“You are,” I agreed. “But I’m bored with everyone else.”
He smiled, leaning in to kiss me. His lips were soft, tasting of wine and promise. I kissed him back, fierce and deep, trying to push away the lingering memory of the guides in the lobby.
We lay back on the rug, limbs tangled. The fire crackled, popping in the silence. Outside the window, snow fell in relentless sheets.
I stared at the ceiling. The dread came back, unbidden. It wasn’t a thought; it was a physical sensation, a cold hand squeezing my heart.
“Marco?”
“Hmm?” He was half-asleep, his arm draped heavy over my waist.
“Don’t go tomorrow.”
He didn’t move. “Tess...”
“Please. I have a bad feeling. A really bad feeling.”
He sighed, shifting to look at me. His eyes were sleepy, heavy-lidded. “It’s just nerves. Post-pitch adrenaline crash.”
“It’s not.” I gripped his hand. “Just skip it. Stay here with me. We can order room service. Sleep in.”
He smiled lazily, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “I’ll be back by noon. One o’clock at the latest. I promise.”
“Marco—”
“I love you, Theresa Carideo,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “You are the smartest, strongest woman I know. Stop worrying. Nothing is going to happen.”
He kissed my forehead, then settled back down, pulling me closer. “Noon,” he mumbled. “Promise.”
His breath settled into sleep’s steady cadence as I lay awake. The fire dwindled to glowing coals, painting the suite in crimson shadows until exhaustion finally claimed me.
Chapter
Two
The sound of a zipper,sharp and loud in the silence, pulled me from a dreamless sleep.
I cracked one eye open. The room was dim, lit only by the gray predawn light filtering through the heavy curtains. Marco sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his thermal layers.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, noticing me stir. “It’s early.”
I sat up, the duvet falling away. The air in the suite was cool; the heating having cycled down hours ago. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.” He stood, stretching. His silhouette was long and lean against the window. “Chopper leaves in thirty minutes.”
My stomach tightened, the anxiety from last night rushing back. I watched him move around the room, all energized. He grabbed his ski pants from the chair, the fabric rustling.
“You’re really going.”
He paused, one leg in his pants. “We talked about this, Tess. It’s one run. Maybe two. I’ll be back for lunch.”
“The weather?”
“Clear skies. Conditions are prime.” He zipped his pants and walked over to the bed, sitting beside me. He smelled of toothpaste and the indefinable scent of excitement. “Hey. Look at me.”
I met his gaze. His eyes were bright, vibrating with excitement.
“I am going to be fine,” he said, taking my hand. “I’m safer on that mountain than I am driving on the freeway. Statistically speaking.”
