“Maybe April’s friend, Sid,” I suggested helpfully. “Help her move on from possibly-cheating guy.”
April’s features clouded. She definitely didn’t like that idea.
“If I didn’t know about the story with the ex-girlfriend and the memoir, I’d say he could be gay, since the uber-hot ones usually are.” Kat smirked as she set her phone aside. “So why’s the memoir so bad? Is it about the sex stuff he’s into? Like kinky stuff or whatever?”
April shook her head. She was always good for the famous people gossip. “Everyone’s speculating. Especially since Tranxit landed that huge government contract. The lawsuit is still tied up in the courts. Honestly, if he didn’t get her to sign an NDA before they hooked up, then he’s a dummy. Of course, there are all kinds of rumors flying around that she’s going to spill about how he’s into orgies and kink. And since he looks the way he does, some are calling him a ‘real-life Christian Grey.’”
“For the kind of money he’s worth, I might consider a few handcuffs and a riding crop,” Kat cut in with a snort. “He’s Adam’s friend. What tea did your hubby spill to you about him?”
Mia’s mouth twisted. “Very little. Guys don’t talk to each other about that kind of stuff. I doubt Adam knows anything at all about his private life, nor does he care. Dudes are frustratingly uncurious about their peers.” We all laughed at that. “Honestly, he seems very warm to Adam, and to me by extension, but there’s something there that’s a little scary.”
April nodded. “I’d say intimidating, but yeah, he had that kind of presence for sure.”
I cocked my head. “Like, do you think he’s toxic?”
“You girls are overthinking it. Guys like that are probably great if you just want a fun, enjoyable shag.” Kat held up her flute for a refill on her champagne. “Maybe my hubby’s aristocrat influence is wearing off on me, but I used to fucking hate champagne with a red hot bloody passion. This stuff isn’t bad.”
The talk dissipated into other things and I zoned out again, back into my head. I watched Kat absently as she sipped her champagne, thinking about what Lucas had told me our first day here—that he made it a conscious habit to tell her he loved her every night as the last thing he said to her. That had left such an impression on me that I hadn’t truly stopped thinking about it.
What were William’s feelings? He was so hard to read. But he’d totally be the type of man to stay with someone, even if he didn’t love them anymore—out of a sense of loyalty and honor.
Before I even realized I was talking, I blurted out my question to the group. “How often do your guys verbally tell you that they love you? I mean, using those exact words?”
My friends all glanced at each other and then at me. “Uh, I don’t really count.” April says.
“I don’t mean the precise number.” I blew out a breath of frustration. “I’m just talking...in general. How often?”
Mia shrugged, stretching her arms across the lip of the jacuzzi behind her. “Couple times a week, I’d say. Sometimes in person, sometimes in text.”
“Pretty much every time we hook up,” April said with a sly grin.
Kat laughed at both of her friends. “I get it fairly often. But it doesn’t count when he’s grumpy, so that takes a bunch of them away.”
We all laughed at that, but I sobered quickly, biting my lip. When I looked up, I noticed all eyes on me. I blinked.
“Is he not saying it to you?” Mia asked.
I shrugged. “Well, you know Wil. He’s not a big talker.” I gulped and suddenly wished for the champagne flute back, just for something to do.
Mia bit her lip. “He isn’t. But he absolutely does love you, you know, even if he doesn’t say it as often as you’d like. Maybe just talk to him about it?”
I sighed. Just talk to him about it. I guess that was an option. But it might bring on an argument, which I didn’t want, or make him defensive or think less of himself. Or—good god--what if he just blurted out that he didn’t?
Ugh. My stomach twisted.
“It’s probably just sexual frustration. Seduce him,” Heath advised me in the reading nook later that day. I’d been sitting there knitting on the scarf-that-would-never-end and staring at the mountains in quiet contemplation, hoping to bring some inner peace.
Heath and I had gotten to talking a little, and this was his advice… How unoriginal for a guy to suggest sex as the cure-all for every problem.
