Chapter Ten
NATALIA
It’s day three in the last place I ever thought I’d find myself. I’m now down one full week from Gabriella’s deadline.
I wake up before the alarm. Not because I’m well-rested, or because I’m refreshed or centered or any other lie wellness influencers sell to people who sleep alone in king-sized beds.
I wake up because I can hear Luka in the kitchen.
The sound is faint but unmistakable. The sound of cupboard doors opening and closing, the low whir of a blender muffled by distance, the soft clink of glass against stone. Everything about it is like he’s moving through the space with military precision, even half-awake.
I lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling beams of the chalet, listening to him exist three rooms away like it’s nothing. Like sharing a bed with a woman he barely tolerates hasn’t scrambled the air between us.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
6:04 a.m.
I groan quietly and roll onto my side.
I have a ski lesson with Zack at eight-thirty. I need to be showered, dressed, and caffeinated before then, preferably without getting into another verbal sparring match with the man who’s renting this chalet and apparently believes mornings are a sacred, uninterruptible ritual.
I glance toward Luka’s side of the bed.
It’s obviously empty. The sheets are rumpled but cold, as if he’s been up for a while. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. He strikes me as the type who believes sleep is optional and rest is earned, not given.
I push myself upright, grabbing my clothes from the chair by the window and tiptoeing toward the bathroom.
The door is open. The shower is not running.
I pause. This is important.
If the shower were running, this would be a nonstarter. I would turn around, go make coffee, resign myself to dirty hair and mild resentment. After all, there are rules about this.
But it’s silent, which means he hasn’t showered yet.
Which means—logically—I can be quick. Five minutes. In, out. No problem.
He’s busy with his protein shake or whatever nonsense he consumes before dawn. I can be efficient. I’m good at efficiency.
I step inside and close the door quietly behind me, stripping quickly before stepping into the shower and twisting the handle.
Water thunders down, and I begin to work fast, slathering my body and hair all in a quick flurry. I’m not luxuriating. I’m not thinking about anything except logistics and the fact that I desperately need coffee.
I’m reaching for the shampoo when there’s a knock on the door.
I freeze.
"Natalia."
His voice is calm. Not raised, but there’s an edge to it. However, I’m learning that Luka’s voice always has an edge.
"I need the bathroom."
"I’m almost done," I call back, trying to sound reasonable. "Two minutes."
"You know the rules, and you agreed to them. I think I’ve been more than fair letting you stay here, and now you’re breaking our agreement."
I close my eyes and blow out a breath.
"I know you have been, but I checked. The shower wasn’t running. I thought I had time."
"You didn’t."
I tilt my head back under the spray, water streaming down my face. "I’ll be quick. I promise."
"And I’ll be late if I wait on you, which is unacceptable." His voice is getting more agitated. "I leave before the lines form."
I scrub conditioner through my hair harder than necessary. "You’ll survive five minutes."
"I warned you."
"I’ll be out," I say. "I swear."
"I’m coming in."
My heart stutters.
"What?" I squeak out, half a shout. I couldn’t have heard him right.
"I won’t look," he continues. "But I’m getting my shower and you’re not making me late."
I laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "Absolutely not."
I stare at the frosted glass door, suddenly very aware of the fact that, yes, it does not, in fact, have a lock.
Because this place wasn’t designed for two stubborn adults with competing schedules and unresolved tension.
"Luka—" I start.
The handle turns.
I yelp and grab the shower curtain instinctively, pressing myself farther back, heart hammering as the door opens.
Luka steps in, eyes closed. Broad shoulders bare. Hair is messy from bed head. Jaw clenched like he’s bracing for impact as he feels his way through the bathroom.
"Are you crazy? I’m already in here."
"You really should have thought about that before you stole my shower."
"I still have soap in my hair," I try to reason.
"I won’t be long. You can have the shower back after."
I can’t help myself as he pulls his shirt up over his head, that torso looking just as tanned and washboard as ever.
Then he pulls down his sweats and boxers, and I glance away.
If his eyes are closed, it feels wrong to look.
Then he steps directly in front of the shower, turning his back to me, water cascading over his shoulders.
I’m frozen. Absolutely, utterly frozen. And now I can’t look away.
Steam curls around us, the air thick and humid. The unmistakable outline of him—hard, unashamed, utterly indifferent to the fact that my entire brain just short-circuited seeing his erection.
I gasp.
"Luka, you’re—"
"It’s morning," he says flatly. "It does that."
Heat floods my face so fast that I feel dizzy.
"I—" I stammer, then stop. Because what am I supposed to say? Congratulations on your impressive biology? Sorry, your anatomy startled me? After all, it's not the first time I’ve seen him naked, and it has me wondering exactly how many more times I’m going to see him over the course of this trip.
"If it helps," he adds, reaching for the soap without turning, "it has nothing to do with you."
Actually, that doesn’t help… It doesn't help at all. It somehow makes it worse.
I stare resolutely at the tiled wall, mortified and furious and painfully aware of every inch of space between us. The water pounds down, loud enough to drown out the sound of my pulse.
Luka Popovich is naked in the shower with me and acting like this is a minor inconvenience as he diligently scrubs shampoo through his wet hair.
