Page 26 of Trapped with the Ice Queen

As they worked together, the cabin filled with the scent of rising dough and freshly chopped herbs. The storm outside was a distant memory, its fury replaced by the quiet rhythm of their shared tasks.

Vivienne’s laugh broke the silence, soft and genuine. Alex glanced ather, catching the way her eyes lit up as she struggled to shape the dough into something resembling a roll. It was lopsided and uneven, but the pride on Vivienne’s face was infectious.

Alex found herself laughing, too, the sound surprising in its ease.

“You’re terrible at this,” she teased.

Vivienne grinned, holding up her misshapen creation. “Maybe. But I’m getting better.”

Alex shook her head, the warmth in her chest spreading. For the first time in years, Christmas didn’t feel like just another day.

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily. Inside, the cabin was aglow with candlelight, the modest meal spread across the small table giving the space a sense of quiet celebration. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warm glow mingling with the golden flicker of the candles, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Alex sat back in her chair, her fingers wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since cooled. Across from her, Vivienne sipped from her own cup, her cheeks flushed—not from the fire’s heat, Alex suspected, but from the wine they’d shared earlier while waiting for the rolls to bake.

The table was a testament to their efforts, scattered with the fruits of their collaboration: misshapen rolls, roasted vegetables, and a small dish of hastily improvised gravy. It wasn’t much, but it felt enough, and for the first time in years, Alex felt the faintest glimmer of holiday peace.

“You really were terrible at chopping those carrots,” Alex playfully teased, breaking the silence.

Vivienne laughed, a soft, musical sound that Alex noticed started to feel like it belonged. “I think you mean artistic. Imperfection is very in right now.”

Alex smirked, setting her mug down. “If that’s what you’re telling yourself.”

Vivienne leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Alex. “You know, you’re not as intimidating as you pretend to be.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “Oh? And what makes you think I’m pretending?”

Vivienne’s lips curved intoa sly smile. “Well, for one, you’ve spent the entire evening letting me ramble on about my miserable childhood Christmases while you patiently refilled my wine glass. That’s not exactly the behavior of a hardened misanthrope.”

Alex felt her face warm under Vivienne’s gaze and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not a misanthrope. I just don’t have much patience for—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Let’s just say I’m not usually one for company.”

Vivienne tilted her head, her smile softening. “And yet, here we are.”

Alex met her eyes and found herself holding Vivienne’s gaze longer than she intended. There was something disarming in the way Vivienne looked at her, as if she could see past every carefully constructed wall Alex had built.

Clearing her throat, Alex reached for her mug again. “What about before the storm?” she asked, her voice low. “What were you really doing out here?”

Vivienne looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, andAlex gave her time to process her thoughts.

Finally, she said, “Trying to figure out who I am, I suppose.”

Alex frowned. “You don’t know?”

Vivienne’s laugh was short and self-deprecating. “You’d think I would by now. But it’s hard to see yourself clearly when you’ve spent your whole life being told who you’re supposed to be.”

Alex leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Who’s been telling you?”

Vivienne shrugged, her movements small and tense. “My mother. My colleagues. The whole damn world, it feels like.” She glanced up, meeting Alex’s gaze. “You’re lucky, you know? You don’t care what anyone thinks of you.”

Alex’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That’s not luck. That’s exhaustion.”

Vivienne blinked, her head cocked to the side in question. “What do you mean?”

Alex hesitated, then sighed. “When you’ve spent enough time being told you’re not enough—by people, by life—it just…wears you down. After a while, you stop trying to prove them wrong.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than Alex intended. Vivienne’s expression shifted, the teasing glimmer in her eyes replaced by something softer, more understanding.

“That must have been lonely,” Vivienne said quietly.

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