“Did you have a pleasant flight?” the woman asked sweetly.
“Yes.” Emilie touched her hand to her throat. “May I speak with Nathan Prescott, please?”
A blush crept over the woman’s cheeks. “I can answer any questions you might have. My name is Nell Lewis. I’m his marketing manager.”
“Oh! Well, does Nathan still work in this building?” She already knew the answer—the night before, she’d done an internet search. It had pained her, but in his official photos, Nathan Prescott was as handsome as ever. He looked just as he had the day he’d walked off the Empress Caribbean.
Reluctantly, Nell nodded. “Yes, and I am sorry, but Mr. Prescott is occupied at the moment. He’s put me in charge of helping you settle in.” She smiled brightly at Emilie. “How are your skaters? You’re Emilie O’Shea, right? I saw your interviews on TV.”
“Yes, I’m Emilie, thank you. And my skaters are outside, in the van.” Emilie forced a smile at Nell, still wondering if Nathan’s marketing manager knew about Emilie and Nathan’s romance.
From the blank way Nell looked back at her, though, Emilie was willing to bet that she knew nothing at all.
“Well, will Nathan be down later, then?” Emilie asked.
“He...would rather I handle all the details, simply because he’s so busy.” Nell shifted her feet, clearly uncomfortable with the message she was meant to deliver. “He’s given me instructions for managing the ice-skating project, as we’ve taken to calling it, so tomorrow, once you’re settled, you and I will take a drive up to the ice rink, yes?”
“You mean the ice rink isn’t part of this building?”
“Oh, no.” Nell shook her head, still smiling. “It’s an off-site facility.”
“So...Mr. Prescott isn’t going to be involved with us at all?”
“I’m afraid not,” Nell said apologetically. “No.”
Emilie got the message—Nathan didn’t want to see her. She quickly blinked away the moisture in her eyes. She could handle working with Nell—the young marketing manager seemed kind enough—but Nathan’s outright rejection of her?
It hurt. More than she’d realized it would. She’d never expected that he wouldn’t want to see her at all.
Her heart heavy, she retreated across the room to the stone fireplace and faced it, determined to compose herself while Nell went outside to greet Emilie’s team.
The cold fireplace she stared into seemed like a metaphor for her life—for the next month, at least.
Couldn’t Nathan even pretend to greet her kindly, even for old times’ sake?
They’d loved each other once.
Her gaze followed the long track of the chimney. Up, up, up. Near the top, just to the right, she noticed a picture window covered with wooden blinds. An office or a conference room on the second level. Shielding her eyes and squinting to guard from the glare of the sun, Emilie peered inside that window as best she could through the slats of blinds where someone—a man—watched them gathering below.
It was Nathan. She recognized his dark hair and the outline of his familiar broad shoulders. And besides, she sensed his presence by the grim stillness of his large form. Even from all this distance away, she could feel the coolness in his eyes as he gazed down at her.
She put her hand to her mouth, swallowing a gasp.
Nathan stepped away. Slowly, the window shuttered.
Quickly, Emilie headed for the lobby restroom. She couldn’t face anyone just now.
She’d cried over Nathan Prescott for a long time after they’d broken up. She’d huddled in her cruise ship cabin at the end of the working day, trying to forget him. She’d attempted instead to focus on the mundane rhythms of her schedule. Discussions of the new choreography. The challenges of learning to be a good ice captain, and the dreams of how one day she might graduate into becoming a professional choreographer.
It had been hard to put the broken relationship with Nathan behind her, but each week, it got a little easier. The reality of a show performer meant that one got used to people—important people—coming and going in one’s life like a never-ending parade. There wasn’t time for pain or longing, because the routine moved fast. New friends came. Old friends returned.
But now, as Emilie huddled—hiding, really—in the public washroom of the country inn that he’d thrown her over for, Emilie couldn’t stop the wave of grief that overwhelmed her. She was no longer Emilie O’Shea, seasoned performer and ice captain. She was Emilie O’Shea, jilted lover.
She had loved him. Nathan Prescott had snuck into her heart, bit by bit, until she’d embraced him wholeheartedly.
She’d first met him during a public skating session at the ice studio. Nathan had been hanging around behind the counter. He’d been holding a clipboard, and he’d looked so handsomely official. Bored with her own task of checking in passengers, she’d set about trying to get him to crack a smile. He’d been a challenge, but she’d persisted.
“What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” she’d asked lightly, teasing him because his green eyes appeared so serious.
He’d given her a half smile. But then he’d ignored her again, instead frowning at the papers on his clipboard.
Everyone had flirted with her in those days. Even Bart, the Zamboni driver. He called her Emmy-em. And gave her M&M’S that he scooped from the cafeteria up on deck.
But Nathan was different. He was always serious, and always working.
“What are you doing?” she’d asked him seriously, giving up on flirtation.
“I’m cutting costs.”
She’d laughed, thinking that he was joking.
“What’s so funny?” he’d asked her.
“There are no costs here,” she’d said. The skaters never dealt with money or even shipboard charges. That was the province of bartenders, or the workers in the retail shops and onboard spa. She loved their huge, happy cruise ship—with fun things to do and music always playing somewhere. She loved that the delicious smell of food—burgers sizzling or fresh-baked bread—and the fresh salty breeze of the sea were never far from her nose. The warm Caribbean sun shone nearly every day. And hundreds of joyous people, all on vacation, were always up for happiness.
So how could this guy be so grim?
Just then, a passenger had shown up before her desk, requesting two pairs of skates for himself and his girlfriend to take a twirl around the on-ship ice rink.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emilie had informed him in her sympathetic tone. “Before I can lend you the skates, you’ll need to change into long pants and a pair of socks.” She’d pointed to the sign before the desk. “It’s Captain’s rules for skating. But I’ll make sure to hold your skates aside for you when you return.” She’d smiled at them, making it seem as if the ship might possibly run out of skates if she didn’t set theirs aside—it wouldn’t, but making it seem like a special favor to the guests usually appeased their irritation of having to go back to their rooms.
As the couple left, Nathan had asked her, “Why isn’t there a shop here in the ice studio where they can buy pants and socks?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the captain that question.”
“Right.” Nathan had nodded. His face had lit up as he scribbled a note on his clipboard. That was the secret to what made Nathan tick—he