A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1)

by Hallie Swanson

  “Surely you can’t still be tired?”

  She nods. Maybe the gin and tonic wasn’t such a good idea. Carefully I move my foot along the floor tiles, nudging the glass under the sunbed. Turning over on her side, she takes up the foetal position, drawing her knees up to her waist. I look at the outline of her sex through her tankini bottoms and quash my frustration by biting down on my lip.

  “Come on, Darc, wake yourself up, you’ve been asleep most of the day.”

  She doesn’t answer, so I walk my hands either side of her, sandwiching her between my arms.

  “Get off.”

  She wriggles herself free, and pushing me away, she sits up.

  “This isn’t jet lag. Come on, out with it, what’s up?”

  “Seriously, do you really need to ask?”

  I grind my back teeth. “Surely you’re not still bitching on about Rayne?”

  She doesn’t reply. Opening a small grey case at her side, she slips on a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses.

  I huff. “So it is Rayne then.”

  She turns her back on me. I smile to myself; she’s so transparent, I can almost see right through her. I take her shoulder, trying to turn her back.

  “I’ve already explained it was nothing.”

  “Well it didn’t sound like nothing.”

  I can’t see her face, though I can hear the sharpness in her voice. She rolls back over to face me.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Give me a break, will ya?”

  She remains expressionless.

  “I’ve already told you, he’s pissed at me for telling you about Summer.”

  She lifts her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose and raises her eyebrows. I can tell by her change of expression that she’s waiting for more. I drop my eyes, wondering what I should say.

  “And?” Her tone jolts me from my thoughts.

  “Things aren’t what they seem.”

  Shit, what am I saying? I didn’t mean to say that. But as I look into her eyes, they appear to hold a greater interest.

  “Go on…”

  How the fuck do I talk my way out of this one? My eyes narrow.

  “Darcy, it’s as simple as this. Me being here is no more than a game to him.”

  Her brows furrow. “Him?”

  If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure she hates that man.

  “I’m nothing, Darcy. The hotels, the money, it’s all Rayne, he owns everything. It was a gesture of good will that he handed me this lifestyle.” I lift my hand, clicking my fingers. “And as quick as that he can take it away.” My shoulders drop. “Where does that leave me?”

  I look at her face. God, I’m good at this. I imagine I could spin anyone a yarn and manage to talk my way out of a paper bag. But I can’t be had for lying to her, because I’m not, I just don’t see the need to elaborate further. My voice lowers, with the odd crack here and there; it’s my way of opting for the sympathy vote. Her face softens immediately. Fuck me, my acting skills are so damn good. I have to bite the insides of both my cheeks to hold my face straight and prevent myself from breaking out into laughter.

  After a second of looking as though I’m composing myself, I continue.

  “My so-called friends only want me for my money. That’s just it, Darc, everyone wants a piece of Snow. Without all this…”

  I get to my feet and look out from my balcony at the panoramic view, then turn my head and look back through the open patio door and beyond into our luxurious suite.

  “Without all this…” I say, gesticulating with my arm, “what’s to keep you here?”

  My throat tightens, and on this occasion it is not an act. I can feel my heart pounding beneath my chest; I really can’t lose her. She’s become a drug in my life, and I’m addicted to her.

  “Snow, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care about money, I wouldn’t care if you had nothing. I just want us to be happy.”

  I decide to drop the act, allowing her a part-truth.

  “Things aren’t that bad, I have money stashed away in offshore accounts, but the way I spend, I’ll be bankrupt within months.”

  “I’m sure you’re overreacting, he’s your brother—”

  “No, Darcy,” I interrupt, “Rayne’s no brother of mine. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but I can see my whole existence crumbling down around me, it’s only a matter of time.”

  I lean against the balcony, resting my head in my hands. Fuck it, Rayne’s in England with his shag piece, so for now our secret is safe.

  “Hey, Darc, let’s forget what I’ve said and just enjoy the rest of the day.”

  Her eyes widen. “If your brother’s that much of a bastard, let him have his money, his hotels, he’s welcome to them.”

