Faux Beau
TRY ON SOMETHING NEW.
When Milly Smartt decided to walk a mile in her sister’s shoes, she had no idea just how badly her feet would ache.
She considered it a win that she’d been able to make it up the tiny slope and snap on her skis without breaking her neck.
Or falling on her face. Or the other million ways a person might die when they decide to go skiing for the first time in twenty years.
So she wasn’t surprised when, standing on the iced-over powder, staring down the ten-foot slope, her legs began to wobble.
To clarify, she hadn’t actually made it to one of the big-people slopes—that would require a ski lift, and the only way Milly’s feet would ever leave the ground would be for a pedicure.
No, she’d opted for the bunny slopes.
“Shins out, hands forward, shoulders in front of your hips,” the instructor, Kelly, called out.
Kelly had blue-streaked hair, enough body ink to fill a dictionary, and the patience of a kindergarten teacher on a field trip. Which was fitting since Milly was the only student over three feet tall. Yup, she was standing in the middle of a group of elementary schoolers, struggling to keep up.
Milly looked around at the snow-blanketed Sierras, the forest of deadly icicles hanging from the sequoias, and was surprised by how everyone hadn’t keeled over and died of hypothermia.
The big flakes that were coming down were hindering visibility, and the winds coming off the white-capped mountains had turned her nose Rudolph-red.
In fact, she would sell her soul for a hot cup of cocoa—spiked of course.
Except Milly wasn’t a quitter. Something she’d learned growing up with an independent, impulsive, don’t-take-crap-from-anyone older sister, who never walked away from an adventure and never gave up when things seemed impossible.
Zoe was the outdoorsy and outspoken sister with this bold look on life, which was how she’d lived—spontaneous.
On the other hand, Milly was more introverted and bookish, and god, did she love a good plan—color-coded with itemized checklists.
But today wasn’t about Milly’s lists, it was about reconnecting with her sister’s memory in the only way she was ready for. And that meant spending an afternoon in her sister’s skis. No matter how ridiculous she looked in Zoe’s Barbie-pink snowsuit and white snow cap.
She only had another couple of weeks to pack up her sister’s belongings before her parents showed up on the doorstep and insisted on helping.
Sorting through her sister’s personal items was like sorting through her sister’s life—which always brought on an acute sense of loss.
But it was time to stop grieving and move on with her own life.
It had been nearly nine months since Milly had walked away from her dream life in New York and returned to Sierra Vista to become Zoe’s caretaker.
Four months since cancer took her sister.
And four months since Milly promised her sister that she’d live a full life—a life big enough for the both of them.
Then last week her dad had a heart attack and had to be airlifted to a bigger hospital in Reno.
After spending three nights by his side, Milly was sent home at her parents’ insistence.
Milly would have argued but she’d landed a contract job to help plan an event in town.
Still, after only a few days home, she needed a distraction from the stress of everything.
“Chase happy,” Zoe had always said, and Milly was ready for some happy in her life.
“Using your poles, push yourself forward to get a little momentum going. As you pick up some speed, remember to use wedge turns for better control as you glide over the snow,” Kelly instructed.
Nerves rioting in her stomach, Milly did as instructed. She gave a little push, a snail-pace push, and slowed to a stop less than three feet from where she’d begun, while the rest of the class zigged and zagged down the hill that, from Milly’s angle, suddenly appeared to be a hundred-foot drop.
“Give it a little more elbow grease,” Kelly said. “The goal is to make it to the bottom.”
Milly glanced around and realized she was the only student still standing at the start of the run. Zoe would have laughed her ass off if she could see Milly now, scared shitless of a little adventure. Then she would’ve shoved Milly down the mountain, screaming for her to take life by the balls.
A twisting heartache knotted in her belly at the reminder of her sister. God, she missed her wit and brazen take on life. She also missed her over-the-top encouragement—which Milly could use a dose of right then.
Channeling her inner ballbuster, Milly took a deep breath, leaned her shoulders over her hips, and pushed forward with her poles. No longer at a snail’s pace—she’d managed to upgrade to sloth mode—Milly watched as three fellow classmates passed her while taking their second run down the mountain.
