Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
The restaurant was an exercise in excess. Giant antler chandeliers, thick velvet drapes, and enough candlelight to make everyone look ten years younger and significantly richer. We sat at a corner table, secluded by a frosted glass partition etched with pine trees.
“To survival,” Marco said, raising his glass of Pinot Noir. The crystal caught the flickering light, casting a blood-red shadow on the white tablecloth.
“To punctuality,” I corrected, clinking my glass against his. “And keeping promises.”
“Touche.” He took a sip, his eyes dancing over the rim. He looked impossibly handsome tonight in a charcoal sweater. The windburn on his cheeks had faded to a healthy glow. “I’ll have the elk. Feels appropriate.”
“Cannibal,” I teased.
“Apex predator,” he countered with a grin.
The waiter arrived. We placed our orders, and soon after we had our appetizers in front of us. Scallops for me, carpaccio for him.
“Remember our first date?” Marco asked suddenly, spearing a slice of raw beef.
“Denny’s,” I said. “Because you spent your entire paycheck on RAM upgrades.”
“Hey, that 256KB stick was crucial. But I meant the first actual date. When I had two nickels to rub together.”
“Ah. The Italian place on 4th. The one with the plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling.”
“Luigi’s. Best garlic bread in the tri-state area.” He leaned back, his features softening. “We talked for four hours. The waiter tried to kick us out three times.”
“You told me about your theory on distributed computing.”
“And you told me I had spinach in my teeth.”
I laughed. “Someone had to tell you. It was very distracting.”
“That was the night I knew,” he breathed. The teasing edge dropped from his voice. He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. His palm was warm. “I looked at you, and I thought: There she is. The other half of my brain.”
My throat tightened. “Just your brain?”
“The other half of my soul, then. If you want to get sentimental.” He squeezed my fingers. “Twenty and nineteen years old. We were kids.”
“We were ambitious kids.”
“Look at us now. Raising four children while running a company about to change the world.” He gestured around the room with his free hand. “Eating at a fancy Michelin star restaurant in Aspen.”
“It’s been a pretty good run,” I admitted.
“It’s just the beginning, Tess. Phase One. Phase Two is going to be...” He trailed off, shaking his head as if the future was too big to articulate. “We’re going to build something that lasts. Something that matters.”
“As long as you’re around to build it,” I said, the cloud of the afternoon returning.
He sobered instantly. “I know I scared you today. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not just today, Marco. It’s... everything. The speed. The risks. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding onto the tail of a kite in a hurricane.”
He turned my hand over, following my lifeline with his thumb. “I promise you, Tess. No more heli-skiing. I got it out of my system. From now on, it’s groomed runs and hot cocoa. I’ll be the most boring skier on the mountain. I’ll wear neon. I’ll snowplow.”
“I’ll believe the snowplow when I see it.”
“Cross my heart.” He made an X over his chest. “I want to be an old man with you. I want to sit on a porch somewhere and annoy the hell out of you, while you’re trying to read.”
“You already do that.”
“See? I’m practicing.”
Our entrees arrived, and we ate slowly, savoring the food, the wine, and the rare quiet. The terror of the afternoon felt miles away, a bad dream dispelled.
Back in the suite, Marco shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie, watching me kick off my heels with a sigh of relief.
“Best part of the evening?” he asked, moving toward me.
“This,” I said simply, reaching for him. “Just this.”
He pulled me close, and I melted into him.
“You know what I kept thinking throughout dinner?” he murmured against my hair.
“How lucky you are to have such a brilliant wife?”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine. “Well, that’s a given.” His hands moved to my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “I kept thinking about how scared you were today.”
“Marco—”
“And I never want you to feel that way again.” He kissed me then, soft and slow—an apology and a promise wrapped into one.
His fingers found the zipper at the back of my dress, sliding it down with ease. The cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps, but his hands were warm as they traced the skin of my back. I worked at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly, needing to feel his skin against mine.
“Someone’s impatient,” he teased against my mouth, his lips curving into a smile.
“Someone spent half the day thinking she was going to become a widow,” I shot back, finally getting the last button free and pushing the shirt off his shoulders. “I’m allowed to be impatient.”
My hands moved to his chest, fingers splaying over the warm, solid muscle. God, I loved his body—still strong and lean. I could feel his heart thundering beneath my palm.
“You got me there.” His voice had gone rough, that low rasp that always made my knees weak.
My dress pooled at my feet like spilled wine, leaving me in nothing but the lace bra and panties. Marco stepped back just enough to look at me, his eyes darkening as they traveled slowly down my body and back up again.
“Christ, Tess.” His hands moved to my hips, fingers digging in slightly. “Even after four kids, you’re still so goddamn beautiful.”
He walked me backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine, kissing me with an intensity that made my head spin. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I fell onto it, and he followed me down, his weight settling over me in a way that felt like coming home.
His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, down the side of my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that made me gasp. “I love that sound,” he murmured against my skin.
His hands moved behind me, unhooking my bra. He tossed it aside, and then his mouth was on my breast, tongue circling my nipple before taking it between his lips. I arched into him, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.
“Marco,” I breathed, and his name came out half plea, half prayer.
