Shattered Ice: A Secret Marriage Hockey Romance (paperback)

Chapter One

Nyx

Every illusion I’d clung to had evaporated since my last call home. My hand shook as I smoothed down a few flyaway strands from my blond wig securely glued in place. Between that, the dress, and the contouring makeup and lash extensions, I could breathe a sigh of relief. They were my shield, a way to hide, an effective mask needed to endure whatever snide comments my stepsister, Trina, and her bitch crew would fling my way.

Across the street, a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair stepped out of a sleek black SUV. I didn’t mean to stare, but he looked like he belonged here, like the city bowed to him. His piercing blue gaze skimmed the crowded entrance, pausing for the briefest second when it met mine. Just a flicker. Barely a beat. But it made my breath catch, and sparks danced over my exposed skin, followed by the sensation that I’d been seen for the first time in months. The crowd swallowed him up as he entered the building, and I shook my head. Unreal. I must’ve imagined the intensity of our brief connection.

Vegas’s neon lights and grandeur flashed and flickered above me as I stepped out of the cab, my stomach twisting into knots. I tugged my wallet from my oversized purse and flipped it open with numb fingers. After the round-trip bus ticket and money for the cab, I had seventeen dollars. That was it. A crumpled ten, a five, and two singles. I shoved my wallet back into my bag like I could pretend this wasn’t my life.

I shouldn’t have come. Should’ve saved the cab fare and caught the last bus back home to California before it was too late. If I left now, I could still make it—if I were willing to sprint across the five blocks in heels and risk getting stranded at a grimy bus stop. But I already knew the answer. I had nowhere to go but back to my thirty-day-eviction-notice apartment, where the utilities had probably already been shut off. One night in a well-lit casino with an open bar wasn’t the worst idea.

It didn’t take long to find the roped-off room for the bachelorette party, sharing space with a crowd of oversized NHL players doing their rookie-initiation bonding night. Laughter spilled from the large private lounge as I approached, and Trina’s shrill voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Margot!” she screamed at me, dragging out the last syllable like she was on stage instead of in a casino.

I cringed. Heads turned, and I resisted the urge to sink into the floor. Not my name but the alias I would answer to during Trina’s party. Mine was ancient, meaning chaos, goddess of night, and feared by Zeus. Too bad I wasn’t feared by anyone left in my family or the people in attendance tonight.

I adjusted the strap of the consignment-found, pale-pink embroidered halter dress and lifted the hem slightly. Delicate white feathers tickled my arms. I’d painstakingly adhered them to the waist, mimicking the nearly identical dress Margot Robbie wore to one of her Oscar red-carpet appearances. My spiky heels clicked against the polished floor, the unfamiliar shoulder-length blond wig snugly covering my long, dark waves. I looked nothing like myself.

Inside, the scene was pure extravagance, with glittering decorations, designer dresses, and champagne flowing like water. The theme was undeniably Old Hollywood glamour. Feathers, diamonds, red lipstick, and gowns meant to walk the red carpet. The one rule Trina had insisted on? Blond bombshells only. Trina, of course, was Marilyn Monroe, her platinum hair perfectly styled, her red lips parted in a practiced sultry smile. The bridesmaids—aka the bitch crew—were different starlets—Cameron Diaz, Scarlett Johansson, Kate Upton—each glowing, radiant, and flawless. Then there was me, Margot Robbie.

As an attendant unhooked the red velvet rope so I could enter the gathering, Trina’s smile faltered for a split second, hatred and envy eclipsing her brown eyes before returning to a brighter, faker gleam.

“I wasn’t sure you would show. Thought you might be too busy… What are you doing these days?” Her head tipped back, her narrowed gaze peering beneath thick, long lash extensions. “Oh, that’s right—nothing.”

The laughter that followed sliced through me, and my cheeks burned as I forced a tight smile. “Nice to see you, too, sis.”

She took a slow sip of her champagne before tilting her head, feigning innocence. Then she leaned close, her ruby lips inches from my ear so only I could hear. “Mom insisted you get an invite. It would have looked bad if she had completely shut out her dead husband’s recently orphaned daughter. Can’t have people talking, can we?”

I clenched my jaw, pain lancing me at the mention of my dad, who’d died a year and a half ago. My fingers tightened around my purse strap. The words shouldn’t sting—they shouldn’t be a surprise, but they burrowed deep anyway.

Her eyes flashed with a cunning edge. “If you play your cards right tonight, maybe you’ll land someone who can pay your rent.”

My jaw locked, heat crawling up my neck. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I wouldn’t flinch or fold. I was here to survive the night, not get swept away in a fantasy. And yet… my gaze drifted, snagging on the guy from earlier at the far end of the bar. Tall, athletic, striking, he leaned back on his barstool like he owned the air around him. And when his head tilted and he grinned—directly at me—I felt something shift. Like maybe Trina’s insult wasn’t as far off the mark as I would like to admit.

The laughter that followed sliced through me, and my cheeks burned as I forced a tight smile. My teeth clenched as I ground out, “I’m not here to pick up a guy, Trina.”

“Margot,” she snapped, cutting me off. “We’re doing things right. Address me as Marilyn.”

