Page 72 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

Serena's fingers tightened on the phone. "Two. It's... a special evening."

"Of course. Would you like wine with dinner? We have several excellent?—"

"Whatever pairs well with the menu. I trust your judgment." The words felt foreign on her tongue. When had Serena Frost last uttered the phrase "I trust your judgment" to anyone outside her innermost circle?

After finalizing details about timing and selecting flowers for the table, Serena hung up, a strange fluttering sensation taking up residence in her stomach. She couldn't remember the last time she'd planned a romantic dinner. Her dates in recent years had been strategic networking opportunities or carefully calculated appearances to maintain her public image.

Nothing like this. Nothing driven by simple desire to please someone else, to create space for connection without an agenda.

She pulled out her phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before typing a message to Lila:Dinner at my villa tonight? Around seven?

Simple. Direct. Yet her heart raced like a teenager's as she waited for a response.

When the reply came seconds later—I'd love to—Serena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She looked around the villa with fresh eyes, seeing it as Lila might. The space was beautiful, certainly, but impersonal. Standard luxury with nothing of Serena in it.

Moving with unexpected energy, she began making small adjustments. She rearranged the terrace furniture to face the best view, opened windows to let the ocean breeze flow through, placed her well-read copy ofQuantum Physics and InformationTheoryon the side table rather than hiding it in her bag as she usually did.

Small touches that said:This is me. Serena.

By the time she stepped into the shower to prepare, the villa felt transformed—not in any dramatic way a stranger would notice, but in dozens of tiny adjustments that made the space feel inhabited rather than merely occupied.

Under the hot spray, Serena tried to understand what was happening to her. This wasn't like her—closing work mid-task, arranging romantic dinners, caring about personal touches. She'd built her empire on single-minded focus, on never being diverted by emotional considerations.

Yet here she was, anticipation building in her chest at the thought of seeing Lila again. Not just desire, though that was certainly present, but a deeper pleasure simply in her company, in her perspective, in her particular way of seeing the world.

"Seven days," she reminded her reflection as she dried off. Seven days before returning to New York, to board meetings and crisis management and the life she'd built.

Seven days wasn't a future. It wasn't even a vacation fling. It was a moment, beautiful but temporary.

So why did it feel so significant? And why couldn't she stop smiling as she prepared for the evening ahead?

Serena moved around the terrace, adjusting a candle here, a flower arrangement there, fighting an unfamiliar nervousness. The sun hung low over the ocean, coloring the sky in dramatic swirls of crimson and gold that even her pragmatic mind couldn't dismiss as merely refracted light.

She'd selected a simple dress in deep blue—not a power suit, not resort casual, but something in between that felt more authentic to who she was becoming on this island. A woman who could appreciate beauty simply because it existed, not because it served a purpose.

When the resort staff arrived with dinner, she found herself unusually involved in the setup, directing the placement of each dish, making sure the wine was served at precisely the right temperature. The lead server caught her eye as she rearranged a flower for the third time.

"Everything is perfect, Ms. Frost," he assured her with the diplomatic grace of someone accustomed to nervous guests. "Chef Vasco prepared everything personally."

Serena nodded, embarrassed at being so transparent. "Thank you. That will be all."

As they departed, she heard footsteps on the stone path approaching her villa. Her heart performed an uncharacteristic skip. She smoothed her dress, tucked a strand of silver-streaked hair behind her ear, and took a steadying breath. This strange, fluttering feeling was becoming familiar whenever Lila was near.

Then Lila was standing at the edge of the terrace in a simple sundress that caught the sunset glow. Her honey-blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and she carried a small, gnarled piece of driftwood—the kind Serena would have overlooked as beach debris before coming to the island.

"I brought this for you," Lila said, extending the gift. "I found it this morning. Look closely."

Serena accepted it, curious. At first glance, it was just weathered wood. But as she turned it, she saw how water and time had carved it into a flowing form that suggested movement frozen in an eternal dance.

"It's beautiful," she said, genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift. Not expensive, not impressive by Manhattan standards, but personal in a way that expensive presents rarely achieved.

"I thought you might appreciate nature's sculpting," Lila said, stepping fully onto the terrace. Her eyes widened as she took in the dinner setting. "Wow. This is..." She gestured at theflickering candles, the gourmet spread, the flowers. "You did all this?"

"I had help," Serena admitted, placing the driftwood carefully on the side table. "But yes, it was my idea."

Something warm bloomed in her chest at Lila's obvious appreciation. She'd orchestrated billion-dollar mergers that garnered less satisfaction than this simple pleased surprise.

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