“Andreas Nikolai Vasiliou. Dominic and I ski on the same team.”
“Oh. That’s where I’ve seen you. The new team photos. Thank you, you’re right. I’ll grab some dry clothes from my suitcase and shower. I won’t be long.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“What?”
“You’ll want something to drink when you get out.”
“Oh. Tea please.”
Under the stream of hot water, I draw several steading breaths. I’m a professional. I run social events for a living. I can handle anything. Icanhandle this, I tell myself.
What I really want is to scream into the steam, unload all of my frustration at this man simply because Dominic isn’t here to take it. Dom’s left me in the worst possible bind. How am I supposed to pull off this charity event alone? The event I’ve championed and pushed for since last Christmas? I can’t bear the thought of letting the kids—or the town—down.
CHAPTER 2
Andreas Nikolai ‘Niko’ Vasiliou
Omorfiá mou, my beauty. It’s been a long time since a woman has caught my attention the way she has. Well over a year. And for the last nine months, I haven’t so much as looked at a woman, strictly following my lawyer’s advice.
Be careful,I remind myself.She says she’s Dom’s sister, but what if she’s another schemer? Another liar?
Damn, I hate this constant suspicion—how it’s become my instinct. One woman’s manipulation has tainted everything. I just want to ski, love my family, and eventually build one of my own.
I’m not even sure I want to ski professionally anymore. Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I turn to the stove, stirring the stew and checking the rolls warming in the oven.
I chuckle under my breath. I’m becoming my mother. When she worries a problem to death, she cooks. Good thing Wynter showed up. I’ve made enough food for five people.
Dom’s phone buzzes again. I shake my head. I’m glad I’m not him when his sister finally gets a hold of him.
The shower cuts off, and a moment later the hair dryer hums to life. I prepare her tea, fill a cream pot and set out sugar cubeson the breakfast bar, then add a couple cookies since the stew still needs time.
When she steps into the kitchen, my breath catches in my chest. God, she’s beautiful—long black hair, wide brown eyes, no makeup, no pretense.This is me. Take it or leave it.She wears the look like a banner.
She picks up Dom’s phone and starts tapping.
“You know his password?” I ask.
“Dom has the short term attention span of a squirrel on a good day. If he doesn’t immediately put a new girl’s number in his phone—with hair color, eye color, where they met, then her name and something else memorable about her—he’ll forget who she is within an hour.
“He’s only ever managed to memorize three numbers. His birthdate, his phone number, and the most recent speed skiing record he wants to break. His passwords rotate between those.
She looks up. “Did you meet the girl?”
“No. She drove up, honked, he tossed me the keys to his truck and ran out. I saw a red corvette through the window.”
“Of course,” she sighs. “He has her saved as ‘Red Corvette’. Airhead.” She taps again and lifts the phone to her ear.
“I need to speak to Dom. This is his sister.” She’s silent, but I see her jaw working. “Don’t worry, Dom, I survived. Barely. I know you were clearly… busy. Doing someone or something veryimportant, like not being even slightly reliable!”
Another pause. “Hmm. Yeah. Hmm. Shut up! Do you care about anything but yourself? Do you know the bind you put me in? What about the kids? I can’t pull it off alone—. Don’t bother. I’m done.”
She slams the phone on the counter and collapses onto the barstool, cupping her head in her hands. Her dejection rolls off her like a physical force, pulsing between us.
“Talk to me, Wynter. Tell me what you need—what you’re trying to do?”
She looks up at me through her fingers, fighting tears.
