My heart beats wildlyin my ears. Every spotlight feels personal. They don’t just see the princess; they see me, Grace Davis, in all my imperfect glory.
By the time the intermission fireworks pop in the rafters, I’m high on the rush of skating. I love this: the gliding and the sly glances I shoot at the crowd to see if they’re following the story. I love the way the orchestra swells at the high points.
We’re halfway into the second act, the part with the monster chase and the big rescue. My routine is coming up—the complicated jump that got me the part in the first place. The one everyone expects me to land flawlessly, right into Connor’s waiting arms.
He’s already out there, circling the “castle” prop with his cape flaring behind him. His posture is perfect, every muscle sculpted into the role of prince and protector. The crowd eats it up.
My cue comes. I skate out onto the ice, letting the music carry me. I launch into the footwork, each step a drumbeat. I know this routine cold. I’ve drilled it so many times I could do it blindfolded.
Except tonight, I can’t stop thinking about Connor’s arms. About what it would feel like to let go, just for a second, and not have to worry if I’ll be caught. To not remember every time I see him what he, Zev, and Fowler did to me.
It makes me want to pretend we have a blank slate to begin again anew.
That’s the thing about trust: you don’t miss it until it’s gone. You don’t realize how much it matters until you have to leap for it.
I accelerate into the setup, feeling the tension build. The crowd quiets, sensing something big is coming. The princess is supposed to “escape” the monster with a triple lutz, landing in a dramatic swoop right into her prince’s embrace.
I push off, spinning high, seeing the lights blur into a ring. But on the third rotation, my focus flickers—just a millisecond of uncertainty.
I don’t know if Connor’s where he’s supposed to be. I don’t know if I’m ready to be caught.
And that’s all it takes.
My blade clips the ice early. Instead of gliding into Connor’s arms, I slam sideways into the frozen surface, hip first. The impact sucks all the sound out of the arena. Pain splinters across my hip and legs like fault-line cracks. Then it’s just me, sprawled like a broken marionette on the ice.
Time slows. I see Connor’s face: eyes wide, horror blooming, but also a weird kind of awe. I see the stage crew in the wings with mouths dropped open. A crowd of thousands of faces all hold their breath.
For half a second, I want to stay down. I want to vanish and become a rumor.Remember that first Reverie princess this year? She’s evaporated in front of the crowd.But that’s not the story, and it’s sure as hell not how I want this night to end.
I scramble up while ignoring the knife-edge ache in my hip. My tights are probably ripped, but the show must go on. I improvise a pirouette—wobbly, but upright—and stagger toward Connor. He’s moving now, gliding in to intercept with outstretched arms.
I collapse into him, letting him “catch” me. He sells it perfectly, lifting me in a smooth, heroic arc. The audience bursts into applause as if it was all planned.
“Are you okay?” Connor whispers.
I grit my teeth at the closeness of his mouth to my ear. “Yeah. Just bruised. Don’t drop me.”
His grip tightens. “Never.”
We finish the sequence in a blur, skating in tandem, our bodies moving together. My hip throbs, but adrenaline keeps memoving. The rest of the routine goes by in a haze—twirls, lifts, the big finale pose where I’m supposed to look blissful and in love.
Connor lowers me to the ice and our eyes meet. There’s sweat on his forehead and a silent question in his gaze. I nod, letting him know I’m still standing. The audience roars.
A roar that grows even louder as we end the show with our show-stopping finale kiss.
Connor’s lips press into mine. I close my eyes and force my mind to think of every horrible thing Connor, Zev, and Fowler said to me as I kiss him back.Stage kiss. Stage kiss. Nothing more.
It can’t ever be more.
My chest burns and my stomach twists until the kiss is over. Connor pulls back. Genuine care shines in his eyes, but I throw up my walls higher.I do not want or miss this.
Sure, Grace.
The curtain falls, and the noise backstage swallows us up. Charlotte rushes over, towel and water bottle in hand, looking genuinely worried.
“What the hell happened?” she hisses. “You scared the crap out of everyone!”
I force a grin and hide the limp as best I can. I don’t think anything’s broken, but for sure more than my ego is bruised. “You know me, Hannah said to improvise and I just wanted to make it exciting.”
