“Okay, so the first rule is you never ski down hill,” Alessandro says.
I look up at him. What kind of a Mickey Mouse instructor is he? I can hardly ski up the fucking hill can I! “Are you a qualified instructor?” I ask.
He frowns and replies, “Yes.” Doesn’t bloody sound like it. “Are you ready to try? We’ll go across this slope. Keep your legs slightly bent and point your feet together, that’ll stop you from going too fast. We’ll spend the morning on this bit and then descend to the slightly steeper slope where you can go a little faster.”
I decide pretty quickly that Alessandro is clearly insane and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Going across is boring and slow. I want to ski to go fast, like everyone else. While he’s distracted, I point my skis downhill.
It takes me just under a second to realise that Alessandro is, in fact, perfectly sane. My heart freezes in panic as I shoot down the hill, barely managing to stay upright. The world whizzes past me in a blurry white haze.
This is bad. I’m going to die! I shout expletives loudly as I zoom towards the bottom and to my death. I hate skiing! I hate it! What kind of twat invented shooting over snow with fucking sticks attached to your feet?
“Amelie!” Mum shouts. “What on earth are you doing?”
I don’t see her; I’m too busy looking at the snow-laced ground as I hurtle to my death. It really sucks that her yelling at me is going to be the last thing I hear. “Dying!” I scream in reply. Is it not fucking obvious? Whether she heard me or not I don’t know, but it doesn’t really matter.
Alessandro bellows instructions after me, but his voice is muffled. I hear turn and then something else but as I gather speed all I hear is the wind whooshing in my ears.
Turn! I turn and scream as my body flips over. I briefly see blue sky and then white snow as I turn completely and smash into the floor. I roll a few times and then finally stop in a heap, facing the sky and panting.
“Jesus,” I huff.
“Amelie, are you alight?” Mum asks as she skies over and stops by my head.
Alessandro arrives at the same time and helps me to my feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” People have actually stopped to look at me. Fabulous. I should be more embarrassed than I am, but I’ve had worse. Brushing the snow off myself, I plaster on a smile. My head hurts, and my hair is damp.
“Are you ready to try again?” Alessandro asks, and I want to whack him with one of my skis – if I can only find where they are.
I nod, realising that everyone falls when they’re learning, and I shouldn’t let it discourage me. From now on I will only ski across the mountain, though. “Yes. Small slope. I’ll see you later, Mum.”
“Be careful,” she says and glides off down the mountain. Falling over like a twat doesn’t embarrass me but my mother skiing better than me certainly does.
For the rest of the morning, Alessandro keeps me on the baby slope, and I’ve not complained once. I do, however, want to knock over every person smaller than me as they progress onto something steeper.
At half past one, we stop for a two-hour lunch break – as instructed by Mum. I’m glad for the break. Sitting in the dry, warm restaurant with a roaring fire is worth sitting with Mum as she goes on about my slight mishap this morning. It’s an honest mistake, who would have thought you ski across rather than down? It doesn’t make any sense, to begin with anyway.
“I think I’ll go shopping for the rest of the day and pick up skiing again tomorrow,” I say as I pop ravioli in my mouth.
Mum puts down her knife and fork. “Amelie, if you would just listen to Alessandro’s instructions you wouldn’t have fallen.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Anyway, I think we should have a talk, so perhaps we should give skiing this afternoon a miss.”
Oh why? Talk about what? “Sure, Mum.”
“Have you spoken to Aden much since we’ve been away?”
“A few times.” It’s only day one.
She nods and cut into her lasagne. “Things are going well?”
“Yes.” Where the hell is she going with this?
“Good. He’s a good man. You could do a lot worse.” Shaking her head, she looks up at me, and I know I’m not going to like this next part. “The men I imagined you to end up with, Amelie. I am very grateful for Aden.”
“Oh?” I reply, not knowing what else to say.
