Snowed In: A Billionaire Winter Novella

by Linnea May

  "Why does your father want you to drink whisky?" I ask, tugging my feet in underneath me. I gently blow on the mug of mulled wine in my hands.

  He shrugs. "Because that's what men in our circles do. It's part of our way of life."

  "Your way of life?"

  He sighs. "Imagine a room full of men in suits, talking business, shaking hands, complementing each other while making sure to slip a passive-aggressive note here and there, reminding one another how important we are and how little we rely on anyone else, when in reality, we do. Business deals are made over a pricey shot of bourbon and friendships are sealed over it. You stick out if you don't partake in it, and that's not something you want."

  "Sounds harsh," I remark.

  "Every social circle has its own set of rules," he adds. "It's just something you have to play along with."

  "I wouldn't know about that," I say quietly. "I don’t belong to a circle."

  He observes me curiously.

  "But that's your choice, isn't it," he notes. "You stay here, withdrawn and hidden in the familiar. This life does have its perks."

  I raise my eyebrows and regard him quizzically, unsure what to make of his words.

  "I remember what you said about your promise to your grandma," he says. "And how you regret not keeping it."

  "Then why would say something like that then? About me hiding in the familiar?"

  "Because it still holds true," he insists. "I wouldn't be as hard as you are on yourself, and I would not call you either lazy or a coward-"

  "But?" I interrupt. "What would you call it then?"

  He shrugs and averts his eyes before taking a sip of liquid courage from his mug.

  "I'm not trying to lecture you, Lena," he says. "I know how hard this must be for you."

  "No, you don't know. How could you?”

  "Okay, maybe I don't know, but should that keep me from talking about it with you?"

  Our eyes lock on each other in a quiet exchange. Now, I'm the one who seeks support from the warm wine, as he awaits a response that I'm not willing to give. He gives me a few more moments, before he's had enough waiting.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "That depends on the question."

  "If you were to leave this place, where would go? You said you wouldn't go back to Germany, but is there somewhere else?"

  I sigh and lower my eyes. There's an answer to this, but I'm not sure that I should tell him. He may not believe me. Or, even worse, he might think that I'm trying to insinuate something that I'm not.

  "Well, you'll laugh when you hear this," I finally offer. "But, I've always wanted to live in a big city. I mean, I grew up in one before I moved here because my family lived in Berlin."

  His eyebrows arch in surprise. It’s obvious that he did not expect that answer, and from what he's gotten to know about me up until now, I can't really blame him. I don't exactly come across like a big city girl, especially after that wood chopping adventure we had earlier.

  "It was quite a change of pace when I moved here, but I adapted surprisingly well. Oma made it easy, and the friends I made at school here helped, too. Of course, most of them have moved away by now. I only have one friend, Aileen, who you met at the convention, actually."

  His expression hardens as he recalls her. "Yeah, lovely girl..."

  "She was just having my back," I say, winking at him, and he responds then by releasing a little chuckle.

  "I'm not arguing with that. I was acting like an ass," he admits. "But let's get back to your big city dream for a moment."

  I throw him a warning look. He'd better not be making fun of me right now.

  "Is there any particular city you had in mind?"

  "Yeah, in fact there is,” I respond. I pause for a few seconds, then rub my palms down my leg in preparation to make my confession. I take in a deep breath and look him directly in his eyes. "Your city. New York."

  I'm afraid to see his reaction. What if takes my admission the wrong way? What if he thinks I'm just saying this so he invites me to go back with him? After all, how ridiculous would that be? We've only known each other for a couple of days.

  "New York, huh?" he says, interrupting my anxious train of thoughts. His facial expression doesn't tell me anything. He just absorbs my answer as it is, a simple matter of fact reply.

  "I can see why," he adds, after what seems like a considerable amount of time. "It is a great city."

  "I've always loved New York," I continue, and I can tell my smile has gone all the way to my eyes and my passion is coming through because I start to talk faster. "It's not that far from here, so I've been there quite a few times, usually with Aileen, when she agrees to come with me. She's not as big a fan as I am."

  I sigh, dreamily tilting my gaze to the ceiling. "I just love the hustle and bustle, the diversity, even the dirt and the noise. It's just... life."

  It's life? How dumb is that? He must think I'm such an idiot...

  "Then, why not just go there?" he asks, making it sound as if it was the easiest decision in the world to make.

  "Why not just go there?" I repeat, a hostile tone breaking free. "You know, it's not as simple as that, especially when you have no money."

  "You'd have money if you sold this house," he contends.

  "Yes, but.... you can see how that wouldn't be easy for me to do, to sell this house, right?"

  He nods. "Of course, but it’s an option."

  "Besides, what would I do once I got there? I'd need a job, or-"

  "College," he cuts me off. "Didn't you say you wanted to go to college? New York has some great schools."

  I snort. "You're making this sound so easy."

  "Oh no, I didn't say it was easy," he objects, shaking his head. "Living in New York isn't easy, no matter what you do."

  I tilt my head to the side and look at him questioningly. "Is it tough for you?"

  He offers me a half-shrug.

