Iain, in the first days she’d known him, seemed almost not to notice she was there. It was only later she learned he’d been watching her, taking her in, making decisions. On the fourth day, rehearsal was almost constantly interrupted—a dozen deliveries from a dozen different florists, the bouquets arriving every twenty minutes until she was apologizing to the rest of the dancers, the choreographer, the pianist, everyone. The little cards all blank. Who could have done this? It was over the top, embarrassing, but ultimately flattering. The flowers filled a whole corner of the room.

He was waiting in her dressing room at the end of day, leaning against the vanity when she opened the door. Almost shy. A last bouquet held out to her. Roses.

You’re the prima here—I wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

She doesn’t see any of that in Sim Nielssen. He was open and interested from the first moment. Honestly so.

She wonders now what might have happened if she’d told Iain no that first day. Or even after the first week. If she’d told him the flowers had actually made things difficult, had hardened the other dancers against her. By the time she tried to set a boundary, everything was going too fast; he’d convinced her to move cities, jump companies. He was her director and her lover, governing every minute of her every day.

Although last night, it seemed to be the no that was difficult for Sim.

Not that that makes him so different from any number of men she’s known, of course. The years she spent with Iain swallowed her up, she sometimes thinks. She is always fighting her way out of them.

She turns back to Anna. “Look,” she says again. “About you and Dan—”

But Anna’s eyes flash a warning; Maeve, her head still turned, almost crashes into Karo from behind. Where the trail—if you could see the trail—splits off along the ridge, the others have stopped for a breath. Dan comes to stand between them, his attention flickering between the trail map and the hikers, setting the course for the next leg.

Too late now to mention Sadie. Again.

She snowshoes awkwardly aside, hoping to give herself some space. Near the ledge, she holds on to a branch for balance and peers down to the river below as she did that first day. The landscape has changed. The elk are no longer down there, the frozen river now buried deep in snow. She can see the cable of the SkyLift—they’re so much closer now. She follows it with her eyes, back to where it begins, a wide platform set high up the ridge where the forest beds into rock. Like a ski lift, or one of those rides that carry you to the other side of the amusement park.