Ophelia
Light filters through the curtains, slipping across the sheets and my face. For a moment, I don’t move. I’m warm, too warm, and when I shift slightly, I realise why.
Arlo’s arm is around me. His body is curved along my back, steady, and protective. His breathing is slow and even, he’s asleep.
For a long while I lie there, staring through the narrow slit in the curtains at the slow fall of snow. Gradually, the fragments of last night click back into place.
The bar, those boys who wouldn’t leave our table, the way we only wanted a girls’ night out and they simply wouldn’t take the hint. I was quietly glad when our men arrived and made them vanish.
Our men.
Hell no.
Arlo hauled the boy who’d been trying to get my attention out by the collar. When he returned, the look in his eyes, hungry, cold and utterly uncompromising, sends a shiver through me even now.
Everything after that blurred together, the way, once again, we couldn’t seem to stay away from each other.
The pull between us was too strong, and this time, I didn’t even try to resist it. It was reckless, consuming, the kind of need that drowned out reason entirely.
We were so caught up in it that protection never even crossed our minds.
Afterwards, I mentioned it, and he told me not to worry, that he’d been tested, that he was clean, that there hadn’t been anyone else since.
He said I was clean too, which I suppose is true, though I’ve no way of knowing for certain. In my memory, I was still a virgin.
Clearly, that’s no longer the case.
My period’s due soon, so the chance of getting pregnant should be low, but still, this isn’t something we should be careless about.
I’m not ready for a child, and Arlo and I are complicated enough as it is.
Maybe I was already on some kind of contraception before I lost my memory, it would make sense if I’d been sexually active. But I know I’m not on the pill, and I haven’t confirmed anything else, no injection, no implant, so until I do, we’ll have to be far more cautious.
There shouldn’t even be a next time.
And yet, after the bar, when we came back… there was. Three more times, in fact, before we finally collapsed sometime around four.
I draw a slow breath and slide from his arms, easing out of his hold. He doesn’t stir.
I sit up, push the hair from my face, and let my feet find the cool floor before making my way to the bathroom.
The mirror is unforgiving in the morning light, my cheeks flushed, hair sticking out in every direction.
I splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and pull my hair into a loose ponytail. When I step back into the room, Arlo’s still asleep, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, the other tucked beneath the pillow.
I linger for a moment, then pull on a soft jumper and a pair of lounge trousers from the wardrobe. Slipping my feet into my slippers, I ease the door shut behind me as quietly as I can.
The stairs creak softly under my feet as I head down to the kitchen. The whole chalet feels asleep.
There’s no one in sight.
I open the fridge, take out what I need, and start making pancakes with coconut milk and oat flour. I slice some fruit and arrange it neatly on a plate.
None of the girls can cook, Octavia and Adelaide are the worst, though my sister would never admit it.
Piper could survive on coffee and croissants alone, though to be fair, she’s not bad when she actually bothers. Cooking just isn’t something she enjoys. So, it usually falls to me.
I pour the batter onto the hot pan, listening to the soft hiss as it spreads. The smell of vanilla and coconut fills the room.
Soon, the house begins to stir, the thud of doors closing, the murmur of voices down the corridor, the faint creak of floorboards overhead.
“You don’t have to keep cooking for these bastards,” a low voice rumbles behind me.
I start, the spatula slipping in my hand. “God, Arlo, make some noise next time.” I’ve been so focused on flipping pancakes I didn’t even hear him come in.
He ignores the comment completely, stepping closer, his tone rough with sleep. “They can feed themselves,” he says. “You’re not here to wait on them.”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips as I turn to face him.
He’s in grey joggers and a black T-shirt that fits a little too well, hair still tousled from sleep, and barefoot. He shouldn’t look this good—this early or ever, really—but there’s no denying it. The man’s gorgeous.
“I’ll make the coffees,” he says before I can even reply.
He moves, switching on the machine and reaching for the coconut milk without asking. He makes mine exactly how I like it, foam light, just a touch of cream, and sets it beside the stove before preparing his own. The rich scent of coffee drifts through the air.
The door opens again. Hunter steps in, far too put-together for this early in the morning, and breathes in. “Smells bloody brilliant in here,” he says. “Any chance of a coffee for me too?”
Arlo doesn’t bother looking up. “Make your own.”
Hunter lets out a low chuckle. “Always a delight, Vass.” His gaze shifts to the pan. “Pancakes, huh? You’re spoiling them, Ophelia.”
I shrug, sliding the next batch onto a plate. “Someone’s got to make sure we don’t starve to death.”
Hunter leans against the counter, crossing his arms with a faint smirk. “If you’re not careful, she’ll have you all domesticated by the end of the week.”
Arlo gives him a flat look. Hunter chuckles, clearly entertained, and I roll my eyes at both of them.
Within minutes Octavia appears, collapsing into a stool at the island with her head on folded arms. “Tell me you made coffee,” she groans.
“Make it your damn self,” Arlo snaps before I can answer.
She peeks up through a strand of hair, eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
He arches an eyebrow, indifferent. “You should know by now how little I care.”
I slide her a plate before anything else can flare.
Piper arrives, a book in hand and wearing an oversized jumper. She murmurs a soft thank you when I set a pancake down for her.
Adelaide comes in next, Isaak close behind. The room settles into a quiet rhythm as everyone helps themselves to coffee and food.
I switch off the stove, take a plate and my cup, and move to the table. A moment later, Arlo joins me, settling into the seat beside mine.
I cut into my pancake, dipping a piece into the syrup, but before I can bring it to my mouth, his hand comes up, brushing mine aside.
I glance at him, my brows lifting. “What now?”
“Insulin,” he says simply.
“Already done,” I reply.
He studies me for a moment longer, then gives a faint nod and reaches for his own plate.
The room fills with low conversation.
Milo is the last to arrive, sliding into the seat beside my sister with an infuriating grin. “If I’d known you were serving breakfast, malish, I’d have surfaced earlier.”
“Call me that again and I’ll stab you with my fork,” Octavia mutters.
He laughs. “So violent before coffee.”
Adelaide looks up from her phone. “All right, who’s up for skiing today?”
I nod in agreement, as does Piper, and Octavia perks up immediately. “I’m in.”
“Of course you are,” Adelaide sighs.
“We’ll need to rent gear in the village,” she adds, straightening slightly. “There’s a lift station not far from here.”
“Perfect,” Isaak says, already on his feet. “Fifteen minutes. Be ready.”
I finish my coffee and the last bite of breakfast before heading upstairs to change.
Inside the walk in, I pull out my Fendi ski suit, cream with soft gold accents, cinched at the waist with a matching belt.
I layer the thermals first, then slip into the insulated top and trousers. They mould perfectly to my frame.
I tuck my hair into a knitted cream headband. My gloves match, pale beige leather with faux fur lined cuffs.
As I sit on the bed to pull on my boots, Arlo steps into the closet. I slide my feet into my white Moon Boots and fasten the straps.
When we head downstairs, the others are already gathered by the door, dressed in their ski gear and layered up against the cold.
Octavia’s chosen a rose pink ski jacket that matches her hair, Adelaide’s in deep emerald green, and Piper’s soft blue gear makes her look like she’s stepped straight out of a snow globe.
Outside, the cold bites instantly. We split into two cars, me and the girls with Adelaide, the men in the other.
The moment the door shuts, Adelaide hits the accelerator, the tyres spinning against the snow before gripping.
We shoot forward, laughter spilling through the car as a cloud of white powder rises behind us, leaving the men in the drift.