Chapter Fourteen
LUKA
There are more skiers out today, getting in the way of me trying to outrun the last couple of days with Natalia.
The way she felt when I caught her before she hit the trees.
The fact that I wanted to keep holding her even after I put her back on her feet.
How we shared about our lives over lunch.
Finding out that she’s not immune to a shit father of her own.
I watched her shoulders finally relax around me, a softness in her eyes, and the way she was interested in everything I told her.
The way she looked at me when she saw me coaching those kids on the ice… like maybe she thinks I might not be the man the tabloids say I am.
The trouble is, I don’t trust anyone, and a PR agent looking to dig into my life is the last person I should be opening up to. But for some reason, I let down my guard for an hour and gave her more than I tell most anyone else besides the guys on the team and my sister.
I took the black diamond run twice more before my phone buzzed.
Kat's name flashes across the screen. I considered ignoring it. My sister has terrible timing, but I answer anyway.
"You're up early," I say, guessing that it’s about six am in Whitefish, Montana.
"Scottie took me down to help the neighbor milk the cows this morning. The rooster wasn’t even awake yet." Her voice is bright, happy in a way that still catches me off guard. "I made pancakes on my own to surprise his parents. They taste terrible. Scottie loves them."
Despite everything, I smile. Scottie would eat a lampshade if my sister told him that she made it for him for breakfast. The guy is a food dumpster, and he’s also crazy about my sister. "Domestic life suits you."
"It really does." A pause. "How's Switzerland?"
"Cold."
"Luka," I hear the annoyance in her voice.
"What do you want me to say?"
"That you're not torturing yourself up there." Another pause. "That the crisis manager is helping. She’s also really cute. Penelope did some digging on social media, and she’s single. Is there anything going on between you two?"
Natalia's face flashes through my mind. The way she laughed yesterday at lunch when I told her that my dorm mates in the all-boys boarding school and I had smuggled a one-eyed tabby named Lord Whiskers into our floor.
"She's competent," I say.
"That's not what I asked."
"She's helping, and no, there’s nothing going on. I’m her client."
I hear the moment I use Natalia’s excuse. The one I continue to argue with her about. That I’m not her client.
Kat makes a soft sound, the one that means she's reading between my carefully chosen words. "Scottie wants to know if you're being nice to her."
"Why wouldn't I be nice?"
"Because you're you." I hear Scottie yell across the room.
Great… I’m on speaker.
"Because being vulnerable makes you mean," my sister says.
I don't answer. There's nothing to say that won't prove her point.
"Just... try, okay?" Kat's voice softens. "Try trusting someone. It's not as terrifying as you think."
We both know that's a lie.
After we hang up, I stand there longer than I should, Kat’s words linger.
Try trusting someone.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and push off toward the lift.
That’s when I see them.
Natalia and Zack.
Side by side in the loading line. He's leaning toward her, saying something that makes her laugh—a real laugh, not the polished PR version. His hand hovers near the small of her back as they shuffle forward.
Too close.
Before I can think better of it, I'm moving.
I slide into the loading lane just as the chair swings around, edging between two tourists and cutting past Zack, planting myself directly at Natalia's side. The chair bumps the backs of our knees.
Zack throws up his arms. "What are you—"
We're already lifting off.
I meet his eyes and send him an easy smile, though it's fake as fuck. "Don't worry, bud," I call over my shoulder. "I've got her this time. Charge your time to my chalet."
Natalia turns, finally realizing I'm sitting next to her instead of Zack. Her focus had been on making it onto the lift safely—exactly the distraction I needed.
"What are you—" she started.
Below us, Zack slides back out of line, boots scraping against packed snow as the operator waves him toward the next chair.
I don't look back, but in my periphery, I see her turn over her shoulder and lift her hands up as if to tell Zack, "I have no idea what just happened."
"Sorry, Zack," she calls out.
Then she turns back to me. I can feel the heat of her stare radiating toward me. She angry.
"You didn't have to be cruel to him," she says finally, her hand gripping the back of the lift and turning sideways to lay into me.
"I wasn't cruel. I just gave him an hour off with pay. He should be thanking me."
"You dismissed him as if he were nothing."
"He was wasting your time," I say, my eyes on pulling on my gloves instead of at her.
It’s fucked up how cute I find her when she’s mad, but I can’t tell her that.