That definitely wasn’t our issue. William and I had a very healthy and fulfilling sex life. But I didn’t bother to disavow Heath of that assumption. I respected Wil’s preference for privacy, after all. Then again, I’d already asked several people about how to deal with the I love you situation.
“William’s constantly hunched over that sketch book. I’ve been watching him.” Kat said later during an outdoor walk to stretch our legs—after William had declined my invitation.
We made it down the lane to the natural hot springs nearby. But only a crazy person would go swimming in this weather. No matter that the water was probably warm, the air definitely was not. Kat tested the water with her finger, then pulled it out, shaking it off, declaring it way too hot. Guess we’d stick to the indoor jacuzzi, then.
“He told me the sketching is some kind of special project he’s working on. I know it’s not for work, because even Adam noticed and asked him if he was doing work, but he said no. I don’t know...maybe his muse has struck him.”
We turned to go back the way we’d come. “But aren’t you his muse?”
I shrugged. These days, I didn’t feel like it. We got back to the mansion shortly before lunch was ready. I actually grabbed the sketch pad when he left the room to use the bathroom. I shoved it down the back cushion of the same chair he’d been sitting in. There. Now he’d have to pay attention to me!
But it took less than three minutes of my conscience eating at me to chicken out. He’d exited the bathroom and headed straight into the kitchen—briefly stopping to ask if I wanted him to bring me something to drink. As soon as he vanished into the kitchen, I hurriedly removed the pad from its hiding place and replaced it where he’d left it minutes before.
I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. But I sure would have liked it better if he didn’t go back to the sketch pad right after lunch, which he did. So I sat beside him and did my flawed knitting instead. Almost done. When it was a scarf, I’d wrap it around his neck and insist we spend some time in the great outdoors.
The best suggestion came from April as we were getting ready for our afternoon activity, a wine and cheese tasting at the local, high-end restaurant.
“I have an idea. You should do something fun and romantic that will force him to hold your hand the whole time.”
“And what would that be?” I braced myself for another sex suggestion like Heath’s.
“Go ice skating!”
I all but laughed. Goddess, what a brilliant idea!
Chapter 14
William
I don’t like ice skating. And I really don’t like being out in the cold much. My cheeks sting. And it’s really disconcerting that I can see exactly how much breath I exhale every single time. I don’t like being able to see air. It’s not natural. I point this out to Jenna as we make our way to the rink in the little village of Whistler. But all she does is laugh.
She must think I’m joking. She should know better by now. I most definitely am not joking.
But here we are, putting on ice skates—rented ice skates that have recently been worn by someone else. “There are more than two hundred different types of fungi that inhabit the human foot,” I mutter as I pull the boot on.
“That’s why they spray them out with cleaner in between every use. Plus, people do have socks on.”
“I’m not convinced that they do an adequate job with coverage to get every spot.”
She bends over me to help tighten my laces, her hair falling forward and exposing her long, pale neck. Every time I see that
neck exposed, I want to kiss it. Every time. Most of those times I refrain.
The boot leather closes around my ankles and I suppress a wince. New experiences. We’d agreed...both of us...that we’d try anything once—within reason. At the beginning of our relationship, we’d sat down and had this discussion. I could hard pass on up to ten types of activities—anything involving heights, for example, was on the no list. But she could count on me to have an open mind to try things at least once. I could then declare that something we did that I don’t like would go on a never do again list. The water park and mud spa are at the top of that list.
After tightening my laces, Jenna stands up, then pulls something out of the plastic shopping bag she’d carried with her. It’s the beige wool scarf she’s been knitting for me. My specially-made-by-hand Christmas present. She’d purchased some things for me too, new shirts, socks, a few art journals, a fountain pen and ink, and some fresh new chalk pastels—the brand I preferred. But the scarf, a product of her hands, is what I’ve truly treasured.
