The lesson runslong because one of the kids, a six-year-old named Laurel, refuses to let go of the wall.
“You can do it,” I encourage for the tenth time. My knees ache from crouching on the ice. “Just push off and glide.”
“I’ll fall.”
“I’ll catch you.”
She finally lets go and manages three whole seconds of gliding before her feet slip out from under her. I catch her before she hits the ice and she’s grinning like she just won the Olympics.
“I did it!”
“You did! That was perfect!”
By the time I get all six kids off the ice and back to their parents, I’m fifteen minutes late ending the lesson. My phone has been buzzing in my pocket the entire time but I couldn’t check it with kids on the ice. The vibrations against my thigh kept distracting me but I couldn’t risk looking.
I pull it out as I’m walking back toward the locker room, still breathing hard from the cold rink air.
Something’s wrong with Romeo. He never texts like this. Frantic. Desperate. Like the world is ending.
I’m about to call him when I hear a voice behind me.
“Juliette?”
I turn around expecting one of my student’s parents, but when I see who it is my blood goes cold.
Sienna is standing there. The woman from Instagram. The blonde from all those photos with Romeo. Beautiful and tall and looking at me like she knows exactly who I am, like she’s been waiting for this moment.
“Yes?” My voice is steady even though my hands aren’t and my pulse is hammering in my throat.
“I thought that was you.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Sienna. I’m sure Romeo’s told you about me.”
“He hasn’t, actually.” I pause. “How do you know my name?”
The smile tightens. “He mentioned you at coffee. We’ve been talking quite a bit lately.”
My heart is pounding but I keep my face neutral. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Romeo. But since I ran into you first, I thought maybe we should talk. Woman to woman.”
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
“Oh, I think we do.” She steps closer and I resist the urge to step back. Don’t give her the satisfaction. “Did he tell you about our date on Monday?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” She pulls out her phone with manicured nails and a satisfied expression. “Here, let me refresh your memory.”
She turns the screen toward me. It’s a photo of her and Romeo at a Starbucks. He’s sitting at a small table, looking uncomfortable. His shoulders are tight. His face doesn’t have that easy smile he gets with me. “This was Monday.”
Monday. When he texted me he was running late. When he said thattraffic was bad.
“We had a great time,” Sienna continues, her voice syrupy sweet. “Talked about old times. About how much we miss each other.”
“That’s not, he wouldn’t—” My voice sounds strangled even to my own ears.
“Wouldn’t he?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m not getting it. “How well do you really know him, Juliette? You’ve been together what, a month? Six weeks?”
“That’s none of your business.”
