Trapped with the Rival (The Trapped Ice Queens #2)

Chapter One

Celeste

The house felt too quiet without the children. She could hear every breath Braden drew, every suppressed chuckle Jackson let out.

Celeste stood in the doorway of what used to be Braden's home office, watching him rifle through the filing cabinet with the methodical precision of a surgeon, which made sense, since that was exactly what he was.

Jackson leaned against the far wall, scrolling through his phone with the easy patience of someone who'd already accepted he'd be here a while.

It was odd to have him in here, rummaging around again. Three months since the divorce papers were signed, and she still wasn't used to the silence coming from his former space.

“Found them.” Braden straightened, holding up a manila folder. “My old residency evaluations. Jackson's convinced I need them for the hospital's credentialing review.”

“They're extremely thorough,” Jackson said without looking up. “It's like joining the CIA, except with more paperwork and worse coffee.”

Celeste crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You could've just called. I would've left them on the porch.”

“And miss seeing your lovely face?” Braden grinned, that familiar good cheer crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Besides, we needed to grab the rest of the kitchen stuff. Jackson's determined to make our place feel like a home.”

Our place. The words shouldn't sting.

And they didn't, not really. Just a small tug somewhere behind her ribs that she'd gotten good at ignoring. She was happy for Braden. Truly happy. He deserved to be loved the way Jackson loved him: openly, fiercely, and without shame.

But watching them together was a reminder of everything she had given up before she'd ever really had it.

“The Le Creuset set is already boxed up in the garage,” she said. “I kept the cast iron skillet.”

“Deal. You always made better pancakes anyway.”

Jackson finally pocketed his phone and joined them, his hand finding the small of Braden's back with unconscious affection. The gesture was so natural, so easy. Celeste looked away, studying the cream-colored wall as if it held secrets.

It wasn't that she missed Braden romantically—she never had, not in that way. Their marriage had been built on friendship, not passion. An arrangement between two closeted people who met in college and understood each other perfectly.

The plan had seemed so simple back then: they'd give each other cover, create the life everyone expected of them and build a family together. It had worked beautifully for years. They'd found genuine happiness, the kind of happiness that came from deep companionship, if not romantic love.

Then Jackson had walked into Braden's life and everything had shifted.

She had seen it happening. The way Braden's face lit up when Jackson texted. The way he started humming while making coffee. Then he'd looked at her one night over dinner and said, “I think I'm in love with him. Really in love. For the first time in my life.”

And Celeste had known their arrangement was over.

Braden had been terrified of losing his children, of hurting Celeste, of disappointing everyone. But Jackson had given him something she never could: the courage to live authentically, to step out of the constructed lie and into himself.

“How are the twins handling everything?” Jackson asked.

“They're good. Theo asked if you guys could come to his soccer game next week.”

Braden’s face softened the way it always did when they talked about the kids. “We'll be there. Wouldn't miss it.”

At least that hadn't changed. Braden was still an incredible father. The twins had two parents who loved them, who co-parented with the kind of ease most divorced couples could only dream of.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just heavy with things none of them needed to say. Celeste moved to the window, watching an orange cat stalk something in the garden two houses down. Mrs Wilson’s cat, probably. It was always hunting something.

“How's it going with your family?”

Braden's expression shifted, something dimming in his eyes. “We're working on it. Dad still won't pick up.”

Celeste remembered that night four months ago, sitting on this very floor while Braden held his phone with shaking hands. She'd been right beside him when he told his parents the truth he’d hidden for so long.

He was gay. And he was leaving his wife.

He hadn’t told them that Celeste was also gay, they’d agreed on that. She was going to call her parents first and tell them first. Then they would circle back to Braden’s and tell them the truth.

Yet, that hadn’t happened.

The way his mother's voice had cracked. His father's cold silence before the line went dead.

She'd had her own phone ready, rehearsed words sitting on her tongue like stones. Mom, Dad, there's something I need to tell you. I'm gay. I've always been gay. The marriage was—

But after watching Braden's world fracture, after seeing the pain in his eyes when his father hung up without a word, she'd quietly set it down.

