Page 10 of Ice To Meet You

She joined me, surveying the slope below. At that second, I spotted him, the green splash of colour on his sky-blue jacket giving him away. He’d made it halfway down the piste. As he skied, his body moved fluidly from side to side, carving smooth turns into the snow with effortless precision.

“Nobody,” I murmured. “Just a kind stranger.”

She clucked softly at the lone ski lying abandoned at my feet, and I mustered a faint smile. “The other one fell off.”

She huffed a laugh, and I lifted my gaze again, searching for the man before he vanished over the ridge.

I found him. He moved with effortless grace, the snow parting beneath him like it had waited just for his touch. And as he skied away, out of my life, the realisation hit me with a sharp pang: I never asked his name.

4

ESMÉ

Iplaced my rather full glass of wine on the table and studied the white cloth in front of me. Gio Romano and I had been “tête-à-tête” as Maria had joked for the last forty-five minutes.

She busied herself in the kitchen, her voice carrying through the door as she hummed a tune. I didn’t know what she was cooking, or what she was singing, but my mouth watered at the smell filling the lodge.

Gio and I had spent our time looking over figures and projections for the new gallery. He was studying a page of financials Iris had put together. It turned out my best friend’s new wife wasn’t just an all-round lovely person but also had an amazing head for business.

She’d worked with my father, too, learning about winemaking at break-neck speed, breathing new life into his winery’s brand.

I tapped my nail against the pale cotton cloth, drumming out a manic beat. Gio’s steely eyes snapped to my hand, and I froze, drawing it back into my lap. I pulled my lips into a tight line, wishing I could read his mind; work out if he thought investing in me and my new gallery was a good proposition.

Since the chairlift debacle, we hadn’t had a chance to talk. After being rescued, Maria had clucked over me like a mother hen. She took me down the mountain for a hot drink and to return my single ski. I’d kept an eye out for my saviour, but with no luck. Our meeting and accidental kiss would have to be filed away in the history books.

He was probably at one of the local fairy-light decorated bars right now, charming his ski students like he’d charmed me. I wouldn’t forget his smile for a while, though, or the soft press of his lips.

Clearing his throat, Gio lay the papers down on the table. He ran his steady gaze over my face. “I can see you’re a shrewd businesswoman, Esmé. Coupled with your obvious passion for art and your ability to spot and champion new talent, I believe you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

My cheeks heated. Similar words had been said about me before, but only in journals or newspapers. Those compliments had felt disconnected from the way I saw myself. With Gio Romano sitting opposite, and my future resting on his decision, his words meant everything.

“Thank you. I hope I’ve given you all the information you need?”

He settled back in his chair, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I’ll be honest. I like what I see. Your business proposal is shrewd. I’ve always considered opening my own gallery. Investing in you would let me enjoy the kudos while you do all the hard work.”

Something fizzed in my chest, and I straightened. Would it look a little desperate for me to vault over the table, get down on my knees, and beg? I was happy to work hard. But I wanted this man’s reputation, and more importantly, his money, behind me. If it meant I had to perform a double backflip and swing from the overhead light, I’d give it a red-hot go.

Before I could capitalise on his praise, or pull a ligament,Maria appeared through the door, carrying two large bowls of steaming pasta. She laid one in front of me and my mouth watered anew. Since risking my life on the chairlift dressed as Ski Slope Barbie, I’d only had some biscotti and an apple.

“Your food smells incredible, Maria. Thank you so much for inviting me to stay.”

The apples of her cheeks lifted. “Our pleasure. I know Gio has been keen to talk. He wanted to get to know you and discuss your proposition in more detail.”

She looked at her husband. His face remained impassive. With a little incline of her head, she backed away towards the kitchen. “I’ll bring the rest of the food.”

When she returned with another bowl of pasta and a huge salad, she sat down, settling her napkin in her lap. With a flourish, Gio opened a bottle of wine, pulling the cork.

Neither Gio nor Maria spoke. Not even casual niceties. Usually, I was happy with silence—people chattered too much at the best of times—but something about the too careful staging of this meal set my teeth on edge. What was I missing?

I cast my eyes around the room. Everything looked normal. Not too fancy, but comfortable with a hint of opulence. The large leather couches took up most of the room, only rivalled by a large wooden cabinet sitting against one wall. It held some pieces of sculpture and a few family photos.

There was one of Gio as a young man, looking unnervingly like Marlon Brando, and one of his and Maria’s wedding day.

Another showed a couple outside a church. The woman’s white dress screamed late 80s, so it couldn’t be Maria.

One last picture was of a little boy with sleek dark hair and a cheeky grin. He was missing a front tooth, and I had no doubt he'd been up to no good. The thought stopped me cold, and I squinted in the dim light. Something about his smile seemed familiar.

“Your meal will get cold, Esmé,” Gio said. “Maria will never forgive you.”

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