  Why did I open my mouth? She’s not going to drop this now. I blow out my cheeks and give a long drawn-out breath on hearing her continue.

  “Rayne can’t take Mum and Dad’s house off us, you’ve already bought it, it’s ours, so at least we have somewhere to live. As for money, there are plenty of jobs out there; there are pages and pages of them listed in our local paper, it’s just a case of looking. We’ll be okay.”

  Her eyes lift to meet mine.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Can’t you just be happy living a normal life like everyone else?”

  No, that’s just it, I can’t. Not wanting to carry on the conversation any longer, I just nod. I see the deep breath she takes and gather she hasn’t finished, so I raise my hand.

  “Look, you’re still jet lagged after the flight and I’ve got one mother-fucker of a headache coming on, so I’m going to turn the air-con on, take a couple of aspirin and lie down for a while. Top up your tan; we’ll hit the beach tomorrow.”

  The mood this morning is far lighter and far happier than the rather fraught episode of yesterday. As soon as I opened my eyes and the sun filtered through the blinds, I rang down for room service to bring us breakfast in bed, though Darcy had already showered and dressed, and insisted we had breakfast downstairs. Eating in the hotel restaurant is a rarity for me; I choose my own company and my own space to enjoy my food, but after yesterday I think it best I keep in her good books and go along with her wishes.

  Buttering a piece of toast, she beams across the breakfast table. My lips curve, though don’t quite make the smile I intend. A hand pats me on the shoulder, and a portly gentleman with a receding hairline begins talking to me like I’ve known him all my life. I don’t get chance to reply as he waffles on about his and his wife’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and the sea-view room he’d booked but never got. I tell him to go back to his table and write his room number down on a serviette, then I’d speak to reception and get it sorted. He is the first of many interruptions we have while attempting to eat breakfast. I have no idea which member of staff has let slip that I’m the owner, but I will get to the bottom of it, and when I do I’ll be having words.

  Darcy wipes the crumbs from her fingers, pushes her chair out from the table and heads back towards the buffet. In her absence I make out Chase standing at the far end of the dining room next to the coffee machine. I watch the way he fraternises with the guests and see the way they laugh; no doubt he’s telling one of his piss-poor jokes, the ones I’ve heard a thousand times. I glance down into my latte, rubbing my hand over my brow. I hope to God he isn’t telling them the pube story; he’d be sure to clear the restaurant, and we’d probably end up with the inspectors here this time tomorrow. I gaze back up and see the fucker pointing at me; actually, he’s pointing me out. I catch his eye, and he breaks into a smile and waves. The guests turn from him, their eyes following his finger to where I sit. Discreetly behind their backs he cups his hand, giving me the wanker sign. I nod politely their way, putting on my professional face. Whispering between themselves, the holidaymakers smile, and taking their coffee and plates they disperse between tables.

  ‘You’re dead,’ I mouth. He smirks a
nd then the sarcastic git blows me a kiss. I have to turn away, for my instinct is to walk over and wipe that smug smile off his face.

  “Great hotel, Snow.”

  A shadow passes over my table as another hand pats my shoulder. Just when I want to be invisible to the world, I feel like all eyes are on me. Being the face of the Seasons Hotels, I usually wear my position well and deal with the small talk and bullshit that come with running this place. Surely it’s not too much to ask to be able to spend a few weeks incognito with the woman I’m totally crazy about.

  Maybe wiping the smile off Chase’s face is a bit hasty; I’ll have a quiet but stern word in his ear. I lift the serviette off my lap and place it next to my empty plate, then slowly gaze up to see if he’s still alone. Shit, he’s talking to Darcy. Where the fuck did she come from? Vanessa stands between them, dressed in the tightest pair of shorts I think I’ve ever seen. She knows the dress code in the dining room, but still hasn’t the decency to cover up and wear a T-shirt over her tiger-print bikini; she flaunts it wherever she goes. I slouch in my chair. I could have taken Darcy to Barbados, St Lucia … I reel off destinations in my head. Of all the places in the world, why did I choose to bring her here? Looks like that old saying has substance to it: you don’t shit where you eat.

