Page 65 of Ice Princess

I grimace. “Mom, wait?—”

Her phone pings.

Mom gives it an aggravated glance. “It’s your father. He wants to know if everything’s alright. Let’s go back in before he comes out here looking for us.”

I watch my mother stomp back into the restaurant. She yanks on the door before the doorman can get to it and lets it crash closed.

Oh no.

What have I done?

Rebel’s only reason for going out with me is to lock in a seat inside the Lady Luck Society. I know how much joining the Ladies means to her.

And this talk with mom might have just cost her everything.

I return to the table.The atmosphere is tense. Mom is sitting stiffly, her mouth twisted into a hard frown and her eyes on the table. Dad has his arm around her and is rubbing a soothing circle on her shoulder.

When I look at Rebel, I find her gaze waiting.

She arches an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

I do a tiny head shake.

Rebel gives me an uncertain smile and prepares to scoot out of the bench so I can slide in. When I brush by her, I take her wrist and ask quietly, “Do you want to leave?”

“Not until I get your mom to tell me when and where the next Society meeting will be,” she whispers back.

I wince.

How do I tell Rebel that’s not going to happen tonight?

Thankfully, I don’t have to kill her dreams because dad does it for me. He clears his throat and says, “Um, ladies, son, I think your mom’s tuckered out from tonight’s game. I’ll cancel our order and take her back home. I’ll pay for your meals on the way out. You young folks can stay and enjoy yourselves.”

Rebel’s eyes widen and she sends me a panicked look.

I look away. As much as I read the request in her eyes, I’m not stopping dad or trying to keep mom here.

“Carol, are you feeling unwell?” Victoria asks, half-rising out of her seat.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” mom says weakly. “Like my husband said, you all enjoy yourselves without me.”

Rebel clears her throat. I can see the desperation in her eyes. “Carol, before you go, I wanted to talk about?—”

I give Rebel’s jacket a tug to stop her question.

But it’s too late.

Mom spins around, her eyes filleting Rebel like raw fish. “What were you going to say?”

This time, I squeeze Rebel’s knee.

She brushes my hand off and keeps plowing forward. “We haven’t had a chance to chat about the promise you made at the luncheon. When you’re feeling better, I’d like to?—”

“There must be some misunderstanding.” Mom’s voice is colder than the ice cubes in Rebel’s mocktail. “I didn’t make any promises at the luncheon.”

I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs. And then I hold that breath until it hurts.

Rebel blinks, going a shade paler. “Yes, you did. Everyone at this table was there.” Her voice is laced with a hint of panic. “They even announced it on the Jumbotron.”

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