45. Winter
45
Winter
Sophie
The Blackwood Hall estate is exactly the kind of place you’d expect someone like Zachary Blackwood to come from: a place carved from time itself, honeyed stone facade standing solemn against a bleak British winter sky, tall windows casting ruddy light onto the fresh dusting of snow.
The towering chimneys and ivy-embroidered stone has a gothic glamour that reminds me a little of Jane Eyre’s Thornfield.
The long gravel drive leads up to a grand set of doors adorned with two enormous wreaths of pine and berries.
I step out of the car, boots crunching frost. The air is crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, a richer perfume drifting from the house: spiced oranges and mulled wine.
Behind me, Evan pulls my suitcase from the boot and steps up beside me, pressing a warm hand to the small of my back.
“Pretty grand, right?”
“I couldn’t imagine Zachary Blackwood emerging into the world from any other place.”
“I agree.” Evan grins.
“It is pretentious and over- the-top.”
I shove into his arm.
“Don’t! I’m already nervous enough about spending the winter with your friends without you making up imaginary reasons for them to hate me.”
“They’re not gonna hate you, Sutton.” Evan pulls me into him by my waist and kisses the tip of my nose, which is ice cold.
“You know how excited Zach and Theo are to talk about books with you?”
“They can talk about books with you , now,” I say, throwing my arms around his shoulders without meaning to, just because it feels good for him to hold me close, and it feels good to hold him close.
“All I’ve read all year is cases. You’re the one who’s reading actual books these days.”
“Do not tell Zach,” Evan says, lowering his voice urgently.
“I mean it, Sutton. I don’t want him to know I’m reading.”
I draw back from him, frowning.
“Whyever not?”
“Because,” Evan mutters.
“He’ll get carried away; he’ll probably try to lend me some Plato book the size of a brick.” He shudders.
“You might like it.” I laugh, sweeping back the curls out of his eyes.
He’s been busy with work; his hair’s grown a little too long, and I have the irresistible urge to tie it up with a ribbon.
“I have far better ways of spending my evenings on this holiday than reading Plato,” Evan says, eyes moving slowly down the length of my body.
“Like what?” I ask, breath short.
“Like stripping my gorgeous girlfriend naked and laying her out by a fireplace and spreading her pretty thighs open,” Evan murmurs against my mouth.
“How specific.” I brush my lips against his without kissing him.
“You’ve been giving this some thought, have you? ”
“I’ve thought of nothing else.” His free arm slides inside my coat, wraps around my waist, pulling me closer.
“I’m a sick man, Sutton. Heal me. Fix me.”
“Utterly deplorable behaviour.” A crisp, British voice jabs into the moment like a dagger.
“This is hallowed Blackwood ground. Evan, unhand my guest.”
Evan obeys with a sigh of annoyance, and we turn to look up at the doorway, where Zachary Blackwood stands, arms crossed.
His eyes fall on me, and for a moment, I’m as stiff and awkward as I was in Spearcrest, seized by sudden doubt.
His gaze is piercing, searching, and there’s a spark of something like approval there, too.
And then his face breaks into a warm, beaming smile.
“Welcome to Blackwood Hall, Sophie. Come on in.”
Inside, the warmth is immediate, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside.
There are candles burning on silver candelabras and fireplaces with actual fires inside, music and voices echoing through high-ceilinged corridors.
A Christmas tree dominates the huge entryway, branches heavy with lights, white ribbons and antique glass baubles.
“Hi, Sophie.”
Theodora Dorokhova bounds down the stairs: she’s dressed plainly in blue jeans and a cream sweater in soft wool, her pale blonde hair in a fluffy bob tucked behind her ears.
But the way Zachary watches her and catches her hand to kiss it as she passes him makes it seem like an angel has just descended upon earth .
When she reaches me, she laces her arm through mine.
“It’s so exciting to have you here. Zach and I were literally just saying everyone was so scared of you in Spearcrest.”
“Surely not,” I say with a little startled laugh.
“It’s the clipboard,” Zachary points out.
“ I wasn’t scared,” Evan assures me with a wink as he lets Theo pull me away from his side.
Zachary rolls his eyes.
“You were more scared than the rest of us put together.”
“He’s still scared,” I say humbly.
“It’s part of the charm.”
“Who’s scared?”
A willowy girl drifts into view, holding a steaming mug of tea.