  Chase’s shoulders shake as his face creases in laughter. Darcy looks over at me; I gaze back at Vanessa and can’t help wondering what that bitch is saying to them now. I struggle to keep focused as I’m bombarded by a stream of holidaymakers; it’s literally one interruption after another. No more, I’ve had enough. I throw my hands over my eyes, much preferring darkness to the other options I’m faced with. Again a hand rests on my shoulder, but this is one hand too many and my head shoots round.

  “Vanessa!” I gasp.

  “This is my last day here, I fly home tomorrow. Just asked Chase if he’d mind giving me a lift to the airport.”

  “And Darcy,” I’m quick to add, “what did you say to her?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.” She lowers her eyes. “She’s very beautiful. Look after her, you’ve got yourself a good one there.”

  God, how guilty does she want to make me feel? I reach for my shoulder, resting my hand over hers.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  She shakes her head. “No, Snow,” she says, passing me that cat-like grin of hers. “Am I jealous? Yes, a little; what we had was great while it lasted.”

  She really is someone who laps up the high life, and sleeping with me, that’s what she got. A far cry from the one-bedroom flat I know she’s going back to. I squeeze her hand.

  “I’ve got a wad of notes in my wallet; take what you want, upgrade your ticket to first class and fly home in style, on me.”

  She laughs. “Thanks, but no thanks. Like I said, we’ve had fun; you gave me what I wanted and more.”

  She straightens her back and sticks her 32DDs in my face. Then she leans forward, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

  “I’ll be thinking of you on my journey home.” She giggles. “And hey, if things don’t work out between you two, you know where I am.”

  I nod, but deep down I know it’ll be the last time I will ever set eyes on Vanessa. Darcy and Chase walk back to the table to join me, and Vanessa walks away.

  Darcy pulls up the chair next to mine while Chase takes the chair opposite.

  “Chase, you’re a Class A twat.”

  “Maybe, Snow, but you love me.”

  I shake my head.

  “So…” My eyes shift to Darcy. “You met Vanessa then. What had she got to say for herself?”

  “Not a lot,” she replies, nibbling on an apple. “Just wanted a lift to the airport.”

  Hearing that, I sit more easily.

  “Oh…” she adds, placing her hand over her mouth while she’s chewing, muffling her words. “And she said that when you heard she was leaving, you insisted she take your private jet.”

  “Oh really?” I say, raising my brows and then looking to Chase to verify the fact, but the majority of his face is buried in his coffee mug.

  I roll my eyes; Vanessa is one woman who’ll always land on her feet. I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s one shrewd cookie.

  Sick of the constant interruptions, I decide to cut breakfast short. We leave the dining room and leave Chase doing what he does best, making himself look busy doing fuck all. I purposely walk behind Darcy as we meander through the reception area. God, does she look sexy in my white vest, the way it hangs over her curves. My eyes lower to her ass, and she looks sexier still in her sheer black sarong that brushes against her thighs each time she opens her legs to take a step.

  I glance around. Carlos is taking a call behind the reception desk, and on seeing me, he smiles, raises his hand and waves. I nod in acknowledgement. We pass the lift and head towards the glass doors leading out to the grounds and infinity pool. Darcy’s head flicks round, I guess to say something to me, and she trips; I catch her arm to steady her.

  “Those fucking suitcases,” I mutter under my breath.

  They’re strewn everywhere; I can always tell when I’ve been away for a few weeks. I turn back towards reception and Carlos is still talking on the phone. I point to the suitcases, shaking my head. He puts his thumb up, so I figure he’s got the message.

  I can hear the click of Amparo’s heels before I see the little Mexican waitress hurrying from the dining area.

  “Sir, sir,” she calls.

  For fuck’s sake, what now?

  “Darcy, I won’t be long. Go and grab us a couple of sunbeds,” I say, passing her my sun hat and sunglasses.

  “Sir…”

  “Yes, Ampa?”

