“Let’s go,” I say, helping her up. “Before Aunt Tina sends the sled dogs after us.”
We step out of the chalet. The sky is starting to darken, painting the snow in shades of purple and orange.
We head toward the Main Hall.
When we walk in, the scene in front of us is… devastating.
Twenty-four hours of forced togetherness have completely destroyed almost everyone’s dignity.
Joe and Sarah sit on opposite ends of a bench. Sarah’s mascara has run all the way down to her chin, and she’s staring into the void. Joe’s beard is a mess; he looks like he’s aged ten years. They’re not speaking.
Brenda and Steve stand stiff as boards. They look like they’ve swallowed insults—and possibly bodily functions—for an entire day just to preserve appearances.
Silas and Daisy have collapsed onto a lobby sofa. Daisy is asleep with her head in Silas’s lap; his eyes are closed, his expression one of resigned peace as he strokes her hair.
And then there’s us.
Me—half-naked, muscles loose, skin clearly marked by the night (and the morning).
Sloane—rumpled, hair messy, that slip of a dress clinging to her, looking like a very satisfied cat.
The room goes silent.
Aunt Tina, waiting in the center with a golden key in her hand, stares.
Her gaze drops to my bare chest, then slides over my back as I turn to close the door.
I see the cameras zoom in.
I hear the frantic click-click-click of photographers.
I can’t see my back, but I feel the sting of Sloane’s nails. I know I’m sporting a full topographic map of red scratches from my shoulders to my lower back.
Tina smiles. A wide, wicked smile.
“Well, well, well!” she booms into the megaphone. “I see someone took the concept of ‘Bonds’ very… seriously!”
The other couples stare.
Joe is green with envy.
Silas cracks one eye open, sees my back, and gives me a nod that’s half respect, halfwell done, soldier.
Tina steps closer.
“Sloane, sweetheart, you look… radiant.” She tilts her head. “And a little rumpled.”
“It was a long day, Tina,” Sloane replies without a shred of shame, tightening her grip on my arm.
“I can imagine,” Tina chuckles.
She inserts the key.
CLICK.
The mechanism releases. The cuffs fall open.
Sloane rubs her wrist where the skin is red.