He gave the same attention to my other breast while his hand slid down my stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties, as I lifted my hips to help him slide them off.
I reached for his belt buckle, desperate to have all of him. “Your turn to lose the pants.”
He stood long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, and then he was back, settling between my thighs. I could feel him, hard against me, and I lifted my hips in invitation.
“Look at me,” he said. The intensity in his eyes stole my breath. “I love you. More than anything.”
“I love you too,” I whispered. “Now please—”
He pushed inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust, and we both exhaled—a shared breath of homecoming. He filled me completely, perfectly, the way he always did.
“God, Tess,” he groaned, his face buried in my neck. “You feel so good. Always so good.”
He started to move, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, setting a rhythm that was slow and deep and deliberate. Not rushed, not frantic—just perfectly, intensely us. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together, pinning it to the mattress beside my head.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle, taking him even deeper. The pleasure built. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside me, and I could feel myself climbing toward a peak.
“You close, baby?” His voice was strained, his movements getting less controlled.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
His free hand slid between our bodies, finding my clit, and that was all it took. The orgasm hit me hard, my inner walls clenching around him as I cried out.
“Fuck, Tess—” He thrust into me one more time, hard and deep, and then he was coming too, his body shuddering with release.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slicked and tangled together. Finally, he shifted, pulling out and rolling to his side, gathering me against him.
“I’m going to need a minute after that,” he said with a breathless laugh.
“Yeah… me too,” I murmured, smiling into his chest.
We lay there in the firelight, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder. Satisfaction hummed through my veins, warm and sweet, along with something deeper—love, gratitude, the bone-deep certainty that this man was mine and I was his.
“Worth the trip?” he asked sleepily.
“Worth everything,” I replied, and meant it.
But even as I said it, even wrapped in his arms with satisfaction, that old, unwelcome fear stirred—the quiet ache that came from knowing moments like this were just that: moments. Beautiful, fleeting, impossible to hold on to.
“Stop,” Marco said.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re worrying about. I can feel it. Your whole body just tensed up.”
I sighed, burrowing closer to him. “Just... tomorrow. And all the tomorrows after that.”
He tightened his arms around me, solid and warm and real. “Tomorrow’s going to be great. We’re going to go home to our crazy kids, close the Ashley deal, and keep building on this life we have.” He kissed the top of my head. “And we’re going to have a lot more nights like this one.”
I let myself believe him. Let the fear dissolve in the warmth of his embrace. He was right. Everything was going to be okay.
“I love you,” he murmured, already half asleep.
“I love you too.”
The nightmare of the afternoon had transformed into the most wonderful night.
Tomorrow, we would fly home. Tomorrow, we would get back to our real, full, beautiful life.
I woke slowly to bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. The kind of morning where you wake up warm and content, still wrapped in the glow of the night. I stretched, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping my lips, and reached for Marco.
My hand found only cool, empty sheets.
I opened my eyes. The indentation of his head was still on the pillow, but he was gone.
And then I saw it—a piece of the hotel’s thick cream-colored stationery, folded in half on his pillow. Tess was scrawled on the front in his handwriting.
I picked it up, smiling. Probably went to get us coffee. Or those croissants from the café downstairs he’d been talking about.
Couldn’t resist one quick run before breakfast—just the resort slopes, I promise! Be back by 9. Love you. M
I checked the clock: 8:40 AM.
A flicker of annoyance went through me. He could have woken me, could have asked if I wanted to come.
I was reaching for my robe when I glanced at the window. Heavy dark clouds had rolled in overnight. I frowned. We were supposed to fly home soon.
I padded out to the sitting area and turned on the television, looking for the weather channel. The screen flickered to life on the local news station.
A reporter stood on the mountain, the resort visible behind her, her expression dark.
“—avalanche occurred approximately forty minutes ago on the upper slopes of Aspen Mountain. Resort officials say the slide caught a couple of early morning skiers. Search and rescue teams are currently—”
The world tilted.
No!
My legs went weak. I grabbed the back of the sofa to steady myself; my eyes locked on the screen.
The reporter’s voice faded to white noise. All I could see was that piece of paper in my hand. One quick run. Just the resort slopes. Safe.
I heard a knock on the door—heavy, official. Not housekeeping’s light tap.
My blood turned to ice.
Another knock. Harder this time. More insistent.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The note crumpled in my fist.
The knock came again.
I walked to the door on numb legs. I pressed my eye against the peephole.
Distorted by the fisheye lens, I saw three figures.
Two men in red jackets with white crosses on the chest. Ski patrol. Their faces were grim, set in lines of professional sorrow.
And a woman in a dark suit. Jennifer Mills, the hotel manager. I recognized her from check-in. She was holding a clipboard against her chest like a shield.
My heart stopped. It literally, physically stopped beating for a second.
I unlocked the door. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else.
I opened it.
The hallway air was warmer than the room, smelling of carpet cleaner. The three of them stood there, a wall of grim.
Jennifer Mills stepped forward. She looked terrified. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
“Mrs. Carideo?”
“Where is he?” My voice was small, a child’s voice.
“I’m so very sorry. There’s been an accident.”