by Colet Abedi
“That’s bold,” Erik says.
Georgie raises a brow.
“Is it not? Our belle homme William has left the earth and will now be an angel with the giants. That is cause for happiness, not grief.”
“We still miss him,” Abby says sadly.
“Yes, of course,” Georgie agrees.
“But we celebrate him,” Michael chimes in as he appears out of thin air.
I watch the color race back into Abby’s face. And I don’t miss the concerned look that Michael gives her.
“Are you alright, Abigail?” he asks. “You look like you need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” she says with a shrug. I can tell she’s trying hard not to be affected by him. But I understand her dilemma. The Sinclair men are hard to ignore.
“I’ll order you something,” Michael says, ignoring her response.
I almost snort.
Typical.
He turns to me. “Have you seen my brother yet?”
“No,” I say as I shake my head.
He reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “He needs you.”
I know, I want to say. But I hope Clayton realizes it, too.
Later that evening, I stand on the small balcony of my hotel room and look out on the manicured grounds. .
I feel like I’ve been transported back in time as I look out on the landscape. It is so dream-like. That’s the only way to describe it. A wild land that lived for thousands of years and has seen so much and now, me, little old Sophie Walker, is taking it all in. A feeling of great renewal seems to come over me.
I mourn William Sinclair, the man I didn’t know. I send a quick prayer up to him. I mourn the past. I mourn all that was and all that was beautiful that I never recognized. There is something that’s been changing inside me since I arrived in England. I feel reborn in a way. Even now, looking out on the history and the magnificence only reinforces the feelings I have. No matter what happens, life is going to be okay.
The door rings. I’ve ordered room service so I’m not surprised.
I tighten the belt on my robe and hurry to open it.
I’m shocked to find Clayton there. I had barely seen him at the pub. In fact, I thought he was avoiding me.
His black tie is loose around his neck. The top buttons on his crisp, white shirt are open, and his black jacket is draped over his shoulder. His thick brown hair is messy but that only seems to bring out the beauty of his face, especially his eyes.
His eyes brush over me.
I feel acutely aware that I’m naked underneath my robe. My toes curl in the carpet.
“Clayton,” I say.
“Sophie,” he replies.
But he sounds smashed. We stare at one another. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
17
“I didn’t think you needed an invitation,” I tell him.
“Touché.”
I stand aside and allow him entrance. He walks in and takes in the luxurious surroundings. Since I had nothing to do with booking it, I know I shouldn’t feel self-conscious, but I do. I can’t help it.
“The room is too small,” he says after a moment.
“It’s a suite. And it’s actually perfect,” I insist. “Thank you, it’s enough for me.”
“But it’s not just you,” he informs me.
My heart thumps.
“I thought you were staying at your family home,” I tell him.
“Why would you think that?” he asks curiously.
“I hadn’t heard from you—” I begin.
“So you assumed.”
“Yes,” I say.
He walks over to the minibar and takes out a small bottle of whiskey.
“How do you like Bath?” he asks me as he fills a glass.
“What I’ve seen is absolutely beautiful,” I tell him. “Would you like me to order you some ice?”
“This is fine.”
Clayton throws his jacket on the chair, walks over to the bed, and sits down. He places his drink on the side table and begins to unbutton his shirt.
It’s extremely sexy so I try to distract myself.
“Your speech today was so moving,” I tell him. “It brought everyone to tears.”
“I don’t care about everyone,” Clayton replies as he takes a long sip of his drink and leans back on the pillows. “Only William.”
I feel a pang in my heart.
“I know he loved it.”
There’s a knock. He looks at me questioningly.
“I ordered food,” I explain as go to open the door. A woman from room service enters with a wheel in table and sets it up for me.
“I’ve got some soup and salad,” I say to Clayton. “Would you like something as well?”
“Not so boring,” he says. “I want bangers and mash and fish and chips.”
I try not to smile. He must be smashed. Two meals?
I look at the woman. “Can we order that as well?”
“Of course,” she says.
After she leaves, I sit down to eat, but I can feel Clayton’s eyes on me. I try not to get nervous but it’s hard. I lift the cover off the food.
“Can I offer you anything,” I ask politely.
“I’ll wait for my fish and chips,” he tells me as he takes another sip of his drink. “But please, eat before your food gets cold.”
Awkward.
I put the napkin on my lap. The last thing I want to do is slurp my way through this unnerving silence. I wish the TV was on or something.
I know he’s watching me.
“Do you plan on staring at me while I eat?” I ask nonchalantly as I lift a spoonful of soup, trying my best to be as delicate as possible.
“Is it bothering you?” he asks curiously.
I bet he loves this.
“It’s a little disconcerting,” I admit, then begin to eat. The soup is delicious. My stomach growls in pleasure. I didn’t have a bite all day so this is like heaven. What I’d like to do is dip my bread in the soup and go to town. But I continue to eat as demurely as possible.
