“Morning,” she murmurs.
She realises how close we are, that she’s naked with only the cover between us, while I’m still in my boxers, and her cheeks colour faintly.
“What time is it?” she asks, just as voices drift up from downstairs. Those idiots don’t know how to be quiet. “We’re going to be late.”
I don’t tell her there’s nowhere she really needs to be. Yes, we’re meant to go skiing with the group, and yes, we are technically late, but we’re on holiday. Nothing is required of her.
But I let her keep the illusion of control.
She rolls out of bed and disappears into the bathroom.
I watch her go, amused despite myself.
She always runs.
I always chase.
And when she’s ready, I’ll catch her.
Chapter 38
Octavia
The chair slows as we reach the top. We have been here in the Swiss Alps for several days now, and they have passed more smoothly than I would have expected.
Our days are spent on the slopes, hours slip by in the cold air, and our evenings ease into something almost domestic.
We cook—well, my sister cooks—or we order food, and then we simply exist in the same space.
Almost friendly, in a strange way.
It feels as though everyone has left their grudges somewhere behind us, and for a few days we are just… here.
Since that first night, when Markev and I shared a bed and he made me come six times on his tongue, he hasn’t touched me.
Well, that isn’t entirely true.
On the nights that followed, he did it again, and then again, intent on beating the number of orgasms he could pull from my body each night. But he hasn’t gone any further. He hasn’t tried for more.
And my mind, traitorous as it is, starts to wonder if he sees me for who I really am.
Tainted.
Or if he simply knows that I’m not ready yet.
The unsettling part is that I think I am starting to be.
I want more.
I want more, and the realisation troubles me because I shouldn’t.
Wanting him like this was never part of the plan. But I have already crossed that line once, betrayed myself in ways I can’t reverse, and I’m not sure what one more step would really change.
The bar lifts, my skis hit the snow, and I’m off before the seat has fully cleared.
I need the movement, anything to get out of my own head. I tend to lose myself in it, and it is not a pleasant place to be.
I don’t stop to admire the view. I tip forward and drop straight onto the black run, letting gravity take over.
