6. Breaking Point

6

Breaking Point

Ivy

I was right to assume a spa session would be needed after my ski lesson. It should be mandatory and come with the package or something. Maybe I should suggest the idea to Zane. The thought alone makes me laugh and cringe at the same time. He’s not exactly the kind of guy you pitch suggestions to. He’s the one who rips all your dreams apart, at least the dream I had of being able to ski by the end of the week.

I release a frustrated growl. He’s so infuriating, with his eyes as dark as a brooding storm and his no-nonsense attitude. I just had to have a cloud over my vacation, didn’t I? Something had to go the wrong way. And now, here I am paired with the grumpiest teacher in Winter Heights.

You know, I'm a nice girl. A good person. I never fail to round up my total at the cashier, even if it means pretty much adding an extra dollar. I'm the perfect target for donation seekers in the street, and even if it's the fifth time I get stopped that same day, I always take five minutes of my time and help however I can. Because I care about people. Because I’m nice .

So, what did I do to deserve this? My fiancé leaving me. Being paired up with a mean, gloomy teacher. Is there no karma in the universe? No ‘what goes around comes around’?

I sit down on the armchair in my hotel room and proceed to pull off my ski boots. Grumpy insisted I put them back on to walk back to my room, even though the hotel is perfectly warm. A cry of pain escapes me as I release my first foot from the buckle’s pressure. My heels are both blistered, and my ankles feel like they’ve been ground to the bone. Who am I kidding? This entire trip is a cloud. The ultimate storm. The one that leaves you stranded in the middle of the night with no hope of finding light again. That’s where I am right now. Removing my tight ski boots delivers a mix of excruciating pain and pleasure. Kind of like looking at Zane’s dreamy face, then hearing him talk, except the other way around.

I massage my feet for a minute, and I’m two steps away from crying as I hobble to the bathroom. I'm in desperate need of a quick shower before going to the spa.

The shower helps a little with both my mood and the physical pain, and now, I’m really looking forward to the spa. A long, relaxing treatment is exactly what I need. Slipping my robe and plush slippers on, I head down to the spa. It’s decorated with a mix of rustic wood and stone, giving the place a cozy atmosphere. The low lighting cast by several fireplaces adds to the warm vibes.

“Hi,” I greet the attendant. “I’m Ivy Clark from room 528. I have an appointment for a full-body massage at five.”

She greets me, then looks at her screen, a frown pulling at her lips. Here we go.

“I have a couple’s massage under the name Ross for a honeymoon?”

“Yes. Well, um. There’s been a change of plans.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Will he be joining you later?”

“No, he won’t.” Why do they always push for more details? Can’t they just accept the fact that the “mister” is not here? I have, and I’m the one who was supposed to marry him.

“Oh, okay.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine, and my eyes must be telling another story, because pity sweeps over her face. “ Oh. I see. I mean, I’m sorry. I’ll exchange it for a single massage. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Here, I thought six times would be the charm, and it wouldn’t hurt like heck anymore. Guess I was wrong about that.

“Here are your towels. Feel free to use the facilities before and after your massage.” She goes on to tell me about the different equipment they have and repeats twice that I can come to her for anything. Anything, huh? Does she have a perfect husband up her sleeve or something?

I start my spa session with a relaxing swim in a warm pool, and it melts away some of the physical pain. Next, I go into the sauna before sipping some tea. It’s not so bad after all, being here alone. In a way, I’m already used to it. Dan was never a fan of places like this. He’d come with me, but he’d be on his phone constantly, annoyance oozing out of him as he sat hunched on a chair answering work emails. If he was here, I’d have to put on my extra-happy face, show him all the cool features this spa boasts and how fully relaxed we’d be afterwards. Only, that would never happen because of his rotten attitude and inability to suck it up for a few hours. God forbid we do something I enjoy for once. All those times, I should have just gone alone. I’m glad to be here by myself today. Better to be alone than in bad company.

When the time of my appointment comes around, I pad over to the designated waiting room, and two masseuses greet me with bright smiles. They glance around the waiting room at the same time I do. There’s no one else here. Looks like the spa receptionist was more focused on asking what she could do instead of actually doing the one thing she should have. Heat washes over me, and I suddenly need some fresh air. Like, a lot of it.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ross?” one of them ventures, looking at me with confusion.

I feign ignorance as best I can. “No.”

They look at each other, then go back behind the door they came from.

Humiliation.

That’s what I’m feeling right now. I’ve reached an all-time low, refusing a massage I clearly need because I can’t bring myself to explain, yet another time, that I’m alone on this stupid honeymoon. Getting up, I hurry out of the spa, throw my towels in the designated bin, and keep my head down as I pass the reception desk—thankfully, a couple is standing in front of it. Back in my room, I fall onto the bed and scream into my pillow as tears flow out of my eyes in uncontrollable streams. How many more times is my heart going to break over him? Isn’t a million times enough already? I hate him for making me feel this way, all empty, and broken, and lost. And I hate myself for not being able to enjoy a simple solo vacation. Coming to Winter Heights was a bad idea.

“Ugh!” I growl, hitting my fist on the fluffy pillow. It’s surprisingly cathartic, so I do it again, and again, and again. Until I’m in full wrestling mode with a harmless pillow. I must look like a maniac right now, but I don’t care. The best thing about having a breakdown when you’re alone on your honeymoon? No one is there to judge.

I give the pillow one last punch, and as I dry my tears with my sleeve, I catch a glimpse of the view through the large window. The sun is hanging low, casting a golden blanket of light on the mountain that makes the slopes shine. I relax my shoulders, releasing the breath from my lungs. That’s why I came here. To finally see snow and get some fresh air. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Instead of grappling with my bedding, I decide to put my pent-up energy to good use. I gear up, shedding a few more tears when slipping on the devil boots, then ask someone at reception if they can lend me a pair of skis. Even if most of my body hurts, it’s better than the alternative—having a couple’s massage minus the “couple” part. Physical pain chases away the emotional ache. Besides, skiing is one of the things I was most looking forward to on this trip, so I need to get better. I’m usually a fast learner. And I really don’t want to endure Zane’s sighs and exasperated looks again.

I walk to the training slope, but the lift just closed, and the area is empty. It doesn’t matter. I just need to put these darn things on and move, so that’s what I do. I fight with my skis for hours, first to put them on, then to scoot forward a few inches. I fall a lot—yes, it is possible to fall even if you’re barely moving—and unload my anger by slamming my fist in the snow and raging at my incompetence.

Eventually, I get better and manage to hold the snowplow position—I think—and even manage to skate the entire base of the training slope, until I literally collapse from exhaustion. I stay right there, lying in the snow and gazing at the dark sky with its thousands of twinkling stars.

I did it. I can’t wait to see the surprised look on Zane’s face when he sees that I’m not completely useless after all. A tingle of comfort envelops me as I think about him. Odd, I know. He’s not exactly a ray of sunshine. But he’s the only person who didn’t ask about Dan.