. You were entertaining for a time, but nothing more.”
I freeze.
He told her about us?
Oh God. He’s serious about her because, otherwise, he’d never have shared something so intimate.
A sharp ache twists in my chest. That was ours. Our secret. The one fragile thread that had tethered us across time and silence, like being trapped together in a snow globe.
Now he’s shattered it.
“I see the way you look at him,” she adds with a sweet, pitying smile. “It must be hard to see him with someone else.”
I smile. I’m a Rousseau. Whatever happens inside me, outside, Margot Rousseau has taught us to be regal. “I think you’re mistaken, Calypso.”
“I am not.” She leans in just a touch, voice dropping an octave, her jaw clenching. “But I’m not going anywhere. And he’s not coming anywhere near you, either. So, stop batting your eyelashes at him. He’s not interested. Are we clear?”
For someone who says she’s so confident about her man, she’s insecure enough to have a throwdown with me. I feel the harshness of her words, but mostly I feel bad that I’ve caused her to wonder about Ransom.
I meet her gaze, letting the cold quiet settle between us. “Like I said, you’re mistaken.”
Ransom joins us then, and she loops her arm through his like she’s claiming prize property.
“All good?” I hear him ask her as they walk.
“Yes. Just…you know, clearing the air with Ember after what happened.”
The slope ahead of us is a wide red run—technically intermediate, but fast and steep, built to thrill.
It’s groomed to near perfection, corduroy lines still fresh beneath the morning sun. Pine trees edge the slope like spectators, their branches heavy with last night’s snowfall.
Aksel checks the map at the trail marker, though he knows these mountains better than the back of his hand.
Freja is already moving, poles in motion, her movement graceful and confident.
Ransom shifts beside me.
Calypso glides over to where Aksel and Freja are waiting by the trail map. Her hands fly into animated gesturing. Freja’s face is a study in restraint, polite but distant. Aksel, who can be super diplomatic, says something that makes Calypso toss back her head and laugh, her ponytail swinging.
Good! They’re making an effort.
Before I can turn away, Ransom moves in beside me, his voice low but firm. “I didn’t like how you talked to Calypso.”
I blink. “What?”
“You don’t have to be best friends, but at least try not to make her feel like she’s auditioning.”
Hurt courses through me. “I wasn’t auditioning her for anything.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, Ransom.”
“Don’t you?” he challenges.
I close my eyes for a beat and then open them, hold his gaze, and smile. “I know you’re serious about her, and you are family. So, yes, you’re right, we’ll do better with her. She must feel like we’re getting a little territorial on home snow.”
He nods.
“And…she said she knows about us. That…you told her.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“I…so I know she’s important to you. Being new here must be difficult for her. I promise I’ll be friendly.”
He frowns, his eyes narrowed. He studies me like he’s trying to unravel something, but I don’t give him the time to express his epiphanies.
My heart beats a little faster as I slide forward, the cold air slicing across my face. I take a deep breath, tip my skis forward, and start the descent.
The mountain opens up beneath me. This—this is the part where I come alive.
“See you at the bottom,” I call over my shoulder.
I don’t look back.