I recognise her instantly—not from real life, but from Séverin Montcroix’s endless social media posts.
His fiancée Ana?s Nishihara, the French-Japanese artist, has shoulder-length mirror-smooth black hair and fine, elfin eyes.
She’s wearing a baggy blue sweatshirt over a small denim skirt, silver nail polish on her fingertips, and I barely have time to introduce myself properly to her when a tall, dark-haired man appears from the entryway, wearing a long black coat and holding some shopping bags.
Without even addressing anyone else, he dumps the bags, rushes over to Ana?s, and cups her cheeks to crush a breathless kiss to her mouth, uttering in a dramatic cry, “ Ah, mais qu’elle est belle, ma femme! ”
“Stop,” Ana?s laughs, extricating herself out of his embrace.
“Sophie’s here.”
“Hey, Sophie, Merry Christmas.”
Séverin, who was definitely amongst those who hated me and my clipboard, seizes my shoulders and kisses both my cheeks.
He smells of wine and a dark, smoky cologne, and it’s clear from the sparkle in his green eyes that he’s feeling festive.
He takes my hands in his and checks my fingers before glaring up at Evan.
“No ring, Ev? What are you waiting for? Lock this woman down, man, for god’s sake. I can’t handle another summer of you bringing down the mood at Chateaux Montcroix ever again.”
“Not everyone believes in marriage,” Theodora says disapprovingly, pulling me away from him by my arm.
“I’d rather finish my studies first at least,” I tell Séverin with a smile.
Over Sev’s shoulder, I spot a flash of surprise on Evan’s face.
Before he can open his mouth, Theodora leads me away, saying, “Come on, I want to show you the library. You’re going to love it.”
Ana?s follows us, and Theodora squeezes my arm in hers.
By the time we reach the library, all the awkwardness has faded, melted out of me by the warmth of Theodora’s enthusiasm, by Ana?s’s laid-back presence and unassuming appearance, by the casual, fun chatter between us.
“Wish we’d been friends in Spearcrest,” Ana?s says to me after a while.
“I would’ve had a much nicer time.”
“Me too,” says Theodora, and the shadow passing over her face makes me wonder for the first time if she didn’t have as good a time in school as I always assumed she’d had as one of Spearcrest’s elites.
I always assumed I was the only one suffering in silence, but maybe it turns out I was only one of many.
And, because they sound like they’re telling the truth, I also answer with the truth.
“Me too.”
Wrapped in my coat and scarf, I breathe in deep, filling my lungs with clean, cold air.
The past few days have been lazy, hazy and warm, spent huddled on old sofas or by fireplaces with cups of mulled wine or hot toddies, eating or talking or reading.
The air is still when we step outside for a Christmas afternoon walk, the sky a wide, unbroken expanse of pale silver, clouds smudged with darker grey at the edges.
The countryside is quiet under a blanket of fresh snow, the naked branches of old elms glittering with frost.
Evan, standing beside me, stretches his arms over his head and lets out a deep, happy sigh.
“Well, this has been a lovely stroll,” he says, breath unfurling in the cold air.
“Very nice. Maybe a little too nice. We’re all getting soft. Lazy.” He glances at me as he starts backing away in the snow.
“ Complacent .”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He tosses something in the air and catches it with expert agility, a flash of white.
“Evan Knight, this is civilised land,” Zachary Blackwood says.
“Control yourself.”
Something arcs through the air and explodes against Evan’s shoulder.
He turns, mouth wide, with an exclamation of, “What the fuck—”
“First blood!” calls Séverin Montcroix, running past.
I scoop up a fistful of snow and hurl it after him, missing by inches.
He lets out a mocking laugh and throws up both his middle fingers .
“Don’t worry, Sutton, I’ve got this,” calls Evan, reckless and smiling giddily.
I can’t resist the sudden impulse: grabbing a fistful of loose snow, I hurl it at him, showering him with an arc of snow that powders his hair and shoulders like glitter.
He spins, eyes darkening even as his smile curves wider.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Give me all you’ve got.”
“You couldn’t handle it,” he says, scooping a ball of snow and rolling it with effortless technique into his hands.
With a hoarse gasp of laughter, I dive into a run, rushing towards the line of trees down the hill.
The situation devolves quickly as the battle grows heated and snow goes streaking across the field.
Zachary, watching from the sidelines with his arms crossed, shakes his head.