“Well you have always been so determined to do the opposite. Every man we suggested you turned away from.” Because they were all preppy freaks with their head up their own arse! “You passed on so many suitable men, or so I thought. I’ve recently realised that you needed someone that could handle you. You’re a very strong willed woman, Amelie, and it takes someone special to accept that.”
Accept it. I smile tightly. If Aden didn’t like who I am, we wouldn’t be together. I’m grateful that Aden doesn’t care about my ‘quirkiness’ and finds it ‘fucking hilarious’.
“You remind me of my younger self.”
I almost spit my ravioli out. Oh hell no. “I what?”
“Oh, I understand we’re not that alike, but we are both strong women. No one could tell me what to do either. Did you know your nan wanted me to marry someone else?”
I blink in shock. Well this is news. “No. She didn’t like Dad?”
“She didn’t dislike him, but there was another, who she felt a more suitable, gentleman. Edward Ryhart. He came from a wealthier family. There was no contest for me, though. I knew your father was the one, and we’re wealthier than the Ryhart’s now you know.” I mentally roll my eyes. The first half of that was sweet, but it always ends in a contest.
“So you knew Dad would be richer?”
“Your father had more drive and ambition. I admire that and knew I would have a good life with him.” So it was all about love then. “I know you will have a good life with Aden. When will the wedding be?”
Is it possible to have a heart attack and not know about it? “Wedding?”
“Yes, Amelie. Do you have a date in mind?”
Have I missed a proposal? “No date. We’re not planning on getting married anytime soon, Mum.”
“You really should, Amelie. I see no reason to wait.”
“We’re not ready for marriage. That’s a pretty good reason. We’ve not been together that long – another good reason.”
“If you think you’ll be together for life you really shouldn’t wait. Aden is the perfect match for you and I can tell he loves you very much. Think about it, I’m sure he is.” Is he? Could he really want to get married already? My throat dries and I no longer feel hungry.
I stand. “Excuse me for a second. I need the bathroom.” Mum nods and sips her disgusting red wine.
How I got to the bathroom, I don’t know. My head is spinning, and I feel like I’m in a dream. Why does everything move so fast in my mother’s world? Are they all so terrified of having to do things for themselves that they married the first guy that comes along?
I dial Aden’s number, and he picks up straight away. “Aden, do you want to get married?” I wince. Perhaps I should have opened with hello?
“Babe, are you proposing?”
“No, I’m just asking!”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“I swear to God if you don’t just answer the question-”
His laughter cuts me off. How is this funny? “Millie, I love you more than anything. I don’t want anyone else, and I can see myself with you forever, but not yet. I’d like you to move in, travel and spend some time together before we plan a wedding. Having said all that, if you want to do it now, I’m in.”
“What, just like that?”
“Getting married now or in a few years’ time makes no difference really, though I’d prefer to wait. Where is all this coming from? What did your mum say?”
“Oh she’s just being pushy. We should get married as soon as we land and all that.”
“Forget her. What do you
want?” he asks.
“I want to, eventually.”
“Eventually it is. How is it going?”
“We’re both still alive, does that answer your question?” He laughs down the phone. “Oh but I almost died today.”
He chuckles, knowing it’s something stupid. Or I hope that’s what he assumes… “Go on.”
“I skied straight down the hill.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t do that.” Well I know that now. “Didn’t your instructor teach you how to do it properly? You do have an instructor don’t you? Surely they’ve not let you go out with no experience.” His concern is sweet and makes my heart ache. I do miss him already.
“Yes I do and yes he did. I thought it was stupid, so I decided to try it my way.”
“Of course you did.”
“Whatever. How is everything back home?”
“Busy. Too quiet. I miss you. My mum’s planned lunch for when you guys get back. I know it’s the last thing you want, but it’d already been arranged by the time she told me.”
I groan internally. “It’s fine. How was your night out?”
“It was good. I’d missed a lot, so we’ve made a pact to get together once a month and play cards.”
“Wow, how rock n roll are you, Grandad,” I joke.