Now she’s wrapping it around my neck. It’s a little scratchy on my cheeks. I don’t like natural wool against my skin, but this type was softened with lanolin. It’s more tolerable, and my cheeks don’t sting as much with the cold now. Besides, I love the way she looks as she meticulously arranges it and ties it around my neck. I look up at her, studying her face as she concentrates on what she’s doing. She’s wearing pale pink, which is the color I’ve always preferred seeing on her. It blends well with her coloring, that pale blond-white hair, those cerulean eyes.
Beautiful. Breath-taking. In fact, I’m holding my breath right now as I look at her. On her head, a pale pink knit beanie is pulled down past her ears, her long silky hair spilling out over her shoulders. She’s exquisite. And she’s mine.
And she spent hours practicing how to knit while making this scarf just for me. It’s far from perfect, as I’ve pointed out to her. And with practice, she’ll improve. But this scarf is precious. Even if a little scratchy.
No matter.... time to venture out on the ice with all of my body weight balanced on top of two thin blades. This looks so much easier watching it on the screen at the Olympics.
“I learned how to skate when I was a little girl in Bosnia.” She said, wrapping her hand around mine. She suddenly looks so much smaller now that I’m standing, looking down at her. “My papa loved skating, so he took us out into the country and we’d skate on a crystal clear frozen lake. Every time I go ice skating, I remember those days.”
A sweet memory. I’d be more charmed about it if I wasn’t currently scared for my own life. As we hit the entrance to the rink, my heart is beating, and my breath—oh so visible with every puff—is streaming everywhere. All the more annoying. I’m so distracted by my heavy breathing fogging up the surrounding air that I barely register the minute my blades hit the ice. And I almost go flying.
Nope. Nope. Okay. I’ve tried it. I don’t like—as predicted—and now I’m done. Time to add another entry to the list.
“Move to the railing, Wil! Use it to steady yourself.”
I do as she asks, shuffling awkwardly over to the edge.
“I’m going to break my skull on that ice.” I nod toward the ice to emphasize where it just might happen.
“You’re not going to break your skull. I’m right here.”
I study her feet. She’s standing confidently on her blades as if she’s lived on them her entire life. I frown. Not fun. Not fun at all. I am officially not having fun, nor have I had fun since slipping the borrowed boots of questionable cleanliness onto my feet.
I’m still clinging to the railing unmoving like it’s my lifeline. “I’d like to point out that my body weight and overall strength is almost one and a half times yours, so I fail to see how you’d prevent me from falling and breaking my skull.”
A burst of foggy air escapes Jenna’s mouth, and she looks like she’s trying hard not to laugh. “I could cushion you if you fall. You could fall on me.”
I give her a look. “I’d rather crush my own skull than injure you.”
“You aren’t going to do either. C’mon Wil, one time around the rink and you’ll be on your own two feet like a pro. I bet you’ll love it enough to go around more times!”
She’s wrong. I don’t like it one bit, and it takes us nearly three quarters of an hour to make it around to the point where we started. She isn’t smiling as much now.
“I’m cold and this fog is making it hard to see,” I tell her.
“Yes, yes. I got that the fifth time you told me.” She sounds weary now—tired and not her sparkling self. She keeps wanting to hold hands as I shuffle slowly along but I don’t trust that. I have both hands hooked on the railing, making progress by inches. The end is almost in sight.
Happily, I make it and spend the rest of the session sitting in the stand sipping hot chocolate while I watch her skate easily against the backdrop of the pale mountains all around us. She can do turns and even skate backwards. Watching her is much more fun than attempting that circuit on those death blades.
My eyes are still watering from the cold, but my hands are warm, thanks to the cocoa. My cheeks are warm thanks to her imperfect, scratchy wool scarf. This isn’t ideal, but it’s much better than risking my life on the ice. Plus, I get to watch my beautiful girl glide across the ice, a childlike smile on her face. It brings to mind another black ink and watercolor I’d like to do. But I’ve got that very important project to finish first. Unfortunately, the sketchbook is back at the cabin. I make plans to get to it as soon as we return.
