Chapter Eighteen Put Yourself First
Chapter Eighteen
Put Yourself First
In the morning Vaughn has made us all breakfast sandwiches, and after we eat, we congregate in the living room, gathering supplies for a day on the mountain. Ski goggles. ChapStick. Tissues. Ski gloves. Hand-warmer packets. And of course our lift tickets for Aspen Snowmass.
Hart looks boyishly handsome in his navy blue wool base layer and thick ski socks.
After what happened between us last night, I should feel self-conscious. Maybe a little awkward. Instead I feel liberated. He made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world last night. Cherished. Worshipped. And waking up in his arms was the sweetest blessing.
He gives me a secret smile and presses a kiss to the side of my neck.
“Get a room,” Vaughn says, rolling her eyes, but her voice is filled with humor.
I press my hand to Hart’s firm chest, making some space between us, and fix him with a look that says behave .
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, a hint of amusement on his perfect features.
“I think so,” I say while sipping from a bottle of water. My father taught me to ski, and we spent many winter breaks at Breckenridge. I’ve found plenty of water is the key to mitigating the effects of the high elevation.
My phone rings, and I check it to see that it’s Joslyn. Frowning, I decide not to answer, and text her instead.
Alessia: Can I call you later? I won’t have much reception on the mountain. About to hit the slopes!
We set out for the base village and are soon riding the lift up to the top of the twelve-thousand-foot mountain. The views are breathtaking—the bright-blue cloudless sky provides the perfect backdrop for the snow-covered peaks. A bluebird day , my dad would call it.
Whit yodels on the chairlift, causing us all to laugh. Hart pulls out his phone and snaps a selfie of us. With our helmets, mufflers, and goggles, you can barely tell who’s who in the photo, but our smiles are unmistakable.
I didn’t realize Hart snowboarded. The rest of us have skis, but watching him carve his way down the mountain effortlessly riding the edges is captivating.
His tall frame easily maneuvers alongside me.
With his black helmet, blackout goggles, and face covered with a muffler, I can’t actually see any of him, but he gives me a thumbs-up, which I return, laughing.
We have an absolute blast, skiing blues and blacks and playing follow the leader all the way down the mountain.
Vaughn is fast and sets an impressive pace.
Usually followed by Hayes, then Hart and me.
Whit takes his time, sailing smoothly behind us.
For once I don’t feel my age. I easily keep up with the group, laughing and enjoying myself as I cruise down the breathtaking mountain.
We stop for lunch at a slope-side bistro tucked away on the mountain that offers panoramic views and a casual setting. I see two more missed calls from Joslyn, but when I try to call her back, just like I predicted, I have no service.
We pile our helmets and gloves on an extra chair and order more food than we have any hope of eating. Hart’s hair is exceptionally messy, and I take a picture of him with my phone.
Vaughn runs her fingers through her own tangled locks, laughing. “Ski hair, don’t care.”
Even Hayes seems to be playing nice. “Anyone want some of these fries?” He shoves a basket of fries to the center of the table. “Alessia?”
Since I know the value of playing along, I accept, taking a single fry.
After lunch we bundle up in our gear and head back outside to clip into our skis.
Vaughn asks a nearby skier to take a photo of our group.
Then she asks for my phone number and texts me the picture.
I hear my phone chime in my zippered pocket and remember that I need to call Joslyn back later.
Curving to the left through a grouping of pine trees, we make our way to a run the guys have been begging to try.
Whit’s eyes are filled with mischief like he’s up for a wild adventure, and I brace myself for a challenge.
We make it to the base, and this time, I find myself riding the chairlift with Whit. I wave to Hart, who’s behind us.
“That run was wild. I think my legs are numb.” I groan.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are thank you, Whit. ”
I laugh.
“He’s different around you, you know?”
I didn’t expect we’d talk about Hart.
“Is he?”
He shrugs, shaking a hand-warmer pack. I wait to see if he’ll say more. He shoves the packet into his mitten and looks out at the horizon.
“Vaughn told me he’d been through a bad breakup and could use a little fun.
” The words taste bitter in my mouth. I’m downplaying our connection.
It stopped being just fun weeks ago. Being near him, laughing with him, looking into his eyes, I realize I’ve done something I didn’t mean to do. I’ve fallen in love with him.
Whit gives me a serious look, his jaw flexing. “I hope you know what you’re doing. His parents will not be as accepting as his friends.”
His words are ominous, and my stomach drops, and not from our gain in elevation.
Toward the end of the day, the guys want to take one more run, so Vaughn and I head back to the hotel. Après ski is enjoyed with a mimosa by the fireplace in the living room and girl talk.
Vaughn folds her legs beneath her and gives me a long look. “You two vibe well together. Better than I’ve ever seen him with anyone else.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I wasn’t sure at first. But you’re great for him. I just thought you should know.” Her face holds a satisfied little smile.
Her words shouldn’t affect me like they do, but she’s right. Whatever roadblock I might try to invent, there’s no denying that impossibly, unfeasibly, we are good together. I try to push the words Whit said to me on the chairlift from my brain.
“What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
She scoffs. “Absolutely not. Guys my age are horrible .” She seems to catch herself. “Except Hart, of course.”
Of course. Yikes.
Suspicion snakes its way through my stomach. “You two never ...?” I let the rest of that sentence hang there.
She laughs so hard she can’t breathe. “No.” She finally gets the word out. “He’s like a brother to me.”
Laughing with Vaughn feels like the most natural thing in the world, but it’s then that I realize I left Joslyn hanging all day. “Do you mind if I give my assistant a call?”
She nods. “Of course not.”
I find my phone and press her contact information.
“Hey,” Joslyn answers, sounding guarded.
“Sorry I didn’t call you back. Is everything okay?”
There’s a long, pregnant pause. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. There’s an article that’s been written about you. And Hart.”
I feel time stop, and my brain short circuits. I rise from the couch and head into the bedroom, shooting what is probably a panicked look at Vaughn just before I close the door.
“And there are pictures,” Joslyn adds.
“Send me the link.” My voice sounds robotic.
“Okay,” she says.
And then we hang up and I wait in agony for the article to slowly load, pacing the bedroom.
I hoped that nonsense on the podcast would be the end of it. Apparently not.
The photos of us are from the hockey game we attended.
His hand is on my hip. Mine is in his back pocket.
We look very comfortable together. Very couple-y.
There’s no other way to spin this. The way he’s gazing down at me when I sat on his knee in the suite makes my heart throb.
He’s giving me a look that’s filled with so much adoration and warmth. Only now I feel numb and foolish.
“Okay. Okay,” I say to myself reassuringly, scanning the article. “This isn’t too bad.” But then I get to the comments section and see that every troll on the internet has weighed in on this.
There are six thousand comments! Comments calling me a cougar and a gold digger and others that wonder what he sees in me, saying I’m not even that pretty.
Saying he could do much better, and citing his supermodel ex as evidence, another commenter questions his family’s funding of the project and how inappropriate it is for us to be romantically involved. I feel physically sick.
I text Scarlet the link.
Alessia: HALP! Some idiot wrote an article naming Hart as the much younger guy I’m seeing. This is bad, right? This feels bad.
Scarlet: Please hold. I’ll read and advise. Don’t panic yet.
I draw a deep breath and try to do as she’s instructed while my blood thunders in my ears.
The comments are brutal. There’s no denying that. Apparently, my newfound bliss has managed to anger some people. Scarlet is the epitome of a ride or die. I wait, half expecting her to reply with a plot for murder or at least with a way to get the article taken down ASAP.
My phone rings and it’s Scarlet.
“Did you read it?” I blurt.
“Yes, I did. First, take a deep breath, Alessia. I know this is hard.”
You’re damn right it’s hard. “People are saying horrible things about me online.”
Scarlet makes an exasperated sound. “Do not read the comments. You never read the comments!”
“Well, too late.” I begin pacing again.
“Breathe, Alessia,” she encourages, and I do. Pulling a long, slow breath into my lungs, I continue to pace.
“You need to remember, these people are strangers emboldened because they’re behind a phone or computer screen.
Their opinions shouldn’t matter. They don’t know the real you.
How amazing and incredible you are. The people who know you, your friends and family, won’t believe any of this nonsense for a minute.
You are amazing. Don’t let this get into your head. ”
I draw a slow breath, my panic subsiding just a little. “Thanks, Scar.”
“You bet. And I’m serious. These people’s opinions don’t matter. That said ... there could be something to the idea that it’s improper because of his family’s investment.”