Page 71 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

“I agree.”

“I’m exhausted.” She turned her face, pushing her frozen nose against the hollow of my collarbone.

“I know, zhizn’ moya. I’ve got you.” I bundled the jacket tighter and burrowed a hand into her soft hair, holding her against me. “You can relax now.”

Fifteen minutes later a bike courier came to a screeching halt in front of us, making Cordelia’s head snap up. “Victor?”

“That’s me.”

He swung his legs off the bike and opened his cooler box. The paper bag he pulled out had Cordelia sitting up straight, and losing her body folded against mine was only worth it for the way her face lit up at that damn logo.

“Enjoy guys!” The courier laughed as he handed her the bag, before driving off.

“What did you do?” she squealed but she was already digging through the bag, pulling out two massive cups of ice cream and the spoons to go with them.

“You wanted to go for a walk and get ice cream,” I said. “You walked here. We have ice cream.”

She handed me the plain mint chocolate chip one, and stared at her cup - even bigger than mine - with wide eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Beautifulwas a choice word for 15 ounces of Rocky Road topped with whipped cream, gummy bears and rainbow sprinkles, but the woman knew what she liked. She popped off the plastic lid and dug through the first half at record speed, each icy spoonful melting the tension in her body bit by bit.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I told Silas Whitaker that it wasn’t a good time to do his series. I figured if I wanted to do it, we could try it when you’re back home permanently.” She made a point of staring down her ice cream instead of meeting my gaze. “Then I actually watched the preview he sent.”

“And?”

“It was beautiful. But it was suffocating. He captured so much of my world. And then wherever I looked, I saw how it could all be reflected in five seconds of video. It all felt so small.”

“I’m sorry.” I pulled her against me and kissed her temple.

“And my bangs look horrible on camera,” she huffed.

I chuckled and removed the little flower clip that was keeping her bangs out of her forehead. I clipped it to my jacket’s collar instead. “They’re cute in person.”

“I don’t like going outside.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I think I’d like to try painting again though. I haven’t. Not since my mom died.”

“I didn’t know your mom painted all the pictures in your house,” I said, recalling that interview she’d done with Silas.

“She did,” she sighed. “She was great. She had her art in galleries all over the world.”

“I love the one in your bedroom. The storm? It reminds me of your eyes.”

Cordelia blinked up at me, lips parted. “Yeah,” she said after a moment of silence, “it’s… she called it Cordelia’s Skies. It’s a word play.” Her face contorted as if she’d just bit into a lemon and she put the spoon down, setting the ice cream on her knees.

“What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t really talked about her in a while,” she sighed, “I talk about what happened to her a lot, but she was so much more than her death.”

“I’d love to know more. Whenever you want to talk about her.” I brushed her hair behind her ears, finally getting her to look at me.

Cordelia nodded, but the smile on her lips quivered with exhaustion. “Maybe not right now.”

“Okay.”

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