I bit my tongue, nodding stiffly. Of course. Trina’s world was one of carefully curated images and flawless—still-intact—illusions. There was no room for a sister she barely acknowledged outside necessary family functions.

I had a game to play, one that depended on my compliance or my witch of a stepmother wouldn’t pay off one of the smaller college loans I’d carried since Dad died. She’d cut me off, hijacking my trust. No matter how hard I’d tried to continue at Brown University, I was forced to drop out from massive debt and lack of funds.

A circulating waiter handed me a glass of champagne, and I took a long gulp, grateful for the distraction and liquid courage. For reasons I couldn’t explain, other than desperation, I would try to get along.

As I drained my first glass of bubbly, the music changed to something more current. A cry went out as several of Trina’s group rushed to the dance floor, laughing and dragging Trina with them. I did a visual sweep of the room. Not everyone in the party was out there. A few groups of girls hovered along the edges. Some stood too close to the hulking hockey players for my taste. I shifted to the edge of the farthest group, who were deep in conversation, paying no attention to me as I lingered nearby.

The first drink went down too easy, the warmth spreading through my chest. When a waiter passed by, I set the empty on the tray and quickly grabbed another while watching the other bridesmaids twirl and pose, laughing too loudly, glowing under the glittering lights, and looking as if to gain the guys’ attention. Trina had positioned herself in the center, moving like the world revolved around her—which it did.

“Shots!” The first of many shouts went up, and servers converged, passing them out.

I accepted the glowing green liquid and raised it high as Angela, Trina’s bestie, toasted the bride. After touching the glass to my lower lip, I tossed it back, relishing the burn of whatever alcohol was in there. It was free—that was all that mattered.

Someone shouted for shots three more times, and the entire room obliged, even the guys—who I steered clear of, at least for the time being. Bass pulsed from the speakers, thumping in time with the beat of my heart, and I swayed to the music. For a moment, I felt like I belonged.

It didn’t last.

Trina’s voice cut through the alcohol haze like a blade as she stepped off the dance floor, a fine sheen of sweat coating her forehead. “Don’t get too comfortable, Margot. This is the closest you’ll ever come to being the star.”

Laughter rippled from her minions’ overly painted lips, Angela’s the loudest. I wanted to punch Trina in her newly done nose. Nothing about her was real. I was shocked she hadn’t chosen to go as Margot Robbie, decked out in an outfit from the Barbie movie. Even though, of the two of us, I was the one who looked almost exactly like the actress—something I’d downplayed heavily with caked-on makeup and false eyelashes. I didn’t want to look like myself, not here, not with the viper crew.

My stomach clenched, the warmth of the alcohol diminishing. I didn’t know why I’d bothered. I shouldn’t have agreed to come. How did I think, even for a second, that I could slip into their world—the one I’d initially come from—for just one night? If it weren’t for the promise of a minuscule amount of debt relief, I wouldn’t have.

Rather than lash out at Trina and her crew, I shut my mouth until she backed off. Playing with her prey was only so much fun if it didn’t fight back. Chest tight, I pivoted and made my way to the bar near the rowdy hockey players, only glancing over them to ensure Trina’s fiancé, Craig, wasn’t close. With the coast clear, I bellied up to the bar, praying the drinks were free here too.

I gripped the edge of the smooth black counter as I waited for the bartender to notice me. Screw it. I flagged him down, ordered a cocktail that cost more than I could afford, and held my breath as I waited for him to tell me the cost. When he didn’t, the knot inside my stomach eased, and my knees almost gave out at the gift of an open bar. I could part with a few of my meager dollars for a tip if I had to.

With my neatly poured drink in hand, I forced myself to sip the potent cranberry vodka, which was heavy on the vodka, knowing full well I would regret the hangover in the morning. But tonight, I craved the false bravado only alcohol could give. I needed one thing, just one, to help me feel like I belonged, even if it was only the drink in my hand.

The party roared on around me, but I barely paid attention as my gaze swept over the lounge’s floor, landing on a group of giant hockey players gathered nearby in the VIP section. I knew very little about them from what Trina had grudgingly told me tonight. If the chatter was true, the newly drafted guys were being initiated into the team. Trina insisted on having her bachelorette party this weekend—here, to be exact—for one reason—because Craig would be here. She wanted to keep an eye on him while pretending she wasn’t.

I made the mistake of looking around at the partygoers again, and my gaze landed on Craig. He was laughing too loudly, flashing that fake, charming grin of his. He caught me looking, a glint flashing in his dark eyes.

My body went rigid. Don’t engage. Don’t give him an opening. I quickly averted my gaze, gripping my glass a little tighter. The way he watched me always made my skin crawl, and the last thing I needed was to get caught in his orbit.

The seconds passed in agonizing slowness as I waited for him to approach. My pulse beat a too-fast staccato beneath my skin, only easing when enough had time passed. I thought I was in the clear. But even with the reprieve from a confrontation with him, it couldn’t fix the night from going bad to worse. The truth of my situation had me drowning. The eviction notice was plastered to my fridge with an ugly magnet. My student loans had piled up since Dad’s death, and my stepmother’s silence whenever I swallowed my pride and reached out for help was like an anchor dragging me under.

I lifted the glass to my lips and took a slow, burning sip. If nothing else, at least for a few minutes, I could pretend none of it existed.