Chapter 2
Lizzie
“Hubba, hubba, now that is a beautiful face for an instructor,” Olivia smirks at me. Olivia is the family’s grandmother, in her sixties. Her eyesight is crisp and clear and is taking in the beauty of this man, too.
“I won’t lie, God definitely knew what He was doing.” We laugh together.
I’m spending the week in Verbier, Switzerland with the family I’m currently au pairing for, the Blancs—yes, the kind of town where everyone looks like they’ve walked out of a luxury catalog.
Olivia, the vivacious grandmother of the family, insisted on booking me a beginner’s skiing course.
Apparently, she believes everyone should experience the joy of flying down a slope and nearly taking out an instructor or two.
I’m pretty sure I was born falling out of the womb because clumsiness has followed me my entire life.
Still, I’m excited to give skiing a try.
I mean, if I’m going to fall flat on my face, at least it’ll be somewhere beautiful.
“Try different things” has been my motto since moving to Belgium a year and a half ago.
“Well, you’ve got some time alone with this hunk, so enjoy!
” Olivia gives me a motherly pat as she leaves me, heading towards the sitting area.
The Blanc kids are also going down the bunny slope with their parents, since they’ve been skiing since they were toddlers.
I pull on my gloves and look over the scenery.
Verbier is where the rich come to ski, and I can see why.
The snow glitters over the gorgeous mountains, every area basked in sunlight beaming as if desperately needing its own vitamin D.
I catch a glimpse of the Swiss log cabins far away, gleaming under the snow.
Pine trees line the paths in between the chalets, giving it every Christmas postcard feeling.
Growing up in Brazil never made me want a Christmas in the snow…
but now? I could absolutely get used to it.
Hot chocolate by the fire, marshmallows roasting, building snowmen.
Mr.Hunky comes over to introduce himself as I’m basking in the scenery and thinking of all the cozy Christmas vibes. It won’t be hard learning from him, even if I am the world’s clumsiest person—I’ll have some eye candy to soften the blows.
“Bonjour! I’m Jacques, it’s nice to meet you, mademoiselle,” he says.
“It’s lovely to meet you too! You may have to have a little bit of patience with me in learning. I’m a little clumsy,” I laugh.
“That’s perfectly okay,” he chuckles. “That’s why you’re learning and not heading down the black diamond run.”
“I think for the safety of all, I’ll stick to the bunny slope.”
He laughs and motions me over to the skis. “Alright, let’s get started. The first thing I want to teach you is how to snowplow. It’s the most important thing for you to learn as you go down. You don’t want to hit a tree.”
“I don’t want the tree and I to become one, no.”
He laughs. “Alright, this is how you do it.” He shows me how to stop—pointing my ski tips inward, applying some pressure to the inside edges to slow down.
I practice a few times before actually heading down the slope.
Jacques heads down to the bottom of the bunny slope to give me a chance to try it out.
I start moving slowly, practicing how to slow down as I go, and gradually pick up a little speed.
“Well, at least if I don’t learn how to totally stop, maybe Mr.Hunky Jacques can catch me at the bottom,” I mutter to myself. Still, I’m pretty confident I can keep going.
I keep steadily going down, letting it increase the speed without stopping. I feel the wind in my hair, the air in my lungs, and for a second this feels perfect.
Until I forget everything I just learned and I’m struggling to stop. I’m trying to push them inwards, but it’s like the momentum is stopping me.
“Ahhhh!” I hear myself squealing as I’m coming towards the bottom.
“Push inwards! Use your edges!” Jacques shouts, his voice carried by the wind and just a bit of panic. I’m nearly there.
I start pushing inwards, trying my hardest to stop—
“Ooof!” The sound punches out of me as I crash straight into Jacques like a human missile. And of course—I don’t just stop there. I take him out like bowling pins. All five-foot-eight of me plus boots, skis, and panic.
The world tilts. Snow puffs. Jacques lets out a half-grunt, half-laugh, which feels generous considering I just tackled him like I’m auditioning for the Olympics—wrong sport, but still.
“I’m sorry! I told you I was clumsy!” I say, attempting to get up.
“It’s ok,” I hear a grunt and his husky voice saying as he gets up. “Maybe next time I’ll move further away,” chuckling a bit.
I blow out a breath. Thank God. I didn’t entirely crush him.