“Must you?” I finally say as I put the spoon down and look him square in the eyes.
He laughs.
“Watch you?” He drawls.
“Yes.”
“I must,” He says with enough heat to light the fireplace.
I lean back from the food and try to figure out his mood.
Drunk? Check.
Playful? Check
Brooding? Check.
When in Rome—
I go to the minibar and take out a bottle of red.
“Do I drive you to drink?” he asks with amusement. I can tell he’s happy that I’m so affected by his presence.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” I retort. I pick up the wine opener and insert it in the cork and start to twist it.
Within seconds Clayton is standing next to me, invading my space with his warmth, and takes both items out of my hand.
“Allow me,” he says politely.
I look up at him and sigh. I wonder when the sight of him won’t cause for me to feel so overcome by his utter hotness.. His muscles flex as he uncorks the wine, and it takes all the effort in the world not to lick my lips.
If he I can use one word to describe him right now it would simply be yum.
I’m pretty sure my dad would be disappointed by my inability to find another word in the English language to describe him. And the fact that I’m lusting after a man who’s deep in mourning. What does that say about me?
Clayton picks up a wine glass and pours for me.
“I don’t know how good this will be,” he says as he studies the bottle.
“I’m not a connoisseur like you, so I’m sure it will do,” I reply.
“That is irrelevant. I want you to have only the best,” he answers. “Let’s order a bot
tle from room service.”
I snatch the glass he’s filled out of his hand.
“This is fine for now,” I tell him. “Cheers.”
Clayton acquiesces. He picks up his glass and says, “To my brother, William.”
We clink glasses.
It’s a difficult balance to be on edge all the time with him. Not to know where his mood will take me from moment to moment. I’m literally at his beck and call. Completely in his territory. Playing by his rules. Unsure of what tomorrow will bring.
What the next second will bring, for that matter.
This man I’ve fallen in love with is dark and dangerous, perhaps out of my league or even my reach, especially now, when he’s in a fog of grief that is taking him on a journey he refuses to share with me.
One thing I know for sure. There will be a time of reckoning in the near future.
Clayton’s sensual mouth is parted as if he knows the direction of my thoughts.
“We’re going away tomorrow,” he says.
“Away?” I ask. “You mean, back to London.”
“To Gstaad.”
“Switzerland.” I’m confused as to why.
“I have my eye on a chalet there,” Clayton explains. “I feel like now would the perfect time to take another look at it.”
Or to escape, I think. I don’t blame him. If I had the money he has at my disposal I would do the same. I’d probably take a year off real life.
“We’re booked at the Alpina,” he brushes the back of his fingers along my cheekbone. “I think you’ll like it.”
Shit.
“I have to go home,” I tell him.
I think of what Erik said to me. That I wouldn’t be happy just being a woman of leisure at Clayton’s beck and call, and I know my best friend is right. That’s the last thing I want in my life. The more time I spend with him, the more attached I’m becoming. I know it will be easier for me to let him go now, no matter how my heart feels about it.
I did what I thought was right and I was here for him during the hardest time of his life. However much he let me in or will let me in is irrelevant. I tried. And that’s enough.
“I’d like you to join me,” he cuts into my thoughts.
And then what? I want to ask but I don’t.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I finally say.
“You are finished being here for me, you mean?” He drawls softly.
I explain. “I just think it might not be very smart for me to stay longer. I need to get back to my life in Los Angeles. Get home for Christmas like I promised my parents. Figure out my work situation. I can’t be on perpetual vacation. And that’s what it would be.”
“But I want you to come with me,” Clayton insists.
Room service arrives again and they push in another trolley next to mine.
“Clayton,” I begin when we’re alone.,“I just can’t–”
He turns to me, his harsh indrawn breath the only indication of his annoyance.
“You can,” he tells me. “It’s just three days. You can make it back for Christmas.”
But it’s three more days to become even more attached to you than I already am.
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
No, he won’t. He’s the man who always gets what he wants. I have no doubt that I will not win this argument. I close my eyes for a second and think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t go with him, but as usual I can’t resist him.
“Just three days,” I finally say in a small voice.
Clayton gives me a sexy smile.
“You won’t regret it.”
So he says.
There are definite pros to traveling with someone who has what I perceive to be an unlimited bank account. Going private, for instance. It’s decadent. Truly unbelievable. You don’t have to go through airport security. You don’t have to take your shoes off or take out all your electronic devices, and you’re given unlimited champagne and food on the plane while sitting in the most comfortable seats known to man.
The other plus?
The fact that Clayton can book a suite for my two best friends and have them fly with us to an expensive ski chateau in the mountains of Switzerland.
Yes, that’s right. Erik and Orie are with us. And I’m so happy. And relieved that I’m not on my own. Clayton surprised me in the morning when he told me he’d asked them to come along the night before he came to our room. I can’t say how happy I am for the moral support. Thankfully, Erik hasn’t talked to me about my do or die deadline with Clayton yet. The end is looming before me and it’s hard not to cringe when I can picture myself crashing and burning.