“You’re all behaving like children.”
And that’s when Theodora—sweet, angelic Theodora with her pretty face haloed silver by her hair—sneaks up to him and shoves a handful of snow directly down the back of his coat.
Zachary spins around, closing his eyes slowly as his body shudders against the sudden invasion of cold.
“You did not just—”
Theodora is already laughing, already running, and Zachary moves fast. He catches her effortlessly, pulling her back against his chest with one arm, shielding her from any more incoming snowballs with the other.
“Treacherous girl,” he mutters, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.
The rest of what he says is drowned out by a sudden yell of laughter from Ana?s, who’s halfheartedly shovelling snow at Séverin while he kisses the side of her neck between attacks .
A figure dashes across the snow towards me.
I turn with an alarmed gasp and toss out a snowball.
Evan throws up an arm, and snow explodes against his forearm.
I turn to run but don’t get far before I’m hit with the full force of Evan’s body and go pitching into the snow with a yell.
There’s a scramble as I roll onto my back and shovel as much snow as possible into Evan’s face.
He sputters but doesn’t let up, straddling my hips and grabbing my arms to pin them down into the snow.
“Let me go.” My voice is hoarse from laughing and yelling and the cold.
“Admit defeat and I will.” He grins down at me, snow powdering his hair, melting over his lips.
“Admit defeat, Sutton, and I’ll show you mercy.”
I struggle under his weight, trying to throw him off.
“I don’t want your mercy.”
“You want me to be cruel?” he asks.
“I can be cruel.”
He lets go of my arms—a bad sign—and gathers a loose handful of snow.
I yell and try to shove him off with all my strength, but he chuckles, lifts my jumper, and smears snow all over my stomach and bra.
I let out a high-pitched scream of shock and cold.
“I’m going to kill you!”
Evan laughs, clearly looking forward to me murdering him.
He stands, and I gasp when he pulls me up off the ground, throwing me over his shoulder with effortless strength.
On the way back to the house, I notice a dark figure leaning against a tree.
I immediately recognise the signature black jacket and buzz cut of Iakov Kavinski, one of Evan’s friends.
He must have just arrived because there’s a bag plopped into the snow next to him.
He doesn’t join the battle, but he watches, smoking a cigarette.
There’s a bruise near his mouth and an expression of amusement on his face that’s mingled with something else, sad yet fond, like nostalgia.
Evan greets him warmly but doesn’t break his stride.
Iakov waves two fingers at me and gives a chuckle, shaking his head as Evan bears me away.
He doesn’t put me down until we’re back in our bedroom.
I don’t even have the time to catch my breath before he’s unwinding my scarf, removing my coat, dragging my jumper off over my head.
“Let’s get you into a hot shower,” he says, suddenly earnest. “You’re freezing.”
“Who’s fault is that?” I glare at him, but now he’s running his big hands all over my body, and despite what we’ve just been doing, his palms are hot on my skin.
“Yours,” he answers, “for being too stubborn to admit defeat.” He kneels to pull my tights and skirt down my legs, and I lean on his shoulders to step out of them.
“Should’ve chosen peace over pride.”
“Never.” Evan laughs and presses a kiss to my stomach, lips cold and still wet with melted snow, and I pull away from him.
“Now take your clothes off and get in the shower with me.”
“But I’m not cold,” he says, even though he’s already standing and shrugging off his coat.
I walk to the bathroom door, where I stop to remove my bra.
“Trust me, Evan. You’re freezing .” I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my thong and bend over to pull it slowly off, throwing Evan a sly look over my shoulder, watching his eyelids sink low and his cheeks flush much darker than when we were out in the snow.
It works like a charm—Evan’s naked in seconds.
But we don’t make it to the shower.
Not for an hour or two anyway.
Christmas dinner at Blackwood Hall is grand yet still oddly intimate.
The food is phenomenal and the fine china and polished silverware are out, but the combination of candlelight, music and the general good mood makes the evening feel homey rather than formal.
It’s strange to see a side to everyone that I’d never guessed.
In school, I’d always disliked Iakov: he never smiled and was always smoking where he shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised to realise that he’s the group’s favourite.
Zach and Sev bicker over both claiming Iakov for their best man, and Evan laughs in approval, as if even he thinks Iakov’s the best choice for the job.