“Remember to make a triangle with your feet, turning your toes in. The wider your stance, the slower you’ll go,” Kelly instructed from beside her.
Milly made a tight triangle—Pythagorean theorem tight—then dug her poles twelve inches into the powder, scooching herself forward ten feet and stopping with the front of her skis sticking out over the ledge of the hill.
She closed her eyes and blew out a nervous breath. “Baby steps,” she whispered.
“Baby steps are for babies,” the little girl next to her sang as she walked back up the hill. She was barely taller than Milly’s ski poles but had the ’tude of a teenager.
“I am not a baby but a beginner, like you,” Milly said primly.
“Then how come you haven’t moved?”
“I’ve moved.” Nowhere near as much at the others, but she’d moved just enough to remain upright.
“Not enough to zig or zag like Miss Kelly told us to,” her powderpuff of a bully said.
Milly gave a little hop and landed with her skis slightly to the right. “Zig.” She hopped angling them to the left. “Zag. Happy?”
Powderpuff rolled her eyes and said, “Baby,” then took off down the slope, zigging and zagging like she was an Olympian.
Frustrated with herself, and feeling as if she were letting Zoe down, Milly bent at the waist to tighten her bindings, only she leaned too far forward. The slight shift in position caused the front of the skis to slide until Milly was teetering on the edge of the world.
“No, no no!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” the Universe said and suddenly she wasn’t teetering, she was moving. Slow at first, then picking up speed. As the trees raced by, Milly tried to remind herself the rules of skiing.
“Zig and zag, Milly. Zig and zag.” Forcing her feet to turn, Milly zigged to the left, but that put her on a direct route for the parking lot, so she zagged to the right.
Only she zagged too hard, overcompensating and picking up speed.
She tried to turn but her legs weren’t listening.
Maybe because they had morphed into two big trembling wet noodles.
“On your left,” she hollered as she zipped past two of her classmates, nearly taking them out at the knees.
“Kelly,” she hollered over her shoulder, one octave away from manic. “What do I do?”
“Turn your feet in to make a triangle. Like a slice of pizza,” Kelly hollered back. But Milly’s legs stayed knees forward, pointed straight ahead.
Milly looked down at her feet, willing them into a pigeon-toe, but nothing happened. It was like her body wasn’t getting the memo that if they didn’t point in, they were going to die. And how embarrassing would it be to die on the bunny slope.
“Fore!” she called out to everyone around her, her gut telling her she was using the wrong sports metaphor. “Avalanche on the move!”
People scattered out of her way as Milly’s arms, neon-pink poles in hand, flailed in the air, grasping for balance as she barreled forward like Lindsey Vonn in the 2010 Vancouver Games. She nearly buzzed a massive sequoia, veering at the last minute, setting her on a direct course with—
“Oh shit.”
—the stone wall of Sierra Vista Lodge, a luxury ski resort based at the foot of the most treacherous runs in all the Sierra Nevada mountains.
The faster she went, the more imposing the wall became, until she was certain she was going to die. And wouldn’t that piss Zoe off. For Milly to die before at least trying to live balls-to-the-wall. Zoe would accuse her of purposefully dying rather than facing a few of her fears—like ski lifts.
Milly prepared herself for impact, raising her arms in front of her face and closing her eyes. Except when she plummeted into the wall with an oof, she fell forward, rather than bouncing back, in a landing that was softer than expected.
“Ow,” she moaned, putting her hands in front of her to push herself up.
Instead of snow, her hands came into contact with hard ridges and valleys.
Warm, hard ridges and valleys. Raising her head, she blinked up into the most mesmerizing green eyes she’d ever seen.
Eyes that were swimming with concern and a tiny bit of recognition.
“Milly?” her unexpected savior said.
“Am I in heaven?” she asked, and that concern flipped to amusement, but the recognition remained.
“Why? You hoping to see me in heaven?” His voice was rough and low, like tossed gravel on steel, and so familiar she’d recognize it anywhere. It was her first crush.
Lucas Macintyre. Who also happened to be her newest, and only, client—at the moment.