I will enjoy myself though on this little holiday and try not to think about my own stress, but instead, help Clayton. He has moments of light, where it’s as if nothing happened, and then it’s like a cloud comes over his face and he remembers the grief and sadness. I know there is nothing I can do but be here and try to distract him. I wish he’d talk to me about what’s going on inside of him, as Michael has, but he’s not there yet, and may never be.
We are picked up from the private airport by two black Range Rovers and I absorb the gorgeous scenery as we drive through the town on the way to the hotel. Gstaad is absolutely stunning. The small winter town sits in a picture-perfect valley. The snow powdered trees are symmetrical and it looks as though the whimsical city was painted this way by a master artist.
As we pull up to the Alpina I’m awestruck at the luxury we’re immediately surrounded by even in the driveway. I look over at Clayton, who’s dressed handsomely in knee-length black wool coat, blue jeans, and a thick sweater. He’s wearing a pair of scruffy black boots that I find extra hot, and leather gloves.
Clayton says, “I usually stay at the Palace but I thought we’d try this out together.”
“I’m sure it will be fantastic,” I tell him as I patiently wait for him to open the car door.
“Isn’t the Palace famous for their diamond parties?” Orie asks excitedly.
“Those two words in the same sentence is as good as an orgasm,” Erik says, then changes his mind. “Okay. Maybe not quite. But close.”
I can’t contain my laughter.
Clayton says, smiling at me, ‘I don’t agree. Doesn’t even come close.’
I can feel my face turn red as Erik and Orie whistle.
The cold air hits us hard when the doors are opened by our driver.
“It’s freezing!” I squirm.
“We’re going to have to take you shopping,” Clayton says.
Does he find my clothes lacking? They’re certainly not high-end designers like I’m sure all the women at this resort are decked out in, but they’re nice. Erik picked them.
I shake my head. “My clothes are just fine.”
“But we’re going to ski,” he explains.
Ski? The last time I skied I was fifteen and Erik dragged me to Bear Mountain, because he happens to be an incredible athlete. He took me on some black diamond run and I was so scared I ended up sliding down the entire slope on my butt, which in turn caused a giant hole on my outfit. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Erik laugh so hard.
“Sophie’s a great skier,” Erik says playfully.
Clayton looks surprised. I don’t know if I should be insulted.
“You are?”
Awkward silence.
“Yes, I grew up skiing.”
What’s the harm in lying?
“That’s fantastic,” Clayton seems thrilled. “After we get you guys some gear, we’ll go out today.”
Erik pulls Orie in for a hug. Probably to laugh in his embrace.
I want to kill him. I figure I’ll just let Clayton fly down before me and I’ll just fake it.
Like all little white lies, this one came to bite me in the ass.
What the hell was I thinking? Pretending to be an amazing skier? Who do I think I am, Bode Miller?
I blame Erik. This is all his fault and I plan on cussing him out once I find a way to get down the monstrosity of a hill that I’m climbing up on the lift with Clayton. It’s really steep.
We shopped for clothes, which I would have found fun if I hadn’t actually seen the price tags on some of the ski items he bought for me. Clayton insisted and I just gave in. He left Erik, Orie and I in a boutique and gave Erik orders. I argued the entire time about everything because I didn’t understand why I needed six different ski outfits when we’d only be in Gstaad for three days.
Before I knew it, not only did I have a new ski wardrobe, but a whole winter one as well. Shoes and all. It’s astounding how much money Erik can drop in one hour. When I commented on it to him, he simply said, “It’s a gift. You’ll thank me later.”
Now, I’m dressed in a white ski outfit that costs more than my entire wardrobe, goggles and all, and am headed up the lift with the man of my dreams. He looks ruggedly handsome in his black ski pants and simple jacket. Let’s face it, he’s just too cool for school. Erik and Orie are behind us on the lift, probably laughing their faces off over how terrified I must be and how this situation is about to turn into a comedy. Or a tragedy. Depending on how you look at it.
I really hope I don’t break my leg. Or worse, neck. That would totally suck.
Clayton reaches out and takes my gloved hand in his.
“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”
I haven’t really been paying attention at all because my thoughts have been solely centered on how the hell I’m going to get down. Oh, my God. Worse, I have to get off the lift first. That part always freaks out. Last time I got off a ski lift I slipped and the chair hit me in the back of the head. Erik almost wet his pants he laughed so hard. I tried a couple of times after that but I was ruined for skiing. I send a silent prayer to God asking that at the very least I get off the lift chair okay.
“It’s breathtaking,” I finally answer.
“It’s one of my favorite places in the world,” Clayton says wistfully as he looks out over the slopes.
“Gstaad?” I ask.
“No,” he shakes his head. “This lift.”