After dinner, everyone’s full, sleepy and a little tipsy, so we sprawl out in one of the living rooms. Coffee and cakes are served and games are brought out: Sev, Ana?s and Theodora play cards while Evan and Iakov, slumped shoulder to shoulder on a couch, play video games.
I sit at a small side-table in an arched nook by the window, playing Zach at chess.
“I’m glad you two ended up together,” he says without looking up from the chessboard, surprising me.
“He worships the ground you walk on, and you’re a good influence on him.” He looks up with a slight smile on his regal face.
“He’s reading books, for god’s sake.”
I smile, glancing over at Evan, who’s clinking glasses with Iakov over the defeat of some nightmarish monster in their game.
“I think that’s more Inkspill’s influence than mine.”
“Inkspill is your influence,” Zachary says, surprisingly, and then he adds, “Checkmate. ”
Theodora replaces Zachary.
I win by the thinnest of margins, and I think my win might be more due to the distraction of Zachary’s hand resting low on Theodora’s back than my own brilliant strategy.
With a kiss to the knuckles, Zachary pulls Theo away, and Evan replaces Theo.
He’s a little tipsy, and I give him a mocking smile when he makes his opening move, expecting to easily trounce him.
I do trounce him—but it’s nowhere near as easy as I expected.
Evan’s improved since the last time I played him: he’s more patient, calmer, taking his time to think his moves through, observing me with curious eyes when I consider my own moves.
“You’ve been practising?” I ask him, sitting back.
He smirks. “Gotta keep up with you, don’t I?”
“Or try, anyhow.” I smirk back at him.
“Checkmate.”
“This is why I’ve got to keep practising,” he says, leaning over the table.
“You’re too cocky when you win.”
I roll my eyes.
“No, I’m not.”
He grabs my chin, tilts my face to his.
“Yes, you are, arrogant girl.”
“Find a way to humble me, then.”
“I can certainly think of one way.”
I blink slowly, heat flushing into my cheeks.
“You tried that earlier already.”
He closes the space between us, scattering chess pieces as he kisses my mouth.
“Practice makes perfect.”
Later that night, I lie on my stomach on the bed, a pillow in my arms, eyes lost in the dark orange flames smouldering in the fireplace.
It’s started snowing again outside, and a dreamy silence reigns over the house, broken only by the faint crackling of embers.
“Something on your mind?” Evan asks.
He’s lying on his stomach across the bed, propped on his elbows, reading a book.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“I didn’t think I’d have such a lovely time,” I say softly, still gazing into the fire.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” He butts the tip of his nose lightly into my shoulder.
“Why do you sound so sad?”
The silence drags out.
I finally answer in a whisper.
“I haven’t told my parents I’m in England for the holiday.”
“No? Why not?”
In the softness and warmth and the steady gentleness of his presence, it’s easier than I imagined to tell him the truth.
“I’m scared of telling them I won’t be moving back to the UK after Harvard.”
“It’ll feel scary all the way until you do it,” Evan says, kissing my shoulder lightly.
“And once it’s done, you’ll wonder why it was ever so scary. You’ll see.”
“You think?”
“I think your parents are going to be proud of you no matter what. And even if they weren’t, it’s your life to live.” He rolls me onto my back, tucking me into him by my waist, and gazes down into my eyes.
“Anyway, when has fear ever stopped you before?”
I let out a weak laugh.
“My secret is I’m actually scared most of the time.”
“That’s what makes you so brave.”
“Not that brave.”
“Brave enough to tell them,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead.
“And if your courage fails you, I’ll be there to lend you some of mine.”
I lick my lips, a nervous flutter skittering through me.
“Does that mean you’re meeting my parents?”
“I probably should.” His fingers trace lazy patterns over my stomach, making the muscles beneath the skin twitch at the sensation.
“Since I’ll be asking them for your hand someday.”
For a moment, my heartbeat stutters.
I curl my arms around Evan’s shoulders, pull him down to me.
“Are you going to make an honest woman out of me?”
“How else am I going to stop you from being such a dirty little liar?”
I let out a fake gasp.
“When have I ever lied to you?”
“Three years ago. When you told me you didn’t believe in marriage.”
“I don’t,” I tell him.
And, “But I do like the idea of marrying you .”
Surprise and delight flash across his face and melt away under the sunshine of his smile.
“You sure about that?” he says softly.
“Can’t take it back, Sutton.”
I answer just as softly.
“I don’t want to take it back.”