Chapter 10 Ransom
Ransom
Acouple of hours later, we meet at La Terrasse, a picture-perfect café perched right off Place Balmat with candy-pink chairs and a view of Mont Blanc that looks like the gods Photoshopped it.
Ember is already tucked into a table on the outdoor terrace, which she clearly commandeered as soon as she arrived.
A half-eaten pastry rests on a small plate, and steam curls lazily from the mug of hot chocolate cradled between her gloved hands.
Her legs are stretched out under the table, crossed at the ankle, her expression tranquil—eyes half-lidded beneath the soft gold of winter sun, like she’s stolen a private moment from the chaos of the day.
Freja arrives a beat later, cheeks flushed from the slope and hair wind-tangled beneath her beanie. She peels off her gloves with a practiced snap and drops into the seat across from Ember with a satisfied exhale.
At the café counter, Aksel is gathering drinks—vin chaud for himself and Freja, an espresso for me, a latte for Calypso, and a few bottles of water tucked into the crook of his arm. I cross the terrace to help him carry the drinks back to the table.
Just as we all settle in, Calypso reappears, having wandered off in search of the restroom. She lands in the empty chair beside me with a theatrical sigh, unzipping her sleek white jacket like it has personally wronged her.
“God, these boots are awful,” she mutters, tugging at one heel. “I swear they were adjusted wrong.”
Freja shoots her a dry look over the rim of her cup, one brow arched in a silent, scathing commentary that clearly says: Pretty sure it’s you, not the fucking boots.
I’m about to step in before things turn frosty again when Ember, who should by all rights be the one most annoyed, asks if she can help.
Gracious. Always.
Calypso waves it off with a tight smile. “Thanks, but I think we’re done skiing, right, Ransom?”
I shrug. “Maybe,” I reply, non-committal, and ignore the speculative glance she throws my way.
I sip my espresso and, pretending to admire the landscape, watch Ember as she talks to her sister.
Guilt sits uneasily in my gut. I shouldn’t have called her out for the way she spoke to Calypso, who, frankly, had it coming. And yet, Ember had been gracious in the aftermath. Polite. Even apologetic.
Aksel leans back and grins. “Tell me that view doesn’t make up for sore legs.”
Ember lifts her cup toward Mont Blanc. “Sante.”
Her eyes flick briefly to mine, and it hits like altitude.
If I’m not careful, I’ll fall again.
“We have this view from the chalet.” Calypso rubs her hands over her arms. “Damn, but it’s cold.”
She didn’t enjoy skiing, even though she wanted to.
“I should’ve gone to the spa instead.”
“Mama and Aunt Tanya go a couple of times. I’m sure you can join them before you leave,” Freja consoles.
It appears that the siblings talked and decided to play nice with Calypso, even if she irritates them, which I know she does.
She does okay with Margot, who is an ex-model like her. They have something in common; they seem to get along well. But I have a feeling that’s more on Margot than Cali.
With the others, she feels she has no foothold. They come from a different world.
Their conversations centered around high finance, politics, science, and other controversial issues are far from what she’s comfortable with.
She can handle the dinner table talk at a party, but this is a family holiday, and everyone is close-knit, talking at the same time and arguing fiercely. It’s easy to feel excluded.
Calypso comes from a wealthy background but is not close to her family. Her mother is gone, her father is on his third—or maybe fourth—marriage, and her brother is a distant presence she rarely sees.
She craves family, at least that’s what she tells me, which is why I thought she’d enjoy the Rousseaus for the holiday. But she’s struggling…or maybe she and I are. I’m comfortable here. This is my family. She’s the outsider.
I remember how Ember put it when I confronted her about how she talked to Calypso.
“Being new here must be difficult for her. I promise I’ll be friendly.”
That’s Ember, always generous. I haven’t heard Calypso say she’ll try to get along; she’s adamant that they have to make the effort, regardless of her behavior. There is a lack of self-awareness that I didn’t notice before. I didn’t have the occasion to.
What do they say about familiarity breeding discontent?
“Well, I want to get back to my wife,” Aksel announces and looks at Freja.
She nods. “I’m tired. Still jet lagged. I could do with a nap.”
“We’ll join you,” Calypso says on a sigh. “I could do with a warm bath and some wine. What do you say, darling?”
I drag myself away from my reverie and smile at her. “I’m going to take a solo run. Take a bath and get some rest.”
“I was hoping we could take a bath together,” she says suggestively.
Freja rolls her eyes, and Aksel clears his throat.
Ember stands up and stretches. “I’m going to take the cross-country trail back to the chalet. Anyone want to join me?”
“Absolutely not,” Freja groans. “That thing’s practically a marathon—uphill climbs, narrow tracks, and no lift to save your ass. I’ll take gravity and mulled wine, thank you very much.”
“Well, save some mulled wine for me,” Ember says before she takes off. Not looking at me at all.
I jerk my chin at Calypso as I step away from the group, pretending to check my bindings.
“All okay?” she asks.
I straighten, and Ember’s statement that Calypso knew about us and her insinuation that I told her echo in my head. But now is not the time and place to ask Calypso about it.
