Crossing the Line (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

I sit on the soft, tan leather sofa by the
blistering fire and wait for Mum to sort out her mountain view issues. Not
something I thought I’d ever have to wait for. As much as I want to run to the
aid of the receptionist, I have a solid week to spend with her. The
receptionist should feel for me, not than the other way around.

My phone beeps and I know it’ll be Aden.
With a big fat grin on my face, I open the text message. ‘I will break the
‘sexy’ Italian legs of any ‘sexy’ Italian men that glance your way.’

I laugh and put my phone back in my bag
just as Mum turns around, looking for me. I want to jump behind the sofa
– or in the fire – so she won’t see me, but we’re here together.
Sighing, I stand up. “Mum,” I call, holding my hand up so she can see me
easily.

“What are you doing over there? Come along,
we’ve got a new room.” Of course we have. They’ve probably turfed someone
else out of the room just so they can shut Mum up. I would if I were them. It’s
just not worth it.

I follow Mum through the grey stone
corridors, trying to remember the way out. Being here still seems like a dream,
or nightmare depending on how it goes.

Our suite is enormous. It could easy house
a family of four. Along one whole wall is a large grey stone fireplace, which
dominates the lounge area. Two two-seater dark tan leather sofas face said huge
fire and behind them is a small kitchen area.

I can’t wait to chill here in front of a
blistering fire after a day skiing. My double, four-poster room is next to
Mum’s, separated by a narrow bathroom.

I pick up a leaflet from the table. “They
have a spa, Mum.”

“Of course they do,” she replies.
Right, silly me.

“Would you like a cup of tea before we go
down?”

My first thought is ‘hell yeah’ and my
second is, ‘Mum can make tea?’

As it turns out, she can. I have no idea
when she learned to make it; she’s always had staff to wipe her backside for
her. I almost suggest she gets a job in a tearoom until I remember I have to
spend a whole seven nights with her. Again, it’s just not worth it.

“Okay, let’s go and get fitted for the
equipment. I’ve arranged for you to have an instructor for the first three
days,” she says once we’ve finished being stereotypical Brits and having tea
before we can move.

“Just three days?” Won’t I need more than
that if I don’t want to ski off the edge of a cliff?
 
And I don’t. “Will that be enough?”

“That will be plenty. It’s not difficult
once you know the basics.” What if after three days I still don’t know the
basics?

“And you can ski?” I ask. She’s told me a
few times that she can, but it doesn’t seem real. My mother doing something
physical, that isn’t shopping or ordering people around.

“Yes, Amelie. How many times am I going to
have to tell you that? We’re meeting your instructor in a half an hour. Come
on.”

Half an hour is a damn long time when your
mother spends it talking at you. We finally get fitted for our boots and skis
and go to find my instructor. I like her when she’s on holiday, although she’s
not entirely relaxed her whole manner is softer.

“Would you like me to wait?” Mum asks.

“No,” I reply. “I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you
after.”

She nods. “Very well. Have a good day and
remember to listen.” Before I can even think of anything to say, she is gone.
Much like how she appears.

“Hello. Miss Amelie Cohen, isn’t it?”
Turning around, my eyes bulge at the tanned gorgeousness that’s before me. “I’m
Alessandro, and I’ll be your instructor for the next three days.” Alessandro is
tall and dark with a chiselled jaw and piercing dark brown eyes. And he’s an
instructor so under that evil ski jacket is a six-pack. He is the definition of
Italian Stallion, and I get to spend three days with him.

If I wasn’t with Aden I would have spent my
three days with Alessandro in a very different, but equally as physical, way.

“Hi.”

“Okay, if we go over there,” he says,
pointing towards a wide, shallow hill near the equipment hire shack. “That’s
the learners’ slope and where we will spend today.”

“Okay, great.” I shuffled forwards on the
skis, and it was fine. This is going to be a piece of cake. To the left of the
learners slope is a long run and then it disappears down the mountain.

Alessandro takes me to where the other
learners are. Thankfully there are a few adults around too. I step onto the
skis and hear them click into place. People ski around me gracefully, bending
their knees as they fly down the mountain.

“Okay, so the first rule is you never ski
down hill,” Alessandro says.

I look up at him. What kind of a Mickey
Mouse instructor is he? I can hardly ski up the fucking hill can I! “Are you a
qualified instructor?” I ask.

He frowns and replies, “Yes.” Doesn’t
bloody sound like it. “Are you ready to try? We’ll go across this slope. Keep
your legs slightly bent and point your feet together, that’ll stop you from
going too fast. We’ll spend the morning on this bit and then descend to the slightly
steeper slope where you can go a little faster.”

I decide pretty quickly that Alessandro is
clearly insane and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Going across is boring
and slow. I want to ski to go fast, like everyone else. While he’s distracted,
I point my skis downhill.

It takes me just under a second to realise
that Alessandro is, in fact, perfectly sane. My heart freezes in panic as I
shoot down the hill, barely managing to stay upright. The world whizzes past me
in a blurry white haze.

This
is bad. I’m going to die!
I shout expletives loudly
as I zoom towards the bottom and to my death. I hate skiing! I hate it! What
kind of twat invented shooting over snow with fucking sticks attached to your
feet?

“Amelie!” Mum shouts. “What on earth are you
doing?”

I don’t see her; I’m too busy looking at
the snow-laced ground as I hurtle to my death. It really sucks that her yelling
at me is going to be the last thing I hear. “Dying!” I scream in reply. Is it
not fucking obvious? Whether she heard me or not I don’t know, but it doesn’t
really matter.

Alessandro bellows instructions after me,
but his voice is muffled. I hear turn and then something else but as I gather
speed all I hear is the wind whooshing in my ears.

Turn! I turn and scream as my body flips
over. I briefly see blue sky and then white snow as I turn completely and smash
into the floor. I roll a few times and then finally stop in a heap, facing the
sky and panting.

“Jesus,” I huff.

“Amelie, are you alight?” Mum asks as she
skies over and stops by my head.

Alