Chapter 25 Manuela
MANUELA
The gondola sways as it lifts off the platform, the thick cables whirring overhead.
The cars are painted red—-just like every train we’ve been on since arriving in Switzerland—with wide windows that promise panoramic views.
My stomach dips at the jolt, but it’s not the height that unsettles me.
It’s the way we’re packed in, knee to knee, every word or sigh or laugh magnified in this cramped glass box.
Jack sits forward, elbow on his thigh, jaw tight. His gaze is pinned on a peak in the distance, already powdered with snow even though it’s still technically summer. He hasn’t loosened up since George and Camila’s grand entrance this morning.
Meanwhile, George has taken on the role of unofficial tour guide. He gestures dramatically at the ridges and valleys below. “Best view in Switzerland, right here, people.”
“Jesus,” Jack mutters, loud enough for Elle to swat his knee. “Always with the performance.”
Elle leans into him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “At least he’s enthusiastic.” Her laugh is soft, but her grip on Jack’s arm is steady, like she’s still absorbing the shock of her future brother-in-law showing up married. To my roommate.
I’m absorbing it too.
Across from me, Connor stretches out his legs, and the denim of his jeans brushes mine.
He doesn’t glance over, doesn’t acknowledge the touch, but his thumb taps once against his knee.
A nervous habit I’ve already memorized. He did it the first time we met on Elle’s terrace, tapping against his glass, the same look on his face that he wears now—calm, unruffled, like nothing gets to him.
Not even George’s theatrics. Or Camila sitting across the gondola, perfectly poised, nodding along politely at George’s droning narration.
“Stop manspreading, Connie,” Nicole calls from the corner by the door, sipping from a water bottle I would bet anything isn’t filled with water.
The group laughs, the sound bouncing off the glass walls. Connor leans back, smooth as ever, and says nothing. But his knee doesn’t move from mine.
I shift slightly, tugging at the sleeve of my coat to disguise the smile threatening to give me away.
The crunch of our shoes on packed snow fills the silence as we step off the gondola and onto the ridge.
The air bites instantly, sharp enough that I pull my jacket tighter around me even though it does nothing against this kind of cold.
My breath fogs in front of me, curling white and fleeting.
It reminds me so much of Tres Fuegos in July—those bitter, dark winter nights when the only light was the streetlamps and the glow of our own breath as we hurried home, past curfew and still giggling after a few underage drinks.
The entrance to the ice tunnel looms ahead, its archway carved smooth into the glacier.
Blue light glints off every curve and angle, almost otherworldly, like we’ve stepped into some winter fairy tale.
The short walk leads us deeper, the temperature dropping with every step, until our noses sting and my fingers ache even through the thick pockets of my coat.
At the end, glowing warmly against the cold, is a door that opens into a tucked-away restaurant, wood-paneled and golden, the kind of cozy Alpine place you’d never find unless you knew someone.
George whistles under his breath. “You rented this whole thing out?”
“Of course he did,” Nicole mutters, tugging at her scarf. “Wouldn’t be Switzerland if we didn’t have a private lunch at a glacier restaurant.”
Elle squeezes Jack’s hand, looking around with wide eyes, and for once George doesn’t say anything, just beams like the king of surprises.
Camila slips off her gloves beside me, her expression calm but her shoulders pulled straighter than usual, like she’s bracing for every glance that lands her way.
I fall into step beside her, my voice low. “What the fuck is happening?”
Her laugh puffs out in the frosty air. “Surprise.”
“Cami—”
“It’s not what you think,” she cuts me off lightly, smile still plastered on like she’s taking it all in stride. “Paperwork stuff. I’ll explain later.”
I arch a brow, biting back everything I want to ask. “You could’ve given me a heads-up, you know. Just a little ‘by the way, I’m marrying the groom’s brother’ text?”
She bumps my shoulder, conspiratorial. “I didn’t exactly have time between city hall and the airport. Tonight, I promise. Over wine.”
I should be annoyed, but the corners of my mouth twitch. We’ve been roommates for a while now, and in that time, I’ve never seen her bring anyone home except her friends, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been dating.
“It’s a huge surprise, that’s all,” I say, walking in pace with her as we follow the rest of the group. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”
Camila huffs a little laugh, breath fogging in the air. She drags her fingertips through the ice wall as we walk and shivers slightly as we get deeper into the cave. “That’s because there wasn’t anyone to tell you about. Not in the way you think, at least.”
My brows lift. “Cryptic much?”
She shoots me a sly look, cleaning the tips of her fingers on her jeans. “Manu, just… don’t worry. It’s not what it looks like. George has his… reasons. And I have mine.”
That only makes me more curious, but before I can push further, George turns around midstep and bellows some fact about the glacier’s age, and Camila straightens like she’s been caught whispering secrets.
She gives me one last conspiratorial glance, quick and sharp, before slipping into her perfectly poised smile.
We step fully into the restaurant, and the sudden warmth makes my cheeks sting. The group fans out toward the long wooden tables, but Connor slows near one of the icy alcoves that branch just off the main tunnel, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Cold?” he murmurs, low enough that it doesn’t carry.
“Freezing.” My laugh fogs between us. “I can’t feel my nose.”
“Here.” He tugs his red scarf loose and drapes it around my neck, fingers grazing my collarbone. The wool is still warm from his skin, and the gesture feels far more intimate than it should.
I tug it tighter, pretending to fuss with the ends. “You realize this makes us look like a couple in a Christmas card, right?”
His smile curves, subtle but deliberate. “Wouldn’t be the worst look.”
The words land too heavy in my chest, like he didn’t just toss them off casually. My pulse stutters. “You’re ridiculous,” I whisper, trying to laugh, but it comes out thin.
Connor tilts his head, studying me, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something more—something reckless. Instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, so quick I almost doubt it happened until his breath ghosts against my cheek.
“Connor,” I hiss, laughing under my breath, though my voice betrays me with how shaky it sounds. “We’re going to get caught.”
His grin is wicked, lighting his face in the dim glow.
But he doesn’t move right away. His thumb lifts to brush the wool near my jaw, a touch that lingers longer than the kiss itself. Voices carry down the tunnel, louder now, the scrape of chairs and clatter of plates echoing from the restaurant.
“Connor,” I whisper again but softer this time. Warning, plea, all mixed in one.
Instead of answering, he glances down the hall, then back at me, and in the next second, he catches my hand. Before I can react, he’s tugging me into a side alcove where the tunnel curves, shadows swallowing us whole.
“Connor—”
He silences me with his mouth. Not careful this time.
His kiss is hot and consuming, his body crowding mine until my back presses into the cold ice wall.
The shock of chill against my shoulders makes me gasp, and he swallows it, his tongue sliding against mine like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“Jesus,” he mutters against my lips, his breath fogging in the air between us. “Do you know how hard it is not to touch you in front of them?”
He always looks unbothered, smooth, like nothing fazes him. But right now, with his voice rough against my lips, I finally see the crack in his composure. And it thrills me to no end.
The words unravel something inside me. My fingers fist in the front of his sweater, pulling him closer until I feel every line of him, solid and real. My pulse races so fast it drowns out the distant voices.
“We’ll get caught,” I murmur, though I’m not pushing him away.
“Then let’s make it quick,” he whispers and kisses me again, deeper, like he has no intention of stopping. His hands skim down my sides, firm and sure, before he finally drags them back up, cupping my jaw, framing me like I’m something he can’t let himself lose sight of.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, the world outside this alcove feeling too far away to matter.
“We should go,” I manage, though my voice is wrecked and my lips are tingling.
He smiles, quick and wicked. “Lead the way.”
My chest is tight with laughter and panic both. We’re walking back like nothing happened, but the taste of him lingers, sweet and dangerous, and I know I’ll never get through lunch pretending I’m unaffected.