Page 75 of Ice To Meet You

“You said I should let myself go more.”

I fell silent, running a hand down her arm. “You should. You hide behind your art gallery persona. And I understand why, but you never allow people to see how funny and adorable you are.”

“Adorable?” she asked, as if I’d likened her to puppies or baby goats in pyjamas.

I laughed. “You know you are. And beautiful, too.” I ran my fingers over her belly, eager to pick up where we’d left off.

“Okay,” she breathed. “I admit I can be a little uptight, but why do you crave excitement all the time? Don’t you want to slow down sometimes? Read a book. Drink a glass of wine beside a fire instead of throwing yourself out of a plane or diving off a cliff?”

I mulled her words over. I enjoyed stopping and taking it easy sometimes, but after a while, an itch would grow inside me, and I’d get the urge to do something crazy.

“Don’t you just want to relax?” she asked.

I kissed the spot just behind her ear. “An old friend once accused me of running away from my real life. Those words stuck with me. He said I was trying to fill a void by racing off on adventures. Maybe I am.”

I pulled Esme’s white duvet over, tucking her in against the chill of dawn. “I come from a traditional family. Even when I was young, I felt a tremendous sense of responsibility.”

“To be what your father was?”

I nodded, an ache settling in my chest. “Growing up, I tried to become everything my family wanted. All they expected. But some days the responsibility suffocated me.

No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough.Iwas never enough. I didn’t sit straight. I’d fidget at dinner. I didn’t want to spend hours visiting galleries or learning about the art business. Finally, I gave up the need to prove myself.”

Esmé’s breath stilled for a long beat. “But they love you,” she whispered.

Her soft voice caressed my ears, and something tugged at my heart. “And I lovethem, but they’ve never taken anything I want to do seriously. My grandfather says I have no direction. I'm almost thirty. It’s like they still see me as a child.”

“And are you … directionless, I mean?”

Her quiet words opened a cavern in my chest, and I sighed. I didn’t want Esmé to think I had no plans. She was so focused and driven. I couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking the same as my grandparents.

I hugged Esmé tight, kissing away strands of hair at her temple. “A friend and I are working on something amazing.”

She turned to face me, and I told her about the chalet. About mine and Antonio’s plans for our heli-skiing company. About how I’d finally discovered how I could spend my days doing something I loved. Something that truly made me happy. My own path to follow—one not needing a rubber stamp from my grandfather.

When I finished, Esmé stared at me, wide-eyed. “And Gio has no idea?”

I shook my head.

She gripped her bottom lip in her teeth. “But why not? Surely, he’d be supportive. He’d want to help.”

I rolled away from her, staring at the ceiling. How could I make her understand? All I craved was my freedom? But the burden I carried was of my making. I’d always been too afraid to let the great Gio Romano down.

“I have money,” I said. “I don’t rely on my family for that. I just hate that they’ll see me as even more of a disappointment when I tell them.”

Esmé turned to face me, wrapping her arm around my body. Her warmth and the featherlight touch of her fingertips on my shoulder brought a smile to my lips. But something nagged at me.

I knew she thought of me as younger. And I was, but only by a few years. She’d done so much with her life—made such an impact by following her passion, she’d made herself a success. I scanned her face, looking for pity or regret.

As if she knew the sadness and doubt enveloping me, Esmé snuggled into my neck, a smile lacing her voice. “So, your family thinks you're all about having fun. Are you?”

I grinned into the light of the dawn making its way through the window. “Maybe,” I said, turning into her, bringing my lips close to hers. “Right now, I can unequivocally say I am. And to answer your earlier question, if relaxing looks remotely like this—like we do right now—I’d happily consider taking my foot off the pedal.”

She brushed her lips against mine with a small sigh. “I need to sleep.”

“I don’t think Icansleep,” I whispered, nuzzling her neck, pressing my hardness against her hip.

Her eyes flew open. “That was quick.”