  "You mean other than having to drink disgusting bourbon once in a while?" he begins, the hint of a smile brushing his lips. "It definitely has its challenges and burdens. There’s a lot of pressure on me, and I have a lot of responsibilities weighing me down. And stress that makes me act like an asshole to pretty girls."

  The wink he adds to his words makes me blush.

  "But you're rich," I interject. "You can do whatever you want, in the greatest city in the world. You can afford anything."

  "Do whatever I want?" he snorts. "You really have the wrong impression here."

  I roll my eyes at him and finish the last of my mulled wine. It has cooled by now, giving the last sip an odd taste.

  "More?" I ask, pointing toward the mug in his lap. "There's still some on the stove. Warm and sweet."

  He nods and gets up from the sofa before I can. "Let me."

  I hand him my mug and watch as he walks over to the kitchen area. He looks so comfortable in my home, and so freaking handsome in my oversize sweater.

  He looks as if he belongs.

  Here. With me.

  Chapter 27

  Lena

  My phone rings just after I've curled up next to him on the couch again, ready to get even warmer with a fresh mug of mulled wine. The entire room smells like it, mixed with the subtle smell of burning wood as the fire crackles in the background. The last thing I want to do right now is get up to answer my phone.

  It's Aileen. I stare at the screen for a moment, pondering whether or not to just click her away, but I know I shouldn't. It would just make her worry.

  I excuse myself, feeling his watchful eyes following me as I walk out of the room with the phone pressed against my ear.

  "Hey."

  "Hey, girl!" Aileen pipes at the other end. "When were you going to tell me about your guest?"

  I hurry to get up the stairs, out of earshot.

  "I don't know.... now?" I respond, anxiously glancing over my shoulder as if I was worried about him following me upstairs.

  "I don't know how to as
k this in a polite way, but… are you insane?" Aileen asks breathlessly. "What the hell were you thinking? I mean he's gorgeous, but he's such an asshole!"

  "How do you even know about this?"

  She snorts. "I talked to Mrs. Lynn about my shift tomorrow, silly. How do you think?"

  "Oh, right."

  Of course. Mrs. Lynn. How could I not know that? Even so, it was still just a matter of time until everyone found out about this. I knew that. But just like so many other things, I filed this under future-Lena's troubles.

  "He needed somewhere to stay, and he couldn't stay with Mrs. Lynn," I explain. "He showed up at the diner, stranded. He had nowhere to go."

  I bite my lips, my eyes wandering over to my closed bedroom door.

  "Besides, he was acting much nicer then," I add. "He had been under a lot of stress when we first met him-"

  "Is there something going on between you two?" Aileen sounds like a worried mom. "Mrs. Lynn spoke of him as if he was some kind of saint, probably because he reminded her of her son, but still..."

  I'm so glad that Aileen can't see the blush blossoming on my cheeks. Should I tell her? She's my best friend, but she's always been skeptical and conservative about my - as she calls it - "exploits" with men. It's easy for her to say. She got married right out of high school. My dating history is completely opposite of her experience.

  "He has been the perfect gentleman," I lie. I feel awful about doing it, but there's no reason to get her worked up over something that will no longer matter once he's gone. Very soon. Everybody is entitled to keeping a few secrets, even from their best friend. "He's sleeping on the couch, and he even chopped some wood for me. There's nothing to worry about."

  "Oh," she states. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

  "I am. I really am."

  Another lie.

  "Okay, good to hear. Will I see you tomorrow?"

  I turn to the window, realizing that I haven't really checked on the weather in a while. When we were outside splitting wood, it was noticeably calmer and the snow had started tapering off from yesterday, but it actually looks as if the snow has stopped entirely.

  "Will the diner be open?" I ask, walking over to the window.

  "I think it’s only going to be closed today," Aileen says.

  "Oh, good," I reply. "So, the weather is clearing up."

  "Yeah, so they say. Don't you check the forecasts?"

  Only now do I realize I haven't really checked on the weather since he got here. I was too... preoccupied.

  "Sure, I do," I stutter. We make a bit more small talk, and then disconnect.

  My eyes linger on the window after I end the call. It definitely has cleared up, and the snow has stopped falling.

  My heart lurches. I knew this moment would come, but I'm still nowhere near prepared for it. He can leave. He will leave. And I’ll never see him again.

  I take a deep breath before heading back downstairs, bracing myself to tell him the good news, even though that's not what it feels like at all.

  But from the looks of it, he doesn't need me to tell him. When I come back to the living room, I find him with his laptop open at the kitchen counter, his eyes glued to the screen.

  "Looks like the blizzard has moved on," he informs me, without looking away from the screen.

  "Yeah, looks like it," I say.

  I try to read the expression on his face, but once again, it’s clear of meaning. He just sits there, his attention concentrated and fully immersed on the text on his screen.

  "They're clearing the roads," he adds. "And the airports will most likely be open by tomorrow. I should probably call to see if I can book a flight out."

  "Yeah, you should."

  My chest aches with his every word, and my shoulders sag when I sit down next to him. Nothing about him suggests that he's sad or the least bit reluctant about leaving. Is he really that heartless and cold? Did these past two days not mean anything to him?