Fortunately, the sketch pad is right where I left it.
I set to work. Jenna informs me that she’s tired and wants to take a nap. I nod, and then she asks if I’d like to come nap with her. But I’ve been so focused on the new inspiration I’ve had for my project, I want to get to it. Plus I’ve never been much of a napper anyway. Come to think of it, neither is she. The ice skating must have worn her out. But as she’s going off to our room, I hear her muttering to herself about how unromantic I am.
As I continue to sketch, I’m a little perturbed by that. I decide to ask my friends for ideas on how to do something romantic to surprise her. I make a point of avoiding Jordan, however. He always gives the worst advice.
“Hmm,” Adam says, then digs out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and skims it. “Oh, here’s one I probably won’t get the chance to use. Draw her a nice hot bubble bath and share it with her. I know you hate champagne, but maybe put some juice in wine glasses or something?”
Not a bad idea.
But now I need some female input on the best way to draw a bubble bath, so when Kat passes by my chair a few minutes later, I ask her if she’s busy.
“Just taking my cup to the sink. What do you need?”
“Do you like bubble baths?”
She blinks. “Umm that’s a random question. I don’t get the chance to take them much, but yeah, they can be really nice.”
She angles around as if to get a glimpse at what I’m sketching, but I close the book before she can.
“I’d like to make a bath for Jenna.”
Kat’s expression changes. “Oh, she’d like that. I can give you some ideas. Definitely get a couple bath bombs.”
I envision an explosion in the middle of soapy water, like a miniature mushroom cloud rising into the air with violent force. Maybe like a geyser? That doesn’t sound restful, relaxing or romantic.
She must have perceived my confusion because now she explains. “It’s a product you put in the water and it dissolves, makes the water smell amazing and your skin silky soft.
“But why is it a… bomb?”
She cocks her head to the side and stares at the ceiling. “I actually have no idea whatsoever. You should ask Anna to pick you up some stuff to make her a nice bath. Make sure it’s steamy but not too hot.”
That’s a good idea. Anything warm right now sounds amazing and I’m anxious to try it wi
th her. The tub in our suite is definitely large enough to fit us both. Much more preferable than doing more activities outside where we can’t even breathe without seeing every single exhalation as a puff of fog.
I pull out my phone and send a text to the concierge asking her to find some fancy bubble bath soap or bombs. And some rose petals.
Chapter 15
Katya
“So… how’s the prep for the big ski competition going? Are you getting your head in the game so you can show that man his place?” Mia asked me with a grin over a mug of afternoon tea.
I looked up at her from where I was studying the map of the Whistler-Blackcomb ski runs on my tablet and blew out a long, exasperated breath. This whole race thing had been taken way too far and people were taking this nonsense far too seriously, damn it all. It wasn’t like—
“Don’t disappoint me, now,” she said with a sing-songy tone. “I’ve got fifty bucks for you in the pool.” The what now? Oh hell, people did have money riding on this?
I arched a brow. “Your husband is a billionaire. With a B. And you’re worried about fifty bucks?”
She dipped her head demurely and shrugged, a shy smile playing on her mouth. “It’s my money, not his. Besides it’s the principal of the thing. Girl power and all that. You need to show Lucas who’s the boss.”
“Just like you did with Adam?”
She snorted that adorable laugh of hers. “Right. Of course. It’s the natural order of things.”
I sighed into my own cup. This damn ski competition was officially making me miserable during a holiday I was supposed to be enjoying. I mean, when I wasn’t stressing about whether or not my ski skills were up to snuff, I was stressing about why my husband was acting so preoccupied and brushing me off whenever I wanted to talk to him.
We were supposed to be up here enjoying the slopes, each other, and our circle of friends, weren’t we?
For The Holidays (Gaming The System Book 9) Page 8