I can't I just can't.

Braden's family was tight-knit. Southern. The sort of family who hosted large scale dinners half the town was invited to and made a habit of going to church and giving to the poor. And they'd still reacted like he'd announced he was joining a cult.

Her family? Her traditional, Catholic, Italian-American family made up of people who emigrated from a small village where everyone knew everyone's business? Her sweet, doting grandmother who'd cut off her own cousin Marco for being gay and still refused to speak his name twenty-five years later?

Their rejection would destroy her.

They’d begin to look at her with disappointment. Her father would stop calling her his piccola avvocatessa, his little lawyer. Her mother would stop bragging about her to the church ladies. Her grandmother…

Celeste couldn't even think about her grandmother's reaction without her chest constricting.

“He'll come around.”

“Maybe.” Braden shrugged, but she caught the tension in his shoulders. “Jackson keeps telling me I can't control other people's reactions, only my own choices.”

“Jackson sounds very wise.”

“I have my moments.” Jackson's dimple appeared. “Usually right after I've said something incredibly stupid and need to recover.”

The laugh escaped before Celeste could stop it, surprising all three of them.

It felt good, like stretching a muscle that had been cramped too long.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd properly laughed.

Not the polite chuckle she gave clients, or the amused sound she made when the twins said something cute. Real laughter.

“Listen, you remember our New Orleans trip?”

“The one that's cancelled because you're building your new life and can't possibly take a week and a half off?” She raised an eyebrow.

They'd booked it almost a year ago, back when they were still married, still playing house.

A road trip to the New Orleans arts and culture festival, a break from the routine of work and parenting.

Celeste had been looking forward to it more than she wanted to admit.

As much as she loved being in Cheyenne Valley, Illinois, the idea of being elsewhere for a change seemed appealing.

“It's not cancelled. You're still going.”

“Alone?”

The thought of a lengthy road trip by herself should have sounded peaceful. Instead, it felt hollow. Sad. Like eating at a restaurant alone while couples and families laughed at nearby tables.

“Not alone. I arranged for someone to meet you at the rental place.”

“Who?”

“A companion. Someone I trust.” Braden's smile turned infuriatingly cryptic. “You'll see.”

“There’s no point in—”

He drew his eyebrows together. “You need this, Celeste. When's the last time you did something purely for yourself? Not for the twins, not for the firm, not because it was expected. Just because you wanted to?”

The answer formed immediately: Never. But she kept it locked behind her teeth.

She'd done what was expected her entire life.

Perfect grades because that was expected.

Law school because being a lawyer meant something in their family, meant Celeste had achieved what her grandmother had only dreamed of.

Marriage because good Italian girls got married, had children, built families.

“The twins will be with your parents. I'll be around if they need anything. You have literally no excuse.”

“I have a dozen cases that need attention.”

“All of which Wesley can manage. That's why you hired him.” He moved closer, his hand light on her back. “You've spent your entire life being what everyone expected. The perfect daughter. The perfect wife. The perfect mother. Maybe it's time to figure out what you want.”

Something twisted in her chest. Want. Such a small word for such a dangerous concept.

“The tickets were already booked for you and me.”

“Already handled. Necessary name adjustments have been made. All you have to do is show up Saturday morning at nine.”

“That's in two days.”

Two days to rearrange her entire schedule, to pack, to mentally prepare, for what? She didn't even know who she'd be traveling with.

“I know.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stepped back. “Early departure because they moved the festival dates up. But you've got this. Pack light, bring comfortable shoes, and for God's sake, let yourself have fun.”

Fun. Another concept that felt foreign. Work was fulfilling. The twins were joy personified. But fun? She couldn’t recall the last time she had fun.

Jackson checked his watch. “We should head out. My mom's looking forward to trying out the new meatloaf recipe at the Crusson restaurant and she gets cranky if we're late.”

They gathered the boxes, the folder, the last remnants of a life that had looked perfect on paper. At the door, Braden paused. When he spoke again, a thickness had crept into his voice.