Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  “St. Moritz is like a make-believe kingdom in a Brothers Grimm fairy tale,” Gabriel reflected. “You begin to believe everyone travels by private jet and thinks nothing of flinging ten thousand Swiss francs on a roulette wheel, or staying up all night drinking champagne out of an après-ski boot. Then you leave and realize there are so many problems in the world: childhood diseases that need to be erased, and better nutrition for millions of people.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with make-believe,” Felicity said abruptly. “A bride could get married wearing a cotton dress, but the minute she buttons the hooks of a chenille gown with an oversized satin bow, she feels like a movie star. We need a little fantasy in our lives; it makes us happy.”

  “I suppose you have a point.” He shrugged. “I’d just like the chance to help people who really need it.”

  Felicity suddenly remembered she was sitting in a café with a complete stranger, when she should have been pressing the models’ outfits for the morning shoot.

  “You mean, instead of spending your time helping an American tourist who slips on the sidewalk because she’s wearing heels.” She looked at Gabriel. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I really should go. If you give me my part of the bill, I’ll put it on my credit card.”

  “I apologize, I didn’t mean it that way. You shouldn’t move until we check that ankle.” He touched her arm and smiled. “And you’ll offend the waitress if you don’t finish your non torte. No one sends back a half-eaten dessert.”

  Gabriel unwrapped the cold compress and examined her ankle. The swelling had gone down, and the throbbing was reduced to a mild ache. He offered to walk her home, but she shook her head.

  “It’s only a few blocks, and it all looks so magical,” she said when they stood in front of the restaurant. Colored lights were strung across the cobblestones, and the air smelled of pine trees and cinnamon. “I’ve always believed in Christmas miracles; perhaps you are my guardian angel. Without your help, I might still be lying on the frozen sidewalk. And you gave me advice on my love life. I really should thank you.”

  “You can thank me by taking care of your ankle. Try not to put any weight on it, and keep it raised as much as possible,” he offered. “I don’t think you told me your name.”

  “It’s Felicity, the same name as my company.” She held out her hand. “Felicity Grant Bridal.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Felicity Grant.” He shook her hand and gave her his card. “Take this. If it swells up again, give me a call.”

  “But not at midnight,” she said, laughing, and tucked the card into her purse.

  “Definitely not at midnight,” he said, buttoning up his coat. “It’s a small village. I’ll find out if you don’t follow my instructions.”

  Felicity left Gabriel and wrapped her arms around her chest to keep warm. It all looked so festive: shop windows filled with boxes wrapped in tissue paper, Christmas trees decorated with glittering ornaments, a reindeer pulling a sled overflowing with dolls and race cars and caramel apples. She wanted to come back in the morning and browse in the ski shop.

  Gabriel was right; she had to tell Adam how she felt. They could have a long engagement; maybe they’d get married next Christmas in St. Moritz. The ceremony could be in the little church above the village, and a horse and carriage would whisk them to the reception at Badrutt’s Palace. She pictured wearing a white cape over a satin gown, with Adam looking handsome in a dark cashmere overcoat and a yellow boutonniere.

  The moon shimmered on the frozen lake, and Felicity noticed four stars shaped like a diamond. She remembered when she was a girl, and had wanted a bridal doll for Christmas. She had peered out her window to see if Santa Claus was climbing down the chimney, and instead she’d seen the same four stars. The next morning under the tree, there had been a doll wearing a white silk dress and diamond slippers.

  Maybe these stars would prove just as magical. She was in St. Moritz for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and it all looked like a fairy tale. She had to make everything all right with Adam, and a Christmas miracle was just what she needed.

  Two

  Six Days Before the Fashion Show

  2:00 p.m.

  Felicity

  FELICITY PUT DOWN HER SKETCHPAD. It was hard to believe she had only been in St. Moritz for twenty-four hours. It had been the most spectacular morning. Felicity and Raj and the models had taken the funicular to the El Paradiso restaurant at the top of the mountain. Felicity had read in the guidebook that its nickname was “Close to Heaven,” and as soon as they hopped off the chairlift she understood why.

  The restaurant was a long, low hut, like something out of The Sound of Music. An outdoor terrace was scattered with wooden tables, where skiers sipped steaming hot chocolate and ate muesli with nuts and sliced fruit. Metal racks were crammed with skis, and there was the sound of boots crunching on fresh snow.

  And the view! The sky was the color of topaz, and the snow was so white, Felicity had to shield her eyes. Raj insisted they order breakfast, to stay on schedule, but Felicity wanted to stand forever and admire the swath of fir trees and valley that spread out far below.

  Grudgingly she pulled herself away and joined the others at the table. They ate mountain cheese with homemade chutney, grilled sausage, and pear bread, spread thick with butter and jam. The coffee was served in mugs bigger than a cereal bowl, and the cream was so fresh, Felicity was certain the cows had been milked that morning.

  The girls chatted about the movie star they’d spotted at the King’s Club, as well as the Italian count who’d offered to fly them to Venice on his private jet, and the Arabian prince who’d invited them to a party at his chalet. Raj downed black coffee and insisted that no one think about getting on a private jet until after the fashion show, and warned them to stay away from private parties. He didn’t need anyone drinking too much champagne and sleeping through a photo shoot.

  Katie was still in bed, but the doctor had given her some Benadryl and predicted she’d be fine by the next day. Raj held off flying in a replacement, and Felicity said a quick prayer over breakfast that the doctor would be right.

  After breakfast they took the chairlift back to the village, where the photographer captured the girls trying on ribbed sweaters at Bogner and suede jackets at Asprey. Raj persuaded the models to put on a little show for the tourists, and they happily obliged. Two models climbed into the window of Armani and planted lipstick kisses on a male mannequin in a tuxedo.

  Even in the late morning, the village square was filled with elegant shoppers and skiers in bright ski clothes and woolen caps. There was that giddy sensation of being on vacation, and people were talking about stopping for lunch at La Marmite on top of the mountain, and meeting for whiskey sours later at the Kulm Hotel.

  “I can’t believe we’re really in St. Moritz,” Felicity sighed, watching the models posing in the window of Hermès. “It’s all so perfect,” she said, turning to Raj. “You really are a genius.”

  “You’re the genius.” Raj was in a particularly good mood. He’d had a drinks date with the blonde concierge, and had received an RSVP from the crown princess of Sweden. “You create the gowns the most sophisticated brides want to wear; I just get the right people to see them.”

  “It’s because of you that we’re here,” she said warmly. “If we were showing the collection in New York, we’d be cramming gowns into a cab and trying to get through rush-hour traffic to some freezing loft in the Village.”

  “St. Moritz is fantastic, and the hotel is being so accommodating,” Raj agreed. “You should go with the models to the Jacuzzi after this. They serve mulled cider with nutmeg, and it’s all complimentary.”

  “I can’t.” Felicity thought about Adam, and her chest tightened. “I have to make an important phone call.”

  After they left the village, the girls went to put on bathing suits and Raj disappeared to post photos on Instagram, while Felicity returned to her suite. Just entering the
living room made her happier. The parquet floors were covered with blue-and-gold oriental rugs, and there was a balcony with a view of the lake. The bedroom had a king-sized bed with a quilted headboard, and last night the maids had left a complimentary hot water bottle and a tray of mini cheesecakes.

  Originally Raj had said it was out of the question that she stay in a suite, but Felicity had begged him to reconsider. It wasn’t for herself. She could sleep curled up in an armchair, or on an ottoman. But the wedding gowns couldn’t be scrunched together on the bed or jammed into a closet; they needed space to breathe.

  Raj had reluctantly agreed, and somehow convinced Badrutt’s Palace to give them a discount. Felicity didn’t know how. It was already one of the most famous resorts in the world; it didn’t need to be promoted on social media. That was the thing about Raj; he could charm anyone into doing what he asked.

  He’d once convinced Donna Karan’s assistant to let them hold a fashion show at Donna’s estate in the Hamptons, when the only press Felicity had received was one line in Page Six of the New York Post. Felicity had noticed when she met the assistant that she was a pretty brunette, and there had been a charge on the company credit card for two dozen yellow roses and a tin of Momofuku cookies delivered to the assistant’s address, but she couldn’t complain. The fashion show had been covered in Town & Country Weddings, and helped make Felicity Grant Bridal one of the most talked-about new names in the industry.

  She studied a sketch of a pewter-colored princess gown and wondered if it would be good enough. It had to be the most amazing wedding dress she had ever drawn: better than Armani’s last collection, where the bridesmaids’ dresses had been the most spectacular iridescent gold, and more stunning than the wedding dress Naeem Khan had showcased at his fall show, with a silk train as long as the runway and a bodice stitched with sapphires like birds’ eggs.

  Ten days ago, Felicity had been sitting in her studio working on a dress for the winter collection. The bell had tinkled, and a woman in her thirties entered the atelier. She had blond hair and wore a long wool coat and many-colored scarf.

  “Can I help you?” Felicity asked.

  “You have some beautiful designs,” the woman said, fingering a lace dress that Felicity was particularly proud of. The neckline was stitched with pearls, and it was the most unusual color; it changed from pale pink to ivory depending on the light.

  “Thank you. Are you having a spring wedding?” Felicity asked. “The spring fabrics are going to be fabulous: plenty of organza and tulle.”

  “I’m not engaged,” she said, waving her hand at Felicity. “I don’t even have time for a boyfriend.” She took a card out of her purse and handed it to Felicity. “I’m Camilla Barnes, and you must be Felicity Grant.”

  Felicity didn’t have to look at the card to know who Camilla Barnes was. Camilla was the head of Bergdorf Goodman’s bridal salon, and one of the most important people in the wedding industry in New York. Bergdorf’s only carried a handful of designers, and being given space in their bridal salon was like being anointed by the Queen of England.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Felicity said. She wondered if her lipstick was smudged and if she had remembered to put on mascara that morning.

  “I attended a friend’s wedding at the Knickerbocker Club a few weeks ago, and the bride wore the most unusual dress; it had a purple-and-silver brocade bodice and a see-through violet-colored veil.”

  The dress had been one of Felicity’s most ambitious designs, and she’d wondered if the purple would work. But the bride was a young digital media entrepreneur, and she’d wanted her gown to stand out on Instagram.

  “Then I was flipping through Hamptons Magazine and there was a two-page spread on a wedding in Montauk. The bridesmaids’ dresses had a sailor theme, and they were so smart and witty.” Camilla smiled at Felicity. “The credit on the page was Felicity Grant.”

  “Those were fun dresses to make,” Felicity acknowledged. “The wedding party arrived at the reception by sailboat.”

  “How would you like to have a couple of dresses in Bergdorf’s spring bridal show?” Camilla asked.

  “But the show is only for designers featured in your salon,” Felicity gasped.

  “Send me sketches for two gowns, and I’ll see if they work for the fashion show,” Camilla said, and smiled. “Then we can talk about adding Felicity Grant designs to the salon.”

  “Thank you so much, I’ll get right to work!” Felicity said excitedly. “When would you like the sketches?”

  “It is the spring collection, so we are a bit short on time.” Camilla walked to the door and turned around. “Can you email them to me by New Year’s Day?”

  Felicity had spent the rest of the day after Camilla left in a state of shock. How many hours had she spent admiring the wedding dresses in the famous seventh-floor salon? Now she had the chance to have her designs share space with dresses by J. Mendel and Oscar de la Renta. It took all of her willpower not to tell Raj. It would only have caused him more stress before the winter collection in St. Moritz, and he wouldn’t have given her a minute’s peace. After she submitted the sketches and Camilla said yes, she would tell him all about it.

  But now she put the sketchpad on the coffee table and picked up her laptop. She couldn’t concentrate on her sketches when all she could think about was the fight with Adam. It was eight a.m. in New York and she wanted to catch Adam before his client breakfast. Gabriel was right. She had to tell him her feelings; she couldn’t let them simmer like a pot of oatmeal on the stove.

