Chapter 5
ELOWEN
My new fake fiancé has been an exemplary employer, and I should be thrilled about how well everything is going. In fact, it should almost feel like a vacation--Michelin star-worthy meals, the world's most comfortable suite with a view to die for, and the company of a gorgeous billionaire.
It's that last part that has changed this job into something a lot more complicated, because each minute I spend with Adam, my inconvenient feelings for him grow stronger.
The next few mornings are a blur of high-stakes meetings where I translate for Adam, my mind sharp from double shots of premium espresso and the thrill of actually being challenged.
Adam moves fast, and I have to lock in to keep up, but it’s fun.
He is a formidable negotiator, razor-sharp and unshakeable.
Afternoons are for networking, with lots of handshakes, forced smiles, and mindless small talk.
Adam introduces me to everyone as if me being here is the most natural thing ever, like I wasn’t eating instant ramen in my apartment just a few weeks ago.
I translate for everyone, from a CEO of a multinational corporation to the head of a European banking dynasty.
And then there are the evenings. They are the hardest, because it’s during the evenings that we are expected to act the most like a couple, the image of newly-engaged bliss.
We hold hands, we share lingering glances, we whisper secrets to each other that are nothing more than commentary on the people around us.
It's a role I'm surprisingly good at as long as I keep reminding myself that it’s all just work.
But when I slip up and let the lines blur…
Well. When the lines start to blur, I find myself genuinely laughing with Adam, sharing stories with him that are completely true and soaking up his reactions like a sponge.
He’s not just gorgeous and attentive, but he’s funny in a dry way, and we get along.
I lose myself with Adam, leaning into his touch that should be nothing but theater, craving the warmth of his hand on my back, the strength of his arm around my waist.
I keep forgetting that this is all a lie. Each time I forget, I know the heartbreak I’ll feel when this is over will only be multiplied. Still, I can't stop myself. I’m weak when it comes to Adam Valmonte.
Then comes the day of the planned ski expedition.
The sky is a brilliant, cloudless blue, the sun glinting off the pristine white of the mountain.
It's a perfect day, a picture-postcard day, and I feel a surge of optimism. I learned to ski when I was a kid with my parents and have been a handful of times as an adult, but Adam has also taken me out for at least an hour each day since we arrived to build my confidence ahead of the expedition. It’s a big deal, and apparently it would be ridiculous for Adam’s fiancée to be unable to ski, so I sharpen my skills enough that I’m sure I’m ready.
It’s a mistake.
We ski with a small group of potential investors, Adam effortlessly leading the way, a natural athlete on the slopes. He’s probably a natural athlete at everything, I think.
It’s quickly apparent that these men and women are out of my league, zipping down the slopes in graceful arcs, and all I can do is hold my breath and follow. Adam hangs back when he can, but I wave him on. He doesn’t need to be held back because of me.
Then, the weather changes.
One minute, the sun is shining, and the next, the sky is a seething mass of dark, angry clouds. Visibility drops drastically. So does the temperature when the sun disappears, and my heart plummets with it. Oh, this could be bad.
"Stay close!" Adam yells over the wind, his voice barely audible. He jumps over a ridge, taking some air, speeds around a bend, and disappears from my view. I follow, struggling to keep up with my basic wedge turns.
But it's too late. A sudden gust of wind catches me off guard, sending me tumbling sideways. I lose my balance, my skis cross, and I go down. Hard. Head first. I slide, out of control, my world a blur of white. Finally I come to a stop in a deep drift of powder snow, off-trail and alone.
I'm disoriented; my head spins. My vision dark despite the gleam of whiteness surrounding me. I try to sit up, spit snow from my mouth. Then, I feel it. A sharp pain shoots through my ankle, and I yelp. I’m not too cold yet, but the fall has dislodged one of my gloves and both of my skis, and I can feel the snow quickly seeping in. My ski poles are, simply, gone.
Panic is waiting on the edge of my thoughts, waiting for me to let it in, but I push it away, pulling my glove back on and feeling around the snow drift for my skis. I grab one, pulling it close, swallowing down the sob that threatens to escape.
And then, through the blinding snow, I see a figure. A dark figure is moving towards me, digging his ski poles into the snow and moving uphill. Oh god, last thing I need right now is ‘the Abominable Snowman’.