"I’m surprised you’re up this early with your late-night last night," I say, fishing for information though it’s none of my business.
I wait for him to respond as he washes out the shampoo.
"I didn't sleep with her last night, if that’s what you're asking."
"You didn’t?" I ask, surprised by his answer.
"The woman you saw me with last night… I didn’t touch her. That’s what you’re hinting at."
There’s a silence between us with only the shower water filling the void. I have another question, but I feel a little silly asking.
"It… it wasn’t because of me, was it?"
He stalls for a second. "No, Natalia… it wasn’t because of you," then he steps out, grabbing a towel off the towel rack. "The rest of the shower is yours. Be good today."
I pull the shower curtain back just enough to cover me but also to watch him leave the bathroom in only a towel around his waist. He closed the door behind him and then I stood there for a full ten seconds, water pouring over me, brain completely mush.
I let out a strangled noise that might be a laugh or might be a scream. That man is unbelievable.
I finish my shower, scrubbing at my skin as if I can erase the moment entirely. By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, Luka is gone.
I dress quickly, braid my damp hair, and stomp into the kitchen to grab breakfast.
I shove toast into my mouth, grab my jacket, and head for the door.
This was nothing, I tell myself as I step out into the cold morning air. And I absolutely refuse to think about it ever again. I make it three steps before my traitorous brain betrays me completely.
Because no matter how hard I try…
I can still see him.
My phone buzzes as I close the chalet door behind me and head for my lesson with Zack.
Mom calling…
I hesitated for half a second before answering. If I don’t, she’ll assume I’ve been kidnapped by European snow pirates.
"Hi," I say, walking down the path that leads to the resort where I’m meeting Zack.
"Well," she answers immediately, "you’re alive."
"Last I checked." I sing-song. "Though I’m having my first real ski lesson today, so I might not be for long."
"Skiing? You?" she chuckles. "Did you lose a bet?"
"No mother… I am being forced to learn to ski because Luka refuses to let me do what I was hired to do. I’m learning to ski against my will and better judgement."
"You barely know this man and he’s already getting you to do things farther out of your comfort zone than all of your ex-boyfriends combined. Flying to Switzerland on a whim… skiing… I find that very interesting, don’t you?"
"No.. no, I don’t. He’s the reason I emptied my savings account to fly all the way out to snow hell."
I don’t bother to tell her that he also decided to shower with me this morning, uninvited, and tried to use some snow bunny with terrible taste in men to make me jealous last night.
"This is a great opportunity for you. You haven’t left the country, much less Scottsdale, since college, and then your job with Legacy PR started right after that. You should take advantage of this time out of the office," she says as if this is somehow a vacation.
"Sipping pina coladas on a sandy beach in a bikini is a vacation…this is definitely not that." I tell her.
"It might not be your idea of a vacation, but I’ve always wanted to go to the Swiss Alps. I saw a picture of the storm on the news. Switzerland looked like it had been buried under a wedding cake."
"It felt like it, too."
She hums like a nosy mother. "Okay then, besides skiing against your will and the snow… How’s it really going?"
"With the weather or the Olympian who thinks he’s allergic to accountability?"
"With the Olympian," she says calmly.
I pass other skiers as I’m starting to get closer to the resort. "He’s… difficult."
"Everyone in Seattle loves him, you know. Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot?"
"I don’t know if there’s any way he and I could be on the right foot. I want to save his career, and he would like to give it an early grave. We’ve been at an impasse since the moment we met."
"I’m just saying," she continues lightly, "when the entire city adores someone, there’s usually something there worth seeing."
"Sure, once you get past the Russian scowl and the fact that he leaves at the crack of dawn so he doesn’t have to run into me, you’re right… he’s a real treat."
She laughs softly. "And you’ve always liked the hard ones."
"I don’t like him," I say too quickly, though that’s not completely true. Not anymore… not after he almost kissed me last night, and I would have let him. "He’s a client."
"Mhm."
Silence stretches just long enough to make me uncomfortable.
"Are you sure this is all about work?"
There it is.
"Yes," I say. Then, firmer to make myself believe it too. "Of course it is."
Mom exhales softly. "Sweetheart… you don’t spend your entire savings to fly across the world for just anyone."
"I flew here because it’s my job."
"And because?"
"And because I’m not losing this account," I snap, then I soften because I remember that she doesn’t mean any harm by it. "I can’t."
She’s quiet for a moment.
"You don’t have to earn everything the hard way," she says finally. "Sometimes things are allowed to be easy."
Easy? Nothing about Luka Popovich, or this account, comes easy.
"I’m about to meet up with my ski instructor," I say, seeing Zack standing by the resort waiting for me further in the distance. "I have to go."
"Okay, okay." She sighs. "Just… don’t shut yourself off from something good because it scares you."
"It doesn’t scare me. Its just non-existent and it’s better that way."
I intentionally leave out that we almost kissed last night and that I’ve seen him naked twice in the short two days that I’ve been here. That would only spur her on.
Zack waves when he sees me inching closer. A smile was already pulling at his lips.
"Call me tomorrow," she says gently. "Tell me how it goes."
"I will."
That is, if I live to see another day after this lesson.