"He was teaching me to ski," she argues.
"Sure, badly."
She turns to look at me fully. "And you can do better?"
"That’s the plan."
"God, you’re arrogant," she huffs, turning back in her seat with a thud and making the lift sway a little.
"I might be arrogant, but I'm still better."
"Why are you doing this? You can’t stand being around me."
"That’s not true."
She lets out a humorless laugh and shakes her head. "Now you’re just lying to us both."
I could tell her the truth. I could tell her how I can't stop thinking about saving her on the slopes, and how watching another man's hand hover near her waist made me want to break things. How teaching her something means I get to keep her close for another hour.
"You need to learn," I say instead. "I know how to teach."
She studies my face, looking for the real answer. I keep my expression flat.
"Okay, fine," she says finally. "If you think you’re God’s gift to skiing… teach me."
We exit the lift, and she does well. I take her to a different slope. It’s quieter… Less traffic.
"Same thing as yesterday," I say when we're positioned at the top. "But this time you stop fighting the mountain."
"I'm not fighting it," she argues.
"You are. Every turn, you're arguing with gravity. Trying to negotiate. I guess that’s your thing."
"And that's wrong?"
"The mountain doesn't negotiate with PR agents."
She huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. "So, what do I do?"
"You trust it. Trust your edges. Trust the fall line." I move in front of her, skiing backward, and hold out my hands. "Trust me."
She hesitates. Yesterday's fear is still there, hovering at the edges of her expression.
"I've got you," I say quietly. "I won't let you fall."
She searches my face as if she doesn’t believe me. I’ve proven enough times that I'll always be there to catch her, and I will be right now, too. Then, slowly, she reaches out and grips my wrists.
Her hands are small in her gloves, but she has a strong grip, though it’s shaking slightly.
"Look at me," I say. "Not the slope. Me."
She lifts her chin. Our eyes meet through tinted lenses.
"Ready?"
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
I push off, guiding her down. She's tense at first, shoulders up around her ears, every muscle locked.
"Breathe," I tell her.
"I am breathing," she argues.
"You're holding your breath. Breathe."
She exhales sharply. Her shoulders dropped half an inch.
"There. Again."
Another breath. Her grip on my wrists loosened slightly.
"Weight forward. Trust your edges," I coach her.
"Easy for you to say."
"Nothing about this is easy. Do it anyway."
We carve through a turn. She gasps, but stays with me.
"Good. Again."
Another turn. Smoother this time.
I watch her face instead of the slope. See the moment fear shifts to concentration. Then the concentration shifts to something else.
Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
We reach the bottom, and I bring us to a clean stop.
She stares at me, breathing hard. Then down at her skis. Then back at me.
"Holy shit," she says. "I did that."
"You did that."
A grin breaks across her face. The first unguarded one I’ve ever seen directed at me.
And I grin back before I can stop myself.
Her expression shifts as if she just saw something I’ve been hiding from everyone. Like she just discovered I'm capable of more than intentional coldness. The part of me that only my sister gets to see.
I clear my throat and look away.
"Again?" I ask.
"Yeah. Again," she says, her body practically bouncing with excitement.
The second run, she's less tense.
Still holding my wrists, but her grip is steadier and more confident.
"How did you get so good at this?" she asks halfway down.
"I grew up in the cold. The boarding school was in the mountains. Skiing was more effective than therapy."
She snorts, then laughs.
The sound settles somewhere deep and warms a part of me that’s been iced over for too long.
"What about you?" I ask. "Why didn't you learn before?"
"I tried once in middle school, but it was pretty bad. I took out my middle school crush, Dillian, on the slope because I couldn’t stop. He ended up with ten stitches on his chin."
"Tragic. And then Dillian never spoke to you again?"
"No, he asked me to spring formal the next week at school. Apparently, we were both too shy to make the first move. Wiping him out on the slope was the icebreaker we needed. No pun intended."
I let out an unexpected chuckle, and then she smiles.
"And is he still waiting back at home for you?" I ask, not as smoothly as I normally am.
She stares back at me for a moment. "No," she says. "There’s no one waiting for me back at home."
I nod, and then we’re back on the top of the hill, ready for our second run.
I guide us through another turn, watching the way she moves with the mountain instead of against it. Natural athlete, once she stops overthinking.
On this run, she stops on her own when we reach the bottom. There’s no stumbling or panic.