It should be impossible, but it’s not…because it's Adam, and I’m rapidly coming to learn nothing is impossible for him.
He reaches me, the lower half of his face covered to protect against the snow, but his eyes blazing with concern. "Elowen," he yells above the wind. “Are you okay?”
"I... I think my ankle is twisted," I manage, my teeth starting to chatter.
He doesn't hesitate, working silently, having already made a plan as soon as I’d gotten the words out.
In minutes, he’s found my missing ski and one of my poles, and he helps me clip the skis back onto my boots.
Then he helps me to stand, cursing when I cry out from the pain, but we both sag from relief when I manage to keep my feet and shuffle the skis in the snow a little.
Nothing is broken. Just really, really sore.
Adam produces a length of nylon rope from somewhere on his person, and then he’s tying us together.
It’s awkward with just three poles and one of my legs at half capacity, but we make it down the mountain at a snail's pace. At a few points I dramatically tell him to leave me to die, but he huffily reminds me that we’re at a ski resort, and help would come eventually.
It just so happens that Adam Valmonte is faster than the rescue service, and by the time the bright red of their uniforms comes into view, we’ve almost made it back.
The resort’s rescue team bundles me in a shiny blanket and shoves a warm drink into my hands, insisting I sit on a sled to be dragged the last few meters down. By the time we reenter the resort, I’m shivering hard, and Adam all but carries me inside.
After I promise him that my ankle is just sore and not truly twisted, Adam bypasses the medical center, the lobby, and, to my surprise, the elevator that leads to my floor. He takes a private elevator, one that leads to the penthouse suite, and the surprise cuts through the exhaustion.
“Uh?” I ask.
All I get back is, “Shh.”’
The penthouse, as expected, is enormous and mind-boggling in how luxurious everything is. My own suite is incredible, but Adam’s makes mine look like a truckstop motel room. I’m pretty sure this place could host royalty.
He leads me into a stunning bathroom, steam billowing from a large, sunken stone tub. I recall him speaking to staff on his phone before we were even back inside, and it hits me that he must have requested this to be ready for us.
For us. A bath. Oh…shit.
Instantly I shrug out from under his arm, biting the inside of my mouth so I don’t make any sound when I put too much weight on my sore ankle. I take a few steps back, out of the bathroom, breathing so fast that it’s hard to speak.
“Adam, what is going on here?”
"You need to get warm," he says as if it’s the most obvious thing on earth. And, to be fair, it probably is, but…Startled, I respond somewhat unromantically.
“I can do that in my own room!”
His jaw works, and he looks away from me for a beat, over my shoulder.
I see him close his eyes and take a deep breath, hands clenching into fists and releasing a few times.
He’s trying to get a hold on himself. “Elowen. You were just lost in a blizzard. I thought I’d lost you, I thought you were dead–”
Oh. Oh.
“Please. Just. Please let me take care of you. I need to know that you’re alright. I can’t rest until I know.”
It’s stupid of me, I know that, but seeing the pain that he’s in, knowing what he’s lost, and already so lost in the things I feel for him, I fold easily. Appropriateness be damned. Suddenly I want him to take care of me, too.
“...okay.” Calming myself. “Okay, Adam. I’ll stay.”
He exhales sharply, eyes opening, and then he’s stripping off his ski gear. My heart rate kicks into high gear, my mind racing as I try to figure out what exactly I’ve agreed to, but once he’s down to just his thermal underclothes, he stops, and, oh my god, I relax again.
Adam then turns to the tub, adjusting the temperature, pouring in a bottle of something that smells of lavender. A nervous, heightened energy has begun to flow between us.
"I can manage," I breathe, and he shakes his head once.
"No. Let me."
Adam is vulnerable and raw. Maybe even scared–scared for me–and I’m struck by how much he needs this.
Adam comes to me then, hands on my waist, and I gasp as he lifts me onto the marble bathroom counter.
He kneels, hands steady as he helps me out of my wet, snow-covered clothes.
His touch is careful, respectful even, but there’s no denying that he’s undressing me.
I’m shivering all over again, but not because of the cold.
I want him so desperately, so much that I don’t even bother to cover myself as he grabs the hem of my thermal shirt and pulls it over my head, leaving me in just my bra. Nothing about me is chilled anymore, except for maybe the pile of my wet clothes now on the floor.