  He's smiling when he turns to me, but I don't know how to interpret that smile, even when he starts speaking.

  "Guess we'll have to make this last night count," he says.

  Last night. The words feel like a knife to my heart. I feel like a fool for thinking that this would last in some way. That he would care enough for me to...

  To do what? Stay? I know he can't stay, and I know I can't just go with him. We live totally different lives in totally different worlds.

  But does it really have to stay that way?

  For him, it seems it does.

  He draws me in for a kiss. I barely manage to hold back the traitorous tears when he closes his hand around my throat, evoking a memory that is as beautiful as it is sad.

  Because it won't happen again. Not after tonight.

  Chapter 28

  Jason

  Two things were different this morning.

  First, I didn't wake up with a terrible headache, even though I'm pretty sure we drank more of that hot wine last night than we did the night before.

  Second, I didn't wake up alone on the couch. When I opened my eyes, I was upstairs, next to her, in her bed. I had never seen her bedroom before, and I was surprised when she asked me to come with her upstairs. There was a new sense of intimacy between us when I walked into her room. My eyes wandered through the small room, studying every little thing about it, even though there wasn't much to see. It's a tiny room with a sparse amount of furniture. A bed, a vanity, a dresser, and bookshelves. The walls were almost completely covered with bookshelves. She tried to stop me from taking a closer look, because she got embarrassed again. It was the cutest thing.

  She had been naked, freshly fucked, with the new bruises she had begged me to make around her neck. We've had another play session, and this one included me throwing her into a pile of snow after she tested me, her level of sass growing with each act of misconduct I let pass. Her skin was still red from the cold when we returned inside to her room. She freely bared her body to me, but felt intimidated when I inspected her books.

  Most of the titles were similar to the ones I saw downstairs, but there were also a few classics, old editions of Margaret Atwood and Louisa May Alcott next to contemporary titles, and some Fitzgerald and Salinger in-between. She's a bookworm for sure, and that interest is not restricted to steamy romances.

  We ended the night with something that could easily be defined as love-making. I told myself that I was being gentle on her because her body had suffered enough. She's sore and bruised all over and couldn't take another session like our earlier ones.

  But it was more than that. It felt right to be close to her in that way, to feel her skin against mine, to see right into her deep blue eyes as I thrust into her, to feel her erratic breath on my face. It was gentle and kind, but passionate.

  We dozed off right after, and when I woke up this morning, she was still sleeping, or at least pretending to be. I slipped out of the room and took a quick shower before going downstairs to make breakfast for us. I felt like I needed to do something good for her, something nice.

  I saw the hurt in her eyes last night. I saw it when I said that the weather was clearing up, I saw it when I said that I'd book a flight, and I saw it when we were fucking. A weight has settled on my heart, and I can't seem to do anything about it.

  I can't stay. She knows that. I have to get back to New York. The urgency of returning there was what brought me here in the first place. I booked a flight and talked to my father, who was beyond happy to hear that I'd be back home by tonight.

  Everything is set.

  Her face lit up when she came downstairs and saw me preparing breakfast. It made me feel accomplished. Making her smile and moan is a lot more satisfying than watching sadness crush her. We ate and talked, ignoring the fact that I would be leaving in a few hours. She knows that my plane won't leave until this afternoon, and she hasn’t tried to convince me to stay. She never said anything, but she didn't have to. I don't know what she's waiting for, but I know I c
an't give it to her.

  She's upstairs now, taking a shower, and though the thought of joining her crossed my mind, I don't. Instead, I'm pacing up and down the living room, always keeping a distance from that damn cage. I don't understand her fascination with that animal. The squirrel has become more familiar with me, constantly trying to climb up on me the same as it does on her. I've only let it because I didn't want to give her any reason to think I was afraid of a ridiculous little rodent. It doesn't bite, but its claws are made for climbing up tree bark and not human skin. She tolerates the pain that comes with the squirrel's affection a lot better than I do.

  I can hear it making noises in its cage when I walk by it to the patio door leading out to the veranda. I open the door and step outside, lazily scanning the landscape in front of me. The view is very different from what I see on the roof terrace at my penthouse. Fields and trees instead of streets and skyscrapers. She'd probably love it, if what she said about her love for big cities is true. I can’t help but imagine her on my rooftop, her face beaming with amazement. It would be such a pretty sight.

  I'm too deep in thought to realize my mistake. I left the door open behind me because I intended to go right back inside after grabbing a breath of fresh air.

  I didn't even consider that the cage door might be open. And I didn't think the little devil would follow me. It's too late by the time I realize it, because it all happens way too fast. Something jumps up my leg, causing me to jerk in surprise and shake it off on instinct. The squirrel doesn't make a sound, it never does, but it flies through the air, visibly surprised by my rejection - and scared.

  "Fuck! No!"

  I wave my hands, as if that would help. The squirrel sits on the veranda for a moment, its tail twitching nervously. But as soon as I take a step closer, it darts off, scampering away from me, off into the yard and out of sight.

  "You little fucker!" I yell after it, taking a few steps with the intention of chasing it, before I'm held back by a voice behind me.

  "Risu?!"