We carry on for another couple of hours, while I fall several times again, but thankfully no other times directly into Jacques. Poor guy. We start to wrap up the session, and I’m so thankful because I’m exhausted.
“Thank you so much Jacques, that was super fun. I’m sorry again for crashing into you,” I breathe out, putting my hand over my eyes and chuckling in embarrassment.
He crosses his arms against his chest and chuckles. “That’s okay, it’s not the first time it’s happened to me. But be careful out there!”
“I will be! As much as my hand-leg-eye coordination allows me, anyway. See you later!”
I take off my ski gear, handing it back at the top where the rental gear is.
I head off to grab some lunch by myself as the Blancs are still on the slopes.
When in Switzerland, one has to try the cheese fondue.
It’s basically a national treasure, and I’m ready to dive in fork first. And it’s exactly what’s on my mind to grab.
It arrives, and it’s everything I dream of.
The cheese is perfectly melted, hugging my bread as I dip it in.
The steam rises from it, and with the view of the mountains in the background, it looks picture-perfect. It warms me to my toes.
After thoroughly enjoying my fondue, I head back down the ski lift to the chalet for some much needed R&R. Since today is my day off, I’m excited to really bask in the coziness of the place.
The Blancs own a beautiful log chalet here in Verbier and it’s where we’re staying for the week.
As I walk in, I’m greeted by the beautiful cozy interiors.
A large living room, with high ceilings and windows with sweeping views over the rest of the mountains.
A stone fireplace sits in the center of the wall on the right, waiting for me to curl up with a book when everyone is asleep.
Warm fur blankets line the back of the elegant L-shaped sofa.
I move towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, where there’s a corded phone sitting on a small table, with pen and paper next to it.
I throw off my coat, sink into the cozy hallway chair, and eye the old-school corded phone like it’s calling me.
I haven’t talked to my sister in a month, and suddenly, I just really need her voice.
I head towards it and dial my family’s number at home in Brazil. A few rings later, my sister picks up.
“Hello?”
“Gabby, it’s so great to hear your voice!” I say to my sister, as I sit on the chair next to the corded phone. It’s a cozy setup, perfect for long distance life updates. We haven’t spoken in about a month.
“Well, it’s nice to know you’re still alive,” she quips, and I laugh. “I’ve missed you so much! Update me on your glamorous life.”
“I wouldn’t call it glamorous, but there are definitely lots of perks to living in Belgium,” I shrug even though I know she can’t see it. The Italian in me—courtesy of my dad’s side—can’t help but gesture, even alone on the phone.
“But you’re living the European life. Your life is adventurous!” Her enthusiasm crackles through the poor connection.
“I admit, I’m loving it here. Having to travel to a different country every three months isn’t the worst problem to have.
I’m an au pair for this lovely family at the moment, and they’ve taken me to Verbier in Switzerland and paid for my ski course!
” I pause, grinning. “On second thought, my life does sound a little glamorous at the moment, doesn’t it? ” I chuckle.
Because of my visa, I have to leave Belgium every three months—so this trip couldn’t have come at a better time.
I was born and raised in Brazil, but my dad’s family is Italian—old-school, aristocratic Italian—and I’m in the process of claiming citizenship.
My grandfather was Italian and my grandmother Belgian, so the family ended up staying in Belgium instead of Italy.
Once my Italian passport comes through, I won’t have to keep doing these border runs.
I’ve been to Switzerland, France, Luxembourg, Italy, and Portugal—and it’s been amazing. Adventures I hadn’t even dreamed of.
Of course, the real reason I came was to meet my dad’s side of the family. Every Tuesday, one of my uncles takes me out to dinner with his closest friends—our weekly ritual. I’ve spent time with each of them, getting to know their families. It’s been such a gift.
Still, I took this au pair job so I wouldn’t be a burden.
My dad’s family is wealthy, but I didn’t want to just sponge off them.
My uncle had a connection to a local countess who needed help with her kids, and bam: job, home, and built-in adventure all in one.
It worked out perfectly because my uncle lives just a few minutes’ walk down the street.
Growing up in Brazil, my mom taught me early how to work hard and appreciate every kindness.
She always reminded us not to take anything for granted, because we never know what the future might hold—or whether we’ll have much money one day.
I don’t take any of this lightly. I want to pull my weight—whether it’s milking cows or reading bedtime stories in French.