  The FaceTime icon glowed, and she saw Adam standing at the desk in his bedroom. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, and Felicity was reminded of how handsome he was. His light brown hair was combed to the side, and he fiddled with his tie.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Adam said into the camera. “I thought Raj would keep you so busy, I wouldn’t hear from you all week. I know what he thinks about downtime—if you aren’t earning money, you may as well not be breathing.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Felicity laughed. “Though he did warn the girls that if anyone sends their underwear to be laundered, he’d make them go down to the laundry and wash their own bras. And he almost had a panic attack when he got our bill at El Paradiso; I thought the paramedics would have to carry him down the mountain on a stretcher.” She pushed her brown hair behind her ears. “He was right; St. Moritz is the perfect setting for the fashion show. Everyone tosses Swiss francs around like Monopoly money, and I’ve never seen so much Louis Vuitton luggage. I wish you were here. There are marvelous wooden huts at the top of the mountain where couples can order breakfast and turn their faces up to the sun.”

  “All the glamour must be rubbing off on you. You’ve never looked so beautiful,” Adam said. “If I could postpone these meetings, I would be on the next plane.”

  “You would?” Her voice wavered. “You were so distant at Christmas. I thought…”

  “That I was still upset? You know what it’s like having Christmas brunch with my parents,” he answered. “My mother asks too many questions about the menu, and my father points out that at my age, he owned two insurance agencies.”

  “We were going to talk about getting married, but we never got back to it.” Felicity ran her finger over her teacup. “I know we’re busy, but we’ve always supported each other. Being married wouldn’t change anything.”

  “Of course it would,” Adam replied. “I had dinner last night with Doug, the quarterback for the Rams, and it’s one of the reasons he’s going to sign with the agency. He was so relieved he didn’t have to worry about me running home to dinner or not being available on weekends.”

  “We’re both turning thirty next year,” Felicity tried again. “We want to start a family.”

  “There’s no hurry.” Adam shrugged. “All the studies show that older parents are more relaxed and can spend quality time with their children.”

  Adam was talking like some relationship gur
u on cable television. She noticed Gabriel’s card on the coffee table and took a deep breath.

  “I want to have children when we’re young and can go days without sleep. There’s no reason we can’t build businesses and be married at the same time. We could have the wedding in St. Moritz next Christmas.” Her face broke into a smile. “There’s something magical about the mountains. The valley is studded with forests and wooden chalets, like an illustration in a fairy tale. Everyone clumps around in ski boots, and at night the ski slopes are lit up brighter than the most magnificent Christmas tree.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen.” Adam drummed his fingers on the desk. “I can’t even think about getting married until the firm is well established.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to keep putting it off for years,” Felicity said, and the tears threatened to return. “Would it be so terrible to get engaged?”

  “I’ve always thought we were great together because we share the same goals,” Adam said slowly. “We want to be the best at what we do, and we don’t mind putting in the hours. But if that’s not enough for you, maybe we should take some time to think. Maybe even see other people.”

  “What do you mean, take time to think?” Felicity’s heart was suddenly beating so fast she put her hand over her chest. “And why would we see other people? We love each other!”

  “I think we should take a break and figure out why we’re together.” He looked into the camera. “I do love you, but maybe our relationship means something else to you. You believe the women who come into your bridal salon and drool over three-quarter veils have something you don’t.”

  “Of course I believe in marriage!” Felicity was suddenly angry. “I want the honeymoon where the bellboy calls us Mr. and Mrs. Adam Burton, and the first house with the living-room floor that we don’t notice is sloped until we sign the papers, and the two children who make us so exhausted we long for the nights when we flopped into bed with a carton of takeout and the remote control. Marriage is about moving forward together, and it’s the best thing in the world. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I don’t want to see other people.” Her anger dissolved and she became frantic. “There’s no one in the world I’d want to be with besides you.”