“Sorry, would you prefer me to go to clubs, do drugs and screw other girls in the bathrooms?”
“I would not. Anyway, I’ve got to go, Mum’s waiting for me. Love you, bye.” I hear him laugh and say bye just as I hang up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mum is sipping on champagne when I return. She really is on holiday.
“I’ve been thinking, and you’re right,” Mum says. Thank God I’ve just sat back down because that would have knocked me off my feet. “Marriage now would be too soon for you. You’ve always been one to go against the grain. All that matters is you have a great man who will look after you.”
I take a deep breath and push away thoughts of throwing her champagne in her face. “Mum, I don’t need to be looked after.” Jesus if I had a pound for every times I’ve said that I would be richer than her.
“Oh, Amelie, be serious. Why on earth would you choose Aden if you didn’t want to be looked after? I was so thrilled when I found out. Deep down you do want to be taken care of.” I grit my teeth. “And that’s okay. Not that you’ll ever admit it, though.”
“Mum, I’m with Aden because I love him, not because he has money.”
She smiles a smug little smile that makes me seriously consider pushing her off a cliff tomorrow. “Of course. Are you having desert? I think I’m going for the tiramisu.” How can she just breeze past that? I take a deep breath.
As the days pass so does my patience. I’ve lost count of the amount of comments Mum’s made about me secretly wanting her life. The fact that she’s not lying at the bottom of a mountain with a ski shoved through her heart really does say a lot about my self-control. I never knew it was that good. We have only two days left and tomorrow we fly home in the evening.
Aden is right about this holiday helping my relationship with my mum. I can now spend time with her without wanting to die. She isn’t evil; we’re just too different. It’ll be a while before we spend a lot of time together once we’re back, but I think the time we do spend together from now on will bearable, maybe even enjoyable.
My legs ache so much from the skiing. I’m sure I don’t have as many muscles as what are hurting right now. My clothes have just started letting moisture in from falling over so much. Skiing is harder than it bloody looks, and over the course of the week I’ve decided that it isn’t necessary. Sweating and aching is overrated, unless it’s happening between the sheets. If I don’t have rock hard thighs next week, I’m going to sue. Whoever came up with skiing is probably looking up at me from hell, laughing his arse off.
“How far up would you like to go?” Mum asks.
My legs scream in protest. “I don’t. I don’t want to go up. I don’t want these on my feet,” I snap, waving my hand at the skis. “And I don’t want to be anywhere near snow.”
She turns to face me. “You’re not enjoying it anymore?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“There is no need to be sarcastic, Amelie. Would you prefer to return the equipment now and we can spend the whole day shopping rather than just this afternoon?”
“I have never wanted anything more.”
“Right, then. Back we go. Lets shower and I just want to speak to reception about booking with your father before we leave.”
She turns around and heads back into the god-forsaken shack that I hope I never lay eyes on again. As beautiful it is up here, looking out at the snow topped mountains and perfect blue sky, I’m ready to go.
Mum and I have our showers, and then she asks me to give her half an hour while she goes down to speak to someone at reception. Do doubt she’s cornered the hotel manager down there. I’m glad to have the suit to myself for a while though.
I lie back on the bed and call Aden. “Hey,” he says on the third ring.
“Hi,” I reply, smiling. I didn’t think I’d miss him as much I do.
“How’s it going? Many more bruises?”
“Yes, many. No more skiing now, though. When Mum gets back from talking to someone downstairs about another holiday – thankfully not for me, and her – we’re going shopping.”
“I’ll kiss them better when you get back,” he says, referring to my bruises. They don’t hurt and didn’t when I got them, but I’m not turning down having his lips on my skin.
“You’d better.”
“What’re you shopping for? Italian underwear?”
I roll my eyes. “Might do.”
“Yeah, what kind?”
“Something small and lacy.” He groans down the phone, making me laugh and turning me on at the same time. I miss that I want you groan. I bite my lip as I picture Aden pulling off that underwear with his teeth. “Aden, I want you,” I whisper as my body pounces to life.
