He closes his eyes briefly, snowflakes melting on his lashes. “How’s your cheek?” he whispers.
“Sore.”
“I hate that I did that to you.”
“I know,” I say softly. “And that’s exactly why I’ll be fine.”
The silence stretches again, comfortable this time. The sky darkens. Lights shimmer across the lake. Somewhere below, laughter echoes faintly from the restaurant terrace. Charlie shifts, moving until his forehead rests against mine, water lapping gently around us.
“I’m scared,” he admits in a tiny voice. “That this is always going to be inside me.”
I wrap an arm around his waist under the water. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But you won’t face it alone.”
His breath stutters, then steadies. “I love you, D,” he murmurs.
“I love you too,” I whisper back. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
We sit like that until our fingers prune, until the cold air starts to bite at our shoulders, until Charlie’s breathing finally sounds normal again.
When we go inside, he takes my hand.
Not like he’s fragile.
Not like I’m fragile.
But like we’re holding each other up. We order room service, put on the fluffy white robes, and jump into bed. Together. Like it always should be, and we turn on a movie until I’m unable to hold my lids open anymore and I fall asleep wrapped in the strong, protective arms of my man.
I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus. Every muscle in my body protests when I try to sit up. My ass feels like it belongs to someone else, someone who fell down a mountainrepeatedly. The bruise on my cheek has bloomed, deep purple now. Attractive.
Charlie rolls over beside me, eyes sleepy, hair a mess. “Morning,” he says quietly.
“Don’t look at me.” I groan. “I’m eighty percent bruise and twenty percent regret.”
He chuckles and touches my thigh carefully. “Are you skiing today?”
I snort so hard it hurts. “Absolutely not. My body has filed for divorce.”
Charlie tries not to smile. “Okay. That’s probably wise. I’m starving. Are you ready for some breakfast?”
“If I can get up out of this bed.” I moan.
“Let me put my leg on, and I’ll carry you.” Charlie grins, and he does just that, picking me up in his strong arms, carrying me out to the dining room, and depositing me on the chair.
The rest of his family filters into the dining area.
“Morning, guys. How are you feeling this morning, Derrick?”
“Sore. Charlie had to carry me out here.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’ve used muscles I didn’t even know I had.” I moan.
“So, no skiing again today?” Robert asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But Charlie is.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Charlie argues.
