Page 1 of Ice To Meet You

1

ESMÉ

The last time I’d strapped on skis, I nearly ended up in a hospital bed. This time, neither failure nor plaster cast was an option.

I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. The searing glimmer of crisp snow assaulted me, making my vision swim.

“Esmé! Over here.”

Maria Romano beckoned me from the chairlift queue like an eager schoolgirl. Tiano was one of Northern Italy’s most exclusive resorts, and Maria fit right in. Dressed in pristine skiwear, she looked every bit the glamorous society wife. Her deep tan glowed in the sunlight, but it was her effortless confidence and infectious spirit that I truly admired

I joined her, tightly packed snow crunching under my borrowed ski boots. “Sorry, I’m still tired. I caught an early flight.”

She eyed me steadily. “Really? I thought you might have arrived last night— indulged in a little après-ski in one of the local bars. A beautiful young woman like you wouldn’t be drinking alone for long.” She lifted a brow as far as her injectableswould allow. “Our Italian men have a reputation for being even more charming than your French.”

I smiled. The only “charming” I intended to focus on involved convincing her husband to invest in my new art gallery. A few wealthy families fiercely guarded entry to the Italian art scene, and Gio Romano was a walking, talking key.

“Well, don’t you look bravissimo,” a booming voice rang out behind me. Gio headed towards us with an armful of skis and a beaming smile. HisRay-Bansreflected in the sun, and I couldn’t help but smile, too. He and his wife wore matching leopard print zip-up ski suits.

I’d only seen Gio in impeccably tailored clothing, before. Today, the Romanos were living their best, extravagant lives, and admittedly, I envied them.

“Here,” Gio said, handing me a pair of white skis. They looked like they’d seen better days with chipped edges and peeling Pikachu stickers on their ends. Gio’s keen, dark eyes followed mine, and he chuckled. “Sorry. A visiting school stripped the hire store bare. This was all they had left.”

Maria gave a subtle eye roll at the sing-song lilt in his voice. Resting a hand on her husband’s arm, she toed into her very sleek, very non-Pokémon skis. They secured to her boots with a satisfying “clunk.”

“Nobody will do any skiing if we don’t stop chattering. I think I have a black run in me today,” she said.

I swallowed—hard—cursing my inability to say “no.” I’d spent most of the day so far outlining my investment opportunity to Gio. I’d offered him a stake in my Italian expansion—including the rights to represent Luc Du Comtois, France’s most reluctant art sensation.

Also, my oldest friend.

Luc tried to talk me out of seeking investors—offering the money himself—but even his fame couldn’t open doors inItaly’s insular art scene. Besides, he’d already done so much for me. I couldn’t ask for more.

I glanced at the long line of skiers and snowboarders gathered around the base of the chairlift. Gio clipped into his skis beside me, giving me an expectant look.

“Oh, I’ll wait to clip in until we’re near the lift.” Why was my voice so high pitched?

He nodded and smiled at me like an indulgent parent. A glow lit in my chest. I not only respected Gio; I liked him. I wanted him to like me. To be impressed. And therein lay the reason I was ready to hurl myself down a mountain on a set of glorified planks.

Without a firm investment commitment yet, I’d accepted the invitation to join him and Maria on the slopes. Only, a black run down one of Europe’s tallest hills wasn’t my idea of fun. I hated heights—even standing on a chair made my knees wobble.

I shuffled towards the lift with the enthusiasm of a cat taking a shower. A brisk breeze whipped through my hair, sending strands across my face and I glanced at my reflection in Gio's sunglasses. My heart sank. I looked ridiculous. If I’d known I’d be skiing, I would’ve organised my own clothes—sensible, stylish ones—not borrowed Maria’s.

In her flamingo pink puffer jacket, I resembled candy floss.

The glitter embellishments on my shoulders could singe retinas in the right light. I supposed all the pink would make me easier to spot if buried under an avalanche, but it did nothing for my pale complexion. My ski pants threatened an indecent camel toe, and to top it off, Maria had given me giant pink earmuffs.

“Is it really still ski season?” I asked, angling for a reprieve. “It feels more like spring.”

Gio chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The snow doesn’t disappear after the tourists go home. High on themountains—on the glaciers—you can ski almost year-round. But Maria and I prefer a quieter life these days. We don’t come up here as much as we used to.”

So why had they summoned me here? A quick weekend in Rome would’ve given me an opportunity to shop, sight-seeandschmooze.

The queue to the chairlift shuffled forward at a glacial pace, but finally, we arrived at the base. The relentless grind of the mechanism cut through the chatter and the clash of ski poles. Every fifteen seconds, an empty bench swung around the metal wheel at the bottom, picking up the next load of human cargo.

I tipped my head back, tracing the line of the lift as it ascended into the faint mist on the mountain. My belly gave a gentle flip. The peak seemed impossibly far away and soon, I’d be dangling high above the snow, all in the name of business. Only birds, and possibly flying squirrels belonged in the sky.

“There’s a nice gentle run after the first lift,” Maria said. “After that, we can go up higher and really have some fun. Get some speed under our belts.”

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