“I need some time alone,” I tell her, my voice easy.
Hurt swarms in her eyes. I want to groan out loud and tell her to stop being so fucking needy.
“Are you…. Are you going after her?”
Fuck me! She’s like a dog with a bone.
“Cali, I’m going to hit the slopes solo. You’ve got to stop this. It’s affecting your mood, and it’s affecting mine. You keep going like this, we’re both in for a fucked-up week and a half.”
She looks contrite and nods. Then goes on tiptoe and kisses me. “Have fun. I’ll see you back at home.”
Home? I don’t fucking think so.
“I’m off. I’ll see you guys at the chalet,” I call out to Aksel and Freja.
I head toward the lift station, the cold biting my face, my thoughts a storm under my helmet.
I don’t like the idea of Ember believing I revealed what we had—that secret thread that still tethers us, however faintly. Why would I? I haven’t told Calypso about every woman I’ve been with over the last five years.
But, then again….
I’m also not usually spending two weeks in the mountains with the family of a woman I once had sex with, while currently sleeping with another.
I click back into my bindings, shift my weight, and glide forward.
The slope is steep but forgiving—fresh powder gives way under my skis with a satisfying hiss.
I carve down in a wide arc, keeping my speed controlled, letting the wind cut through the lingering tension in my chest.
I don’t see her at first. I’m not expecting her as she said she’d be going to the chalet.
But then, near the bend where the ridge dips toward the tree line, I catch a flash of black and red.
Ember.
She’s a few meters ahead, leaning on her poles, helmet tilted slightly as she studies the valley below like it holds a private equation she’s solving in her head.
I slow down, edge in beside her, letting the skis come to a soft stop with a whisper of snow.
She turns when she hears me. Her goggles are still on. The line of her mouth twitches, just slightly, with surprise.
“Hey! Didn’t expect to find you here.”
She shrugs. “Ditto. I wasn’t sure anyone else would come this way.”
It’s a challenging run, which also makes it less crowded—not many skiers take this route.
“It’s quieter up here.”
She nods. “That’s the point.”
We stand still for a beat—two silhouettes against a sweep of snow and sky—before she adjusts her grip on her poles. “You heading down?”
“Yeah. I’ll follow your lead.”
She lifts a brow. “You sure you can keep up?”
I grin, and just like that, we take off together, the mountain rushing beneath us—full of twists that demand focus, with space wide open to let go.
We ski side by side, carving through the snow. When we reach a natural plateau halfway down, I unclip my bindings and face her.
“I didn’t tell her,” I say without preamble because it’s bothering the hell out of me.
She frowns, hesitates, not sure what I’m talking about, but then I see her eyes clear with understanding.
“She…guessed,” I explain.
She nods. Her features soften with tenderness. “You’re free to talk about your past, our past, with someone you’re dating, Ransom.”
“Have you told anyone about us?” My heart bangs against my ribs as I wait for her answer.
She meets my gaze and shakes her head.
Relief loosens my muscles. I don’t dwell upon why, though I suspect it has something to do with wanting to have a connection with her, one that is just ours.
I regard her with quiet consideration. “Can I ask you something?”
She tips her chin forward in permission.
“Is there any way we could start over?”
I hear her breath catch.
A dry chuckle escapes me. “Not what we had. I’m not asking for that. I just…maybe we could be friends…again.”
“We were never friends,” she whispers. “You were…friends with Aksel and Freja and—”
“The year we were together, we were friends. You were one of my closest friends. I came to you when I lost a patient. You came to me after arguing with a professor. We were more than lovers, Em.”
I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Calypso is going to have a cow that I now want to be friends with my ex. But I do. Seeing Ember again fills a hole in my heart that I didn’t even know was there, but I felt it every fucking day.
She looks out at the snow, away from me. “Friends who ski together, or friends who pretend we never slept together?”
Anger shoots through me at her rejection. “Come on, Em, are you saying we can’t even be….” I trail off.
She smiles like it hurts a little. “Yes, Ransom, that’s what I’m saying. Your…Calypso just warned me off. Do you know that? She said that I was just a fling for you, someone to pass time with, and…anyway, you know that this kind of drama is not my scene.”
Calypso said what? Fucking hell. It seems I need to have a long conversation with my current fling.
“You were never someone I was just passing time with. You were never…just…anything.” I take a breath, calm myself. “You were important to me. You are.”
She studies me. Her breath comes in slow clouds. “Ransom, we are friendly. There’s no ill feeling…not on my side, at least. And it’s not like we see each other often.”
But what if I want to see you often, all the time?
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a maybe.” Sadness flickers across her face. “And maybes aren’t nothing.”
My chest tightens and I struggle to breathe.
“Besides,” she says lightly, “you could use a friend who actually knows what they’re doing on skis.”
There she is, my Em, diffusing tension with humor. “I’m a damn good skier.”
“It’s all relative, Doc,” she calls out as she kicks off down the trail. “Come on now, let me show you how it’s really done.”
I laugh despite myself and follow her.