Page 17 of Fate on the Ice

My lips twitch into a smirk. I like the idea of Grace being excited, worried, and nervous about our date. God knows I’m feeling the same way. My stomach twists at the thought of her walking down that staircase in anticipation of what she’s wearing.

Karlie takes a step backward, turning to the side to allow me to pass. I make my way into the foyer and I rock back on my heels as I look at the stairs.

Karlie giggles, then closes the door.

She doesn’t say anything else, but I can feel her gaze on me. The moment Grace steps out onto the top of the stairs, everything and everyone else vanishes.

She’s gorgeous—absolutely stunning.

Chapter

Eight

GRACE

The dress is beautiful, but it’s not me. It was nice of Brooklynn to lend it to me, but I don’t think I can wear it. Sucking in a deep breath, I run my hands down the front of the fabric. It’s soft and light.

It’s a silvery-blue puff-sleeved milkmaid dress that hits right below my knees. It’s stunning, but it’s not me. Taking a step backward, I turn toward the closet and look at the contents hanging up. I realize that I don’t have anything of my own to wear tonight, so this is going to have to be it.

“You look wonderful,” Brooklynn whispers from the doorway.

Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at her. I give her a smile, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t look bad, but I don’t look like myself, and I feel uncomfortable. I can’t tell her that her dress isn’t for me. So, I just smile instead of replying.

Slipping on my platform nude-colored sandals, I smooth down my hair one last time. The doorbell rang a few minutes ago, so I know he’s here. I could hear his voice floating up from the staircase as I stared at my reflection and tried to figure out how on earth I was going to go on this date.

I should stay home.

“Maybe I should stay home,” I whisper, my eyes finding Brooklynn’s.

Her smile widens as she shakes her head. I watch her blonde hair fly all around her shoulders. It’s shinier and healthier-looking than mine. I find myself a bit envious of it. In fact, I find myself a bit envious of every woman in this house.

“Absolutely not. Now, the dress may not be your style, but it’s the biggest trend right now. Otto likes new and trendy,” Brooklynn says with a single nod.

She’s right. He does. I’ve seen his brand-new Camaro. But I’m not that girl. I’m not the trendy girl. I’m the girl who wears solid colors, no patterns. I’m the girl who goes for practical, not sexy or popular.

I’m plain and comfortable.

I’ve always been that way.

I’ve never been the girl who goes for trendy. I’ve never been the girl who was popular or anything else. I’m just me. My mother was always on trend. Clothes and makeup were more important than anything else, and I shifted in the opposite direction. And that’s probably the very reason why Hayze saw me as a target. Because that’s exactly what I was— his target.

His mark.

“He won’t like me much, then, I’m afraid. Not in the long run. I’m not trendy at all.”

Brooklynn makes her way toward me, reaches out, wraps her hands around my wrists, and tugs me a bit closer to her. My eyes widen as hers narrows. She leans in a bit closer, her gaze never leaving my own.

“You’re wonderful, Grace. Everything I know about you is wonderful. Clothes and music don’t make a person. Otto sees you. If you let him, that is.”

Oh, but I want him to see me.

Every single part of me.

Even against my better judgment, I want it.

“Go down to him. He’s waiting for you, and he wants to see you walk down those stairs. He wants the fantasy.”

I almost laugh in her face. Fantasy. Now, that’s funny. I’ve never been anyone’s fantasy. I can’t imagine I would ever be to a man like Otto. He could have anyone, and I know that women throw themselves at the players after every single game… the coach, too. I’ve seen my father leave with countless women throughout my childhood. That is the fantasy, not me.

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