Page 57 of Cold as (N)ice

Irene lingered for a moment, taking it all in—the laughter, the lighthearted teasing, the way Barrett had seamlessly stepped into their world. This was her family. And it was wonderful.

She slipped away into the bedroom, her heart full, her steps light. In the bathroom, she turned the faucet, letting the tub begin to fill as she reached for the bottle of vanilla bubble bath that hadn’t been there the day before.

It was funny, really—how little things kept appearing around the house. A delicate crystal ring holder sat on her nightstand now, placed there without a word. A bottle of Barrett’s cologne rested beside his toothbrush on the sink, a quiet claim of space. There were other small touches, too—things neither of them spoke about, but both of them had done. She was guilty of leaving a few of her own, just as he had, and the realization made something in her chest go tight with emotion.

Their bathroom was the kind of place she’d only ever seen in magazines—elegant, luxurious, impossibly beautiful. The floors were a smooth, cool marble that continued seamlessly into the oversized walk-in shower. Barrett had added textured strips to the tiles after nearly slipping once, grumbling under his breath about how it was an accident waiting to happen. She’d laughed then, but the gesture had settled deep in her heart, one of a thousand tiny ways he looked out for her.

And the bathtub?

That was her favorite part.

Nestled in a private alcove, it had a curtain she could pull closed, offering the illusion of solitude even when the rest of the room was open. A small, recessed shelf held candles and bottles, a towel hook was within easy reach, and above it all hung an adjustable chandelier that cast a warm, golden glow when dimmed just right. She switched it on low, the gentle light making the space feel cozy and intimate.

Stepping into the bedroom while the tub filled, she moved to her dresser, pulling open a drawer with a sense of anticipation. She wanted something different tonight—something silky, something that would make Barrett look at her the way he did when he thought she wasn’t watching. But as her fingers skimmed over the neatly folded cotton of her usual pajamas, she hesitated. She hadn’t bought anything like that in years, not since things had unraveled between her and Eric. And now, with her baby bump rounding her belly, it wasn’t like any of it would fit right anyway.

A sigh slipped past her lips as she grabbed her regular pajamas and tossed them onto the bed. It didn’t matter. She’d get something soon. Something soft, something beautiful. Maybe even something that would knock her husband’s socks off.

Stripping out of her clothes, she sank into the tub, the warm water wrapping around her like a long embrace. The scent of vanilla curled in the steam, the bubbles rising up to meet her skin in soft, fragrant waves. From down the hall, she could still hear the sound of their laughter, light and free, threading through the walls like a melody.

And for the first time in a long, long time, she let herself go. She let the water cradle her, let the weight of the day slip from her shoulders. Let herself exist in this moment, safe and whole and… happy.

Was this what it felt like to be loved? To be part of something that didn’t just hold together but thrived? To be free, not just from fear, but from the heaviness of a past that no longer had a claim on her?

Her eyes fluttered shut, a slow smile curving her lips.If this was what it meant to be loved, then I never want to let it go, she thought simply, sinking a little lower into the deep tub and resting. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but she was almost to the point of nodding off when she heard the bedroom door shut in the distance.

Cracking one eye open, she stared at the back of the curtain that was tucked to the side with a large silvery ornate hook and held her breath, listening, waiting. He was walking around the bedroom silently, and giving her space… and that wouldn’t do.

“Who won?” she asked simply, breaking the ice.

“Who do you think?” he chuckled softly. “Stephen is vicious when it comes to Mario Cart.”

“Ah,” Irene smiled and bit her lip, wondering what to say next – only to see his shadow appear on the wall nearby. Steam curled in thick tendrils from the warm bathwater, wrapping around her like an embrace. The scent of lavender and vanilla lingered in the air, a soft contrast to the heavy thrum of her heartas she heard his voice—deep, rough with something unreadable—just beyond the curtain where he was standing.

“Want me to wash your back?” Barrett’s voice was hoarse, the sound of it sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. The thick fringe of the shower curtain swayed as he waved a washcloth beneath it, making the movement seem almost playful.

“I mean, as friends, you know? Everyone’s got the same stuff, and well, I can be an adult about this. I promise not to shout ‘boobies’ or something of the sort…”

His chuckle was rich, warm—so unmistakablyhim—that Irene found herself smiling even as a flush crept up her neck.

“I thought nothing of the sort,” she murmured, shifting slightly, allowing the warm water to lap against her skin. She turned, presenting her back to him, the vulnerability of the movement making her breath hitch. “And I think it would be amazing. I’ve never had anyone wash my back before—plus, I put enough bubble bath in here to leave suds everywhere for a week.”

“Bummer,” he muttered. The curtain rustled slightly, and then she felt it—his presence—so near, so solid. Over her shoulder, his gaze met hers, dark and unreadable, his throat moving as he swallowed hard.

“I’ll be good,” he vowed, voice thick with sincerity. “No lines crossed. I swear it—and we can talk.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. Then, warmth—gentle, reverent—spread across her shoulder as the washcloth touched her skin, his touch both careful and tender.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“Us. You.” He cleared his throat, the weight of his words settling between them like something fragile and precious. “Youcan trust me with anything, Irene… and it hurt that you were afraid to tell me about Eric.”

Her chest tightened. The water no longer felt quite as warm. “I just didn’t want it to affect us.”

“Anything that takes your smile away affects us,” he murmured, dragging the washcloth slowly down her back, the sensation so soothing she nearly closed her eyes. “I love your smile. The way you look at me. And if anything changes that, then I feel a caveman’s need to correct it, you know?”

“A caveman, huh?” she teased, her voice softer now, touched with something she couldn’t name.

“Me, Barrett…” he grunted playfully, shifting closer, his presence making her pulse skip. “You… mine.”

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