Page 25 of Faking It with the Ice Queen

Elara chuckled. “You have to sit up to drink water. I can’t have you choking and dying, after all.”

Grace’s face broke into a grin as she pushed herself up on one elbow, sipping from the open water bottle. After she nearly drained half the bottle in one go, Grace handed the bottle back, and laid her head down on the pillow.

She smiled sleepily as she watched Elara place the bottles on the nightstand. “At least I’d die happy.”

Elara laughed, genuinely and wholeheartedly, as she snuggled in closer. Grace’s eyes flew open, her face full of pleasure and joy. Elara moved in, pulling Grace toward her and cradling her. The room was quiet, wrapped in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The sheets rustled as Grace shifted, turning onto her side to face Elara. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Their breathing was still uneven, tangled like the blankets around their legs.

Grace’s voice was soft when she finally broke the silence. “Your dad said he’s proud of you.”

Elara stiffened, the weight of those words pressing down on her. “Did he?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice light, as if it didn’t matter.

“Yeah.” Grace’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Elara’s arm, her touch gentle, hesitant. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone say that to you.”

Elara let out a low, humorless laugh. “That makes two of us.” She closed her eyes for a beat, trying to smother the ache that came with those words. “It only took forty-five years and a fake girlfriend to make it happen.”

Grace’s hand stilled, resting warm against Elara’s skin. “It doesn’t have to be fake, though.” She said it quietly, not an accusation—just a thought floating in the space between them.

Elara opened her eyes, turning her head on the pillow to look at Grace. “And what exactly am I supposed to be proud of?” she asked, a hint of bitterness creeping in despite herself. “That I’ve built a business my family only acknowledges when it suits them? That they’ll approve of me, but only as long as I play by their rules?”

Grace frowned, her fingers brushing along Elara’s arm again in quiet reassurance. “That’s not what I meant. You’ve built something incredible. You’ve done it on your own terms, evenwhen they didn’t support you.” She paused, biting her bottom lip. “You’re amazing, Elara. I mean it.”

Elara stared at her, something unfamiliar blooming in her chest. Grace’s words—simple and unpolished—landed with more weight than anything her family had ever said.

But Elara wasn’t used to praise that felt...real. Not like this.

She shifted closer, her hand brushing Grace’s waist under the covers. “What about you?” Elara asked, her voice low and curious. “What’s your dream, Grace? Because I know it can’t be...this.” She gestured vaguely toward the suite, meaning the job, the ruse, the life of being her assistant.

Grace gave a small, breathy laugh. “Definitely not this,” she admitted. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Elara’s lips twitched in a rare, teasing smile. “So? What’s the plan?”

Grace hesitated for a moment, as if saying the words out loud would make them too real. “I want to open a thrift shop,” she said, her voice small but steady. “A really good one. Like, curated stuff. Vintage finds. Weird, interesting pieces—stuff people didn’t know they needed until they saw it.”

Elara raised a brow. “A thrift shop?”

Grace shrugged. “I know it sounds silly?—”

“It doesn’t,” Elara cut in, her tone surprisingly gentle. “It sounds...like you.”

Grace smiled, a little shy, but there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty in her expression. “The problem is, I have no clue how to run a business. I thought maybe working with you would teach me, you know? How to be organized, how to actually make something work.”

Elara let out a soft chuckle. “You do realize you picked the least patient person on earth to learn from, right?”

Grace grinned. “Yeah. But you’re not all bad.”

Elara shook her head, amused. “Not exactly a glowing review.”

They both fell silent for a moment, the humor fading into something quieter, more meaningful. Elara shifted again, propping herself on one elbow so she could see Grace more clearly. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? About the thrift shop?”

Grace shrugged, her gaze dropping to the sheet between them. “I don’t know. I guess...I didn’t think you’d care. Or maybe I was scared you’d think it was stupid.”

Elara reached out, tucking a strand of Grace’s hair behind her ear. “It’s not stupid,” she murmured, her voice soft. “And I do care.”

For a moment, the weight of the conversation hung between them—Elara letting someone in, truly in, for the first time in a long time, and Grace realizing that maybe, just maybe, Elara wasn’t as unreachable as she seemed.

Elara traced her thumb along the curve of Grace’s jaw, a gesture so uncharacteristically gentle it made Grace’s breath hitch. “I think you could do it,” Elara said quietly. “The thrift shop. I think you’d be great at it.”

Grace’s smile was slow, tentative. “Yeah?”

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