“I will,” I vow. “Whatever it takes.”
Aksel sighs and murmurs, “Dumbass,” which is his way of saying if I do get Ember back, he’ll be okay with it,andhe won’t break my nose or any other bones in my body.
How fucking generous!
Jean gestures at my face. “You should put ice on that.”
“I will.”
“And maybe write a speech,” Freja adds dryly. “You know, so you don’t go off script and say something dumb like she’s inexperienced.”
I exhale sharply, eyes flicking upward. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Absolutely not! We’ll continue to remind you when you have children,” Tanya assures, and then adds with a wink, “on the other hand…the fact that I think you could have children with….” She grins, her expression softening with sympathy. “I’m on your side, Ransom. I think you can make her happy.”
“And if you don’t…”—Bob leans in, dropping his voice—“let’s just say…you’ll find yourself very uncomfortable,capisce?” He tries for full-on Italian mob boss and lands somewhere betweenThe Godfatherand a pizza commercial.
“Capisce,” I agree.
CHAPTER 19
Ember
The streets of Chamonix sparkle. The snow is falling in gentle flakes.
I walk on the cobblestones, my breath coming in visible plumes.
It’s cold. It’s beautiful. It’s peaceful.
It’s Christmas Day, and everyone is back at the chalet.
I slipped away, telling Freja I needed something from thepharmacie. She nodded in understanding. She knew I needed out. Knew that I was holding myself together by a thread, as the cliché went.
I need space. Need distance. Need a time out of that house where I broke last night.
Just broke.
I’ve been recycling Ransom and Calypso’s conversation inside my head, dissecting each word, the tone of his voice, her voice, my shameful reaction.
Is it healthy?I don’t think so.
Is it necessary to eventually get healthy?I think so.
Can I do it right now?Absolutely not.
No one from my family has checked in with me, which means Freja has made sure they won’t. I wonder what she told them. Maybe I was sick. Maybe I was sleeping. Maybe I ran away with a gypsy. Maybe….
The snowfall becomes more insistent, and I walk into Aux Petits Gourmands, off Rue du Docteur Paccard.
The popular patisserie has a gorgeous tearoom where the windows are fogged up with warmth. Mama likes their famous 4810 chocolates, which are shaped like Mont Blanc.
The scent of coffee offers a momentary balm.
I order a café crème and sit by the window, cupping the warm porcelain in my hands, trying very hard to vacate my mind, not think, just be in thenow.
The world outside is achingly beautiful.
The Alps rise like ancient gods beyond the rooftops. The ice-skating rink down the street is crowded with children.
