Chapter 11 Carina
Carina
The morning after is always awkward, but the morning after your boss caught you in bed with his brother while you're also sort of involved with his best friend? That's a special kind of discomfort that no amount of coffee can fix. But trust me, I'm going to try.
I dress carefully—jeans and a cashmere sweater that makes me feel put-together even though my insides are churning. The house is quiet as I make my way to the kitchen, but I can hear voices as I approach.
"—being ridiculous," Knox is saying. "It's just skiing. You’re the one who brought it up last night."
"I have work to do now." William's voice is arctic. "Some of us can't spend all day playing in the snow."
"Some of us have sticks so far up our asses we can't have fun," Knox shoots back.
I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene.
Knox is at the stove making what looks like scrambled eggs, gesturing with a spatula as he argues.
William sits at the island with his laptop, jaw clenched and posture rigid as ever.
Travis reads the Financial Times, occasionally glancing between the brothers like he's watching a tennis match.
"Morning," I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
Three heads turn toward me. Knox's face lights up, Travis gives me a warm smile, and William... William looks at me for exactly one second before returning to his screen.
"Carina!" Knox abandons the eggs to pull me into a hug that's probably too intimate after what happened last night, after what William saw. "Perfect timing. I was just telling these boring workaholics that we should go skiing today."
"Oh, I don't—"
"The powder is perfect after the storm," he continues, still holding me close enough that I can smell the soap on his skin. "And the slopes are calling our names."
"I don't have any gear," I admit. "Or, you know, any idea how to ski."
"Even better!" Knox grins. "We can teach you. Right, guys?"
Travis folds his newspaper. "That sounds like fun, actually. The weather's supposed to be perfect."
"I'll pass," William says without looking up.
"Come on, Will." Knox says. "When's the last time you took a day off? It'll be good for you. And it was your idea."
William shoots Knox a death stare. "I said no."
"It would be a blast," Travis suggests, shooting me a meaningful look. "All four of us. Like... friends do."
The word "friends" hangs in the air, loaded with everything we're not saying. Knox's arm is still around me, William's shoulders are practically at his ears, and Travis is trying to hold it all together with sheer force of will.
"I really don't want to impose—" I start.
"You're not imposing," Knox insists. "Will's just being a baby because—"
"Knox." William's voice could freeze hell. "I said I have work."
"You always have work. That's your excuse for everything. Can't go to my art shows because of work. Can't take a vacation because of work. Can't act like a human being because—"
"Enough." William slams his laptop closed and stands. For a moment, I think he's going to storm out. Instead, he turns that icy gaze on me. "You said you can't ski."
"Correct, I can't, but I really don't want to—"
"Then you'll need equipment. And lessons." He grabs his coffee—same black mug as always. "We leave in thirty minutes."
He walks out, leaving the three of us staring after him.
"Did he just..." I trail off.
"Agree to go skiing?" Travis looks as shocked as I feel. "I think he did."
Knox whoops, spinning me around. "This is going to be amazing! Fair warning though—Will's teaching style is like military boot camp."
"Comforting," I mutter.
But Knox is already rattling off plans, talking about which slopes to try and where to eat lunch. Travis catches my eye over Knox's shoulder, his expression saying what we're both thinking: today is going to be interesting.
Thirty minutes later, we're piling into the Range Rover. I end up in the back with Knox, who immediately takes my hand, while Travis rides shotgun. William drives in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
The ski boutique in the village is the kind of place where nothing has price tags—always a bad sign for my credit card. But the moment we walk in, it becomes clear I won't be paying for anything.
"She needs everything," William tells the sales associate, a polished woman who clearly recognizes money when she sees it. "The best you have."
"I don't need the best—" I protest.
"Yes, you do," Knox interrupts, already pulling jackets off racks. "Carina, look at this one! The blue matches your eyes."
"That's turquoise," William corrects. "Her eyes are more cerulean."
We all turn to stare at him. He clears his throat, suddenly fascinated by a display of gloves.
"I like this red one," Travis offers, holding up a jacket that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
"Too flashy," William and Knox say in unison, then glare at each other.
This is how it goes for the next hour. Every item I try on becomes a debate.
Knox wants me in bright colors that "express your personality.
