Page 80 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

"With reinforced walls and extra security measures." Lila wrapped her hands around her tea mug, absorbing its warmth. "She basically told me that whatever's between us is temporary and pointless, so why bother deepening it just to be disappointed when she leaves."

Marcus was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "That's actually more honest than I expected from her."

"Honesty doesn't make it hurt less.”

"No," he agreed. "But it's better than false promises." He shifted to face her more directly. "The question is… what are you going to do now?"

Lila stared into her tea, watching the tannins settle at the bottom of the mug like the clarity gradually forming in her mind.

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I do know what I'm not going to do."

"Which is?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes with newfound certainty. "I'm not going to chase her. I'm not going to beg for attention or pretend this doesn't matter. I did that dance with Sophie, and I promised myself never again."

The realization settled around her like a familiar cloak, both protective and empowering. Whatever happened next with Serena, Lila would face it on her own terms—not as the accommodating, self-diminishing woman she'd once been, but as someone who knew her own worth.

"Good for you," Marcus said, genuine pride warming his voice. "Now pass me some of that tea. Something tells me we both could use it."

After Marcus left, the cottage felt simultaneously too small and too empty. Lila moved restlessly between rooms, unable to settle.

Her phone chimed with a reminder: a meditation session with Mrs. Abelman in thirty minutes. The prospect of guiding someone else to inner peace when her own had been so thoroughly disrupted seemed almost laughable. Yet the routine of work might be exactly what she needed—structure and purpose when emotions threatened to overwhelm.

As if moving on autopilot, Lila changed into her professional attire, the simple linen pants and flowing top a kind of uniform that helped her shift mental gears. As she gathered her materials, her eyes caught on the small wooden box Serena had given her, sitting on her shelf alongside collected shells and stones. The sight sent a fresh pang through her chest.

She picked it up, fingers tracing the inlaid mother-of-pearl pattern. Such a thoughtful gift, so carefully chosen. Another glimpse of the woman beneath the corporate armor—the Serena who noticed details and understood beauty, who made meaningful connections despite her protests to the contrary.

Lila set the box back down, positioning it deliberately among her treasures. Whatever happened between them, that moment had been real. That connection had been genuine. She wouldn't discard the memory simply because Serena had retreated from its implications.

Outside, the island continued its afternoon rhythm with cicadas humming in the trees, the distant laughter of guests floating on the warm breeze, and resort staff moving purposefully along winding paths. The perfect backdrop for imperfect human dramas.

As Lila walked toward the meditation center, her thoughts crystallized. She'd told Marcus she wouldn't chase Serena, and she meant it. But neither would she pretend that nothing had happened between them. The professional part of her understood why Serena had panicked and retreated; vulnerability was terrifying for someone who'd built their entire identity around control.

Understanding didn't ease the hurt, but it provided perspective, context, and compassion, even for the woman struggling against her own walls.

The meditation center came into view, a simple open-air pavilion with polished wooden floors and billowing white curtains that caught the afternoon breeze. Mrs. Abelman was already waiting, her wispy silver hair gleaming in the sunlight, her yoga mat positioned with careful precision.

"There you are, dear," she called, her Boston accent incongruous against the tropical backdrop. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen into one of those gorgeous tide pools."

Lila summoned a genuine smile, setting down her supplies. "Not today, though I did almost get hypnotized by a particularly determined butterfly on my way here."

The older woman laughed, the sound cutting through Lila's melancholy like sunshine through clouds. This was whyshe loved her work—these genuine human connections, small moments of joy shared between breaths.

They settled into the session, Lila guiding Mrs. Abelman through gentle breathing exercises that gradually deepened into true meditation. As they worked, Lila found herself following her own instructions, centeredness and presence returning with each measured breath.

"Notice how thoughts arise, acknowledge them, then let them float away like leaves on a stream," she said, her voice taking on that gentle cadence that came naturally during sessions. "We don't ignore them, but neither do we cling to them. Just observe, then release."

The irony wasn't lost on her—teaching detachment while her own thoughts circled obsessively around Serena, around hurt and hope and possibilities both fulfilled and foreclosed.

Still, the familiar ritual of guiding another's journey provided its own healing. By the time they finished and the afternoon sun bathed the pavilion in warmth, Lila felt steadier. Not healed, not resolved, but grounded in something beyond momentary pain.

Mrs. Abelman gathered her things, patting Lila's arm with grandmotherly affection. "Whatever's troubling you, dear—and something clearly is—remember that most storms pass more quickly than we expect."

The simple wisdom caught Lila off guard. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's weathered a few hurricanes herself." The older woman's smile held knowing compassion. "And from personal experience, I can tell you that some of the most beautiful beach treasures wash up after the worst storms."

After Mrs. Abelman departed, Lila remained in the empty pavilion, watching as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. Six more days stretched before her. Six days of navigating this uncharted territory with Serena and ofmaintaining professional boundaries while nursing personal wounds.

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