I look down at my leather boots and my small, elegant suitcase. In my rush to flee the condo, I forgot the most basic requirement of being here. A flush of heat crawls up my neck.
The heavy glass doors slide open and let in a gust of freezing air. Jacque marches in, jaw set, pushing a luggage cart loaded with two heavy black hardshell cases and a pair of skis. He stops beside me. His face is a perfect, impenetrable mask of professional indifference.
“I assumed you would forget the props for your play, Mademoiselle. So I packed them before we left Salzburg.”
The clerk’s eyebrows shoot up. These are not wellness skis. They are stiff and aggressive, made for speed, not relaxation. They would give me trouble handling them, but they will fit my play.
Jacque hands over our IDs and takes two key cards, dismissing the clerk with a sharp nod.
He leans in as he pulls the cart toward the elevator. His voice drops so low it is just for me. “Go upstairs. Eat something. And for God’s sake, Élise, try to sleep.”
He stops at the elevator doors and his eyes soften for just a heartbeat. “Keep your phone on tomorrow and call me later. I am your accomplice, but I am still your guardian. Do not do anything that will make me have to call your father.”
I watch him walk away toward his own room, his silhouette broad and steady against the flickering firelight.
Upstairs, the suite is massive and filled with glass and fur throws. It feels like a cage of a different color. I stand by the window and look out at the mountain. The slopes are groomed into white ribbons under the moonlight. They look silent and predatory.
Tomorrow. One way or another, I am going to find out if I am an actress or if I am finally real.
Chapter 4
The King of the Hill
Playlist:
Deep Purple: King of Dreams
Velvet Desire: Mine Tonight
Reiteralm, Austria, the bottom of a training slope, November 11
NICO
I click out of my bindings. The snow crunches under my boots like broken glass. My lungs are burning. The cold mountain air tastes like ozone and triumph. It was a good run. My shins are still vibrating from the ice. Adrenaline hums in my blood like a live wire.
This is the only time the world makes sense. Here, there are no contracts, no press officers, no expectations. There is only the fall and the survival.
“Nico! Nico, over here!”
A group of kids is huddled by the fence. Their eyes are wide and their goggles are fogged with excitement. I wipe the sweat and melted snow from my face and slap on the grin the Austrian press calls the Golden Boy Smile. Seeing the boys makes it easy. I remember myself at that age, running just to get a peek at my heroes.
“Hey, guys. Did you see that last roller? I nearly ended up in the trees,” I joke.
I lean over the fence to take a selfie with them, pulling a stupid face I know will be on their stories within minutes. I high-five a boy in a red racing suit and wink at the lift operator.
“Looking fast, Reiner,” Sepp grunts from his hut.
“Always, Sepp. Fast is the only way to live.”
The moment I pull down the safety bar on the chairlift, the mask slips. The silence of the mountain presses in, heavier now. I pull my phone from my pocket. My thumb hovers over the screen.
