Chapter 31
Ember
It’s our last night in Chamonix.
My suitcase is half-packed.
My chest feels full in a way that makes me both happy and desperate.
It’s been a dream here. And now it’s time to wake up.
I’m scared.
Was this a mere holiday romance? Will it be able to sustain the daily onslaught of the mundane?
As much as I want to feel confident about Ransom and me, I don’t.
Old insecurities raise their ugly heads. He sees it. He tries to reassure me, and in the moment I am assuaged…but after….
The dining room is set for the last night of festivities. Everyone is leaving the following day, driving to Zurich, and flying from there.
Racquel brought out the blue and white porcelain plates and Grand’mere’s silver soup ladle that is polished and cared for like it’s the Holy Grail.
Everyone’s a little tired, a little subdued—but there’s a contentment under the surface, like a collective exhale.
I slip into my chair between Jonathan and Ransom.
My hand brushes his under the table, and he turns to look at me as if I’m made of starlight.
My family notices.
No one’s going to be discreet. This is my family. Loud. Unfiltered, at least around this table.
Chef Pascal and Racquel are joining us for dinner. He’s ornery like Gordon Ramsey, only with a French accent.
Mama taps her knife against a wine glass, stands. “I want to start the evening by thanking Chef Pascal for making our holiday in Chamonix truly memorable.”
We all cheer Chef, who bows but maintains that arrogant look on his face that says, “But, of course, it was memorable; I was cooking.”
“I really liked the profiteroos,” Thomas tells Chef.
“Profiteroles,” Latika tries to teach him.
“That’s what I said,” Thomas protests mutinously.
“My favorite was the chestnut cake,” Anika announces.
And so, everyone tells Chef what they liked. He’s mostly gracious—if a little haughty, which he’s earned, along with his Michelin star.
Then we thank Racquel for taking care of all of us while we’re here, and the chalet when we’re not.
That is the only planned part of dinner, after which, Mama gives everyone carte blanche to do as they feel. “No more holiday duties,” she declares.
“We’re all leaving tomorrow, so, duh!” Freja quips.
Dinner is raucous.
“You looking forward to get back to work?” I ask Jonathan.
He shrugs. Nods. Shrugs. “Politics is hard work.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Right now, it’s harder than it’s ever been,” he confesses. “I’ve been thinking about retiring from Congress, finding another way of serving.”
“No!” I gasp. “We need politicians and leaders like you.”
He grins. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“What does Freja say?” I lean over to see if my sister is paying attention, but she’s deep in conversation with Uncle Bob across the table about some obscure lawsuit in France that she fears will change the face of EU economics.
Uncle Bob is provoking her by calling her just another hysterical feminist.
Awesome!
“She wants me to be happy,” Jonathan admits. “She thinks my being in Congress makes me happy…we’ll see. How about you? Mr. Neurosurgeon, huh?”
I laugh softly. “You approve?”
“I’m a lawyer. I’m paid to be suspicious of everyone.”
“Good to know.” I take a sip of the port served with dessert.
He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “You seem…brighter. Happier. It’s a good thing.”
Aunt Tanya had said I was glowing and my eyes were shining. She also mentioned that maybe LASIK would mean everyone could see my ‘happy eyes’ better.
The memory makes me push my glasses up my nose.
You know who’s never given a damn about my four eyes? Ransom. He just takes them off when he kisses me. That’s all.
“I don’t know if it’s going to last,” I confess.
Jonathan quirks an eyebrow. “He seems committed. You seem committed. So, what’s the rub?”
“I live in Boston. He’s in the Bay Area. How’s this going to work?”
He nods. “Long-distance sucks, not gonna lie about that. But it’s doable. Freja and I did it for two years before we got married.”
I lean in, whisper, “Tell me your secret.”
“Phone sex,” he deadpans.
I nearly choke on my tart. “Jonathan!”