“Oh come on, don’t say things like that when you’re in a different fucking country.” I laugh, picturing his tortured face. “Touch yourself,” he says after a beat, and I almost choke on air.
“What?” I ask, needing him to repeat in case he’s said something like ‘how’s the weather’ and I’ve completely misheard.
I hear him gulp. “You’re alone. Reach down and touch yourself.”
Yes, definitely heard right.
I’m caught between being so shocked I want to hang up and so turned on I want a self-inflicted orgasm right now. “Aden,” I say, still stunned.
“Amelie, I’m not asking you,” he says and the playfulness in his voice is gone. It’s replaced with something raw, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
I close my eyes, and my heart flies in my chest as I slip my hand under the waistband of my leggings. My breathing is embarrassingly loud and his only mimics mine. Am I doing this alone? “Aden, what’re you doing?”
He laughs breathlessly down the phone. “You tell me.” Okay, whoa, how hot?
I lick my dry lips. “ I want you doing the same. Undo your trousers and grip that cock.”
“Shit,” he hisses and a fire spreads over my body. He groans, and I know he’s doing what I’ve asked. “Rub your clit, baby, like I would.” Jesus. I let my fingers trail to the left, and I press down, trying to absorb the throbbing pleasure. Why the hell do we have to be in different countries?
“Aden,” I moan, rubbing softly in a small circle.
His breathing quickly accelerates, harshens until he’s panting down the phone and I know I don’t have to tell him to do anything because he’s already there. “I wish I was inside you,” he growls. “Put two fingers inside, do it for me.” Who am I to say no to that? I stop the rubbing and want to cry as the fire spreads. “Are you in?”
“Yes,” I reply, closing my eyes as I sink my finger inside myself. I should feel self-conscious, but I don’t, I feel sexy
and naughty. My body coils and I pant as I feel that familiar feeling building up inside me.
“Baby,” he says, almost desperately. “Picture my fingers inside you and my tongue circling your clit.” I gasp. Fuck! I do it and flick my fingers faster. I picture him, the feel of his fingers inside, his hot breath blowing over me, and that skilled tongue flicking frantically. “I want to be inside you so fucking bad.”
“I want you inside me so fucking bad,” I reply, standing on the edge, so close to falling off. “I want to feel your cock inside. Aden, I love you.” I tense, arching my back as I convulse around my fingers, spiralling out of control as my orgasm rolls on and on.
I vaguely hear Aden call out as he lets go too, but I can’t hear what. “Jesus, Amelie,” he whispers after a minute.
“I know,” I reply as I float back down to earth. I remove my fingers, making a mental note to touch nothing. “I’ve never had phone sex before.”
“Me neither. I wish we’d thought of this earlier. You’re coming home tomorrow.”
“Want me to stay here longer?”
“No,” he replies quickly. “Next thing to go inside you is going to be me.”
“How romantic.” He laughs, and I join in. My head still feels like it’s swimming.
The door opening makes me jump, and I readjust my leggings, leaping off the bed. “Mum’s back, I’ve got to go,” I whisper down the phone.
“Alright. Love you,” he says, and I can practically see the massive smirk on his face.
“Love you too.” I walk into the main room, and she’s standing there, just looking. “Get everything sorted?”
“Yes, I did. Are you ready to go?”
“Um, yes, I just need the bathroom first.”
“Honestly, Amelie, you’ve been alone for half an hour, could you not have gone before?”
I don’t really need to pee; I want to wash my goddam hand! “Didn’t need it before, won’t be a minute,” I say, making a dash for the bathroom.
“Where to, Mum?” I ask as step out of the gondola. We’re at the town level now, and I’ve never been so happy to shop with my mother before. The little town is quaint and traditional with cute shops and stalls selling freshly made crepes and the best Belgian chocolate ice cream I have ever tasted.
Crossing the Line Page 24