" William insists on technical specifications and things that will keep me properly warm.
Travis plays mediator while secretly picking out the most expensive options.
"I feel like a doll," I whisper to Travis as Knox and William argue over helmet styles.
"An expensively dressed doll," he agrees. "They're competing. It's what they do."
"Over ski gear?"
"Over you." He says it simply, like it's obvious. "Knox is marking territory after last night. William's trying to prove he's unaffected by being the most affected person in the room. And I'm..." He grins. "I'm just enjoying watching you try on snow pants."
"Travis!" I swat his arm, but I'm laughing.
"What? They make your ass look fantastic."
"You're terrible."
"I'm honest." His expression softens. "And I'm glad you're here. All of this—the complications, the drama, the Wilhelm tantrum brewing—it's worth it."
Wilhelm. I've heard Knox use that nickname when William's being particularly difficult. The fact that Travis is using it now doesn't make me feel great.
By the time we leave, I'm outfitted in gear that costs more than most people's cars. Each man insisted on paying for different items, turning checkout into another competition. The sales associate looked ready to pop champagne as we left.
The slopes are magnificent—pristine white snow under a brilliant blue sky. The mountains stretch endlessly, making me feel tiny and insignificant in the best way.
"First lesson," William announces, suddenly in my space. "Proper stance is everything."
He shows me how to position my skis, his hands on my hips to adjust my posture. His touch is clinical, professional, but I can feel the tension radiating from him.
"Weight forward, knees bent, core engaged," he instructs. "If you keep proper form, you maintain control."
"Control. Got it." I try not to think about how his hands feel through my snow pants.
"This is crucial, Carina. One wrong move and—"
"And she'll fall in soft snow and be fine," Knox interrupts, swooshing up beside us like he just won gold in the Olympics. "Will, you're scaring her."
"I'm preparing her."
"You're lecturing her." Knox turns to me, grinning. "Forget all that technical stuff. Skiing is about feeling. Follow your instincts, trust your body."
"Her instincts will get her hurt," William snaps.
"Her instincts are fine. You just can't stand that she might—"
"Okay!" Travis glides between them smoothly. "How about we actually let Carina try moving before you two have a brotherly death match?"
They back off, barely, and Travis takes over. His approach is different—calmly encouraging me mixed with tips.
"Small movements first," he suggests. "Get a feel for the skis. There's no rush."
He stays close but not overwhelming, letting me find my balance. When I manage to glide a few feet without falling, he cheers like I've won Olympic gold.
"See? Natural athlete."
"I moved three feet."
"Successfully!" He helps me up after my first fall, brushing snow off my jacket. "That's three more feet than you could ski this morning."
We spend the morning on the bunny slopes, each man taking turns with their wildly different coaching styles.
William breaks down every movement into technical components, making me repeat basics until my muscle memory kicks in, but it works.
Knox encourages increasingly risky attempts, always there to catch me when I inevitably fall.
Travis finds the middle ground, building my confidence with steady progress.
"You're thinking too much," Knox says after my fifth fall trying to turn. "Skiing is like art—you have to feel it, not analyze it."
"Skiing is nothing like art," William counters. "It's physics. Angles and momentum and—"
"And fun," Travis adds. "Remember fun, Will? That thing people have when they're not calculating optimal trajectories?"
William's jaw ticks. "I know how to have fun."
"When?" Knox challenges. "Name one fun thing you've done this year."
"I went to the Met Gala."
"For business!"
"The yacht in Monaco?"
"Also business!"
"I..." William falters, and something almost vulnerable flashes across his face before the mask returns. "Fun is subjective."
I feel an unexpected wave of sympathy for him. When's the last time he did something just for joy? Not for business or obligation or maintaining control, but pure enjoyment?
"Teaching me is fun," I offer quietly. "Even if I'm terrible at it."
He looks at me then, really looks at me for the first time all day. "You're not terrible."
"I've fallen twelve times."
"Thirteen," Knox corrects cheerfully. "But who's counting?"
"You, apparently."
"I'm counting how many times I've gotten to catch you." He winks. "Best part of teaching."
William's expression hardens again, and I recognize the pattern now. Every time there's a moment of connection, he shuts it down. Like he's afraid of what might happen if he lets his guard slip.