  “Rayne wishes to speak to you urgently.”

  Even dressed in my Bermuda shorts and white vest, they still can’t leave me alone.

  “Ampa, you haven’t seen me.” My eyes widen. “Understood?”

  “But, sir…”

  “You haven’t seen me,” I snap.

  Like a child who’s just been scolded, she sucks in her lips and lowers her head.

  I often forget I’m not in England. People here are so much more laidback and softly spoken that it’s easy to offend them. Feeling guilty, I open my mouth to apologise, but the moment has gone. Carlos calls out to her, pointing towards a table in the bar, and with her head still bowed, she scurries away.

  Scooting past the suitcases, the double doors open. The heat takes my breath away as I walk from the hotel’s air-conditioned lobby. My eyes scan the pool area as I wander between the sunbeds. Santiago, the towel man, walks towards me. He’s dressed in his uniform, an orange and white striped shirt and white trousers.

  “Good morning, sir,” he greets, handing me a mustard-coloured beach towel.

  “Where is she?” I ask, tossing the towel over my left shoulder.

  He doesn’t need to answer, as following the direction of his eyes I see her.

  “Thanks,” I say, tapping him on the back.

  Darcy is leaning up on her elbow with a tall glass in her hand, sipping a multicoloured drink through a straw. The white plastic sunbed next to her has no cushion.

  “My sunbed, Santiago,” I say, clicking my fingers.

  Before I get to her side, he’s already laying it down for me. I drag the towel from around my shoulders, flick it out over the padded cushion and straighten it with my hands.

  “This is heaven,” she utters, passing Santiago her empty glass.

  I pull my sunbed as close to hers as I can, then lay back on it to join her.

  “Make that two more of those cocktails.”

  “Right away, sir,” he says, making his way towards the pool bar.

  “Oh, Ralph handed me this,” Darcy pipes up.

  I scrunch my face as she hands me a white serviette.

  “His room number is written on the other side.”

  I read Room 228.

  “Ralph?” I ask as I take it from her.

  “Yeah, you know; l
ook, he’s over there in the pool.”

  I push myself up, using my hand to shade my eyes. Darcy nudges my arm, passing me my sunglasses.

  “Oh, and I met Pamela, his wife,” she continues. “It’s their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

  I see that receding hairline as he emerges from underwater; thankfully, he’s rubbing the chlorine from his eyes so doesn’t see me. I’m quick to lie back down. It’s that stupid old git from the restaurant.

  Darcy waves her hand towards him, but I reach up and grab her wrist.

  “What are you doing?” I say under my breath.

  “He said he wanted to speak to you.”

  I sigh, holding my head in my hands. Please not again. If he leaves me the fuck alone I’ll sign him into the presidential suite. Uncovering my eyes, my attention reverts to Darcy.

  “Don’t you think he spent enough time talking to me in the restaurant? What more can one man say? I already know the names of all four of his kids, and his fucking dog for that matter…”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I know! Jessica, Pete, Taylor, Connor, and I think the dog’s name was…” She pauses.

  “Buster! The dog’s name was Buster. Anyway, what he wants, I’m sorting.” I can hear the harshness in my tone, but it’s not meant to be directed at her.

  “Okay … I didn’t know,” she utters sheepishly.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just getting sick of all the interruptions. It’d be nice to have a bit of us time.”

  I stroke the inside of her arm; her skin feels moist and glistens in the sunlight.

  “Close your eyes and soak up the sun,” I tell her as I fold the serviette and slide it into the pocket of my shorts. “Have you put your lotion on?” I ask her with a raised brow.

  “Yeah, after my shower, you saw me.”

  “That was a couple of hours ago, far too long.”

  I reach between the sunbeds and into her flowery beach bag, pulling out a tube of factor twenty.

  “Turn over, onto your stomach.”

  “Really? So soon?” she quizzes as I unscrew the lid.

  It’s literally killing me keeping my hands to myself; I’m dying to touch her.

  “Yes, I’m bloody good at this,” I insist, mimicking sweeping hand motions for her to see.