He lounges back in his chair with a smirk. “I mean it. That and scheduling. You don’t ‘just talk when you can’—you make time. You treat each other like you’re in the same city, even when you’re not.”
“Sounds hard.”
“It is. But if you love each other, you show up. You put in the work. All relationships take effort—being long-distance just means you have to work a little harder. It’s not about sharing a bed every night. It’s about not walking away when it would be easier to.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
He pats my arm. “And trust him. If you don’t, it will tear you apart.”
“Trust him as in about other women?”
“That, too. But trust him, as in, he’s as invested as you are,” he advises. “You start with doubts, you let your insecurities run roughshod over you, long distance becomes just another way of saying ‘the end.’”
“I do trust him,” I say and then pause, “But….”
“If you build it…it’ll come. As in, you build your relationship, the trust will come.”
“Damn, for a minute there I thought you wanted us to build a baseball field.”
He grimaces at my lame joke.
After dinner, there’s music.
Uncle Bob insists on singing Sinatra, which he does pretty well, while Papa plays the piano.
Aunt Tanya and Mama dance.
The fire crackles. The kids are playing some weird card game Anika made up.
Aksel and Latika have snuck out for a walk…or whatever, while we all watch the kids. Jonathan and Freja are in a food coma, their word, on a love seat. They’re both half asleep.
Ransom’s got his arm slung around the back of my chair, fingers brushing my neck, like it’s casual, normal, something he’s done a million times and will keep on doing for another million.
And I don’t want him to stop.
That night, in my room, we kiss like we’re making up for every minute we lost and will lose. It’s slow, then hungry, then slow again—like we can’t decide whether we’re trying to memorize or erase time.
His fingers are searing hot, rough calluses scraping against my skin, making me tremble with arousal and anticipation.
His tongue slips into my mouth, teasing, taunting, and I moan. His hands are tugging at my hair, gripping my hips, sliding down to my ass, and squeezing hard enough to hurt.
Pain and pleasure.
I want him to leave bruises. I want him to mark me, claim me, remember me.
His chest is all hard planes of muscle.
I can’t stop myself from running my hands over him, feeling every ridge, every delicious inch of him.
His tongue flicks over my nipple. He bites down—just enough to make me cry out.
Pain and pleasure.
His knee nudges my legs apart, and he’s between them before I can even think about begging.
He leans down, his breath hot against my ear, and whispers, “You’re soaked for me, aren’t you?”
I nod because I can’t speak, and he laughs—a low sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
He settles his shoulders between my thighs, watching me as he licks, sucks, and drives me insane.
I writhe under him. My hands tangled in his hair.
“There. Ransom. There.”
He licks me like he’s starving, like he’s addicted to the taste of me, and I’m so close, so close—
But then he pulls back. “What?”
“Want inside you when you come.” I can barely hear him, he’s so gruff, hoarse.
He slides over my body, covers me, and nudges my core with his erection.
“Tell me you want me,” he growls.
I don’t hesitate. “I want you,” I pant, my voice shaky, desperate.
He slams into me, swallowing my scream into his mouth as he does.
Pain and pleasure.
My nails scrape against his back.
He’s everywhere—his hands, his mouth, his cock—and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.
He’s relentless, thrusting into me.
“You feel so Goddamn good.” He’s pumping hard, and I feel it all the way to my soul. “Fuck, Sweet Em, you’re perfect.”
When he finally comes, it’s with my name on his lips, and I’m right there with him, shattering into a million pieces.
I know it’s going to be a long time before I feel this good again.
After, in the dark, curled against him under a pile of quilts, I whisper, “I’m terrified.”
“I know.”
“I want this. Us. You.”
“And that’s all that matters,” he says. “And we’ll figure out the rest.”
My fingers find his.
He presses a kiss to my temple.
Outside, the wind shifts. The stars flicker. And I know, deep in my bones, that I’m right where I belong.
Even if it won’t always be easy. Even if we’ll have to work for it, because love like this, as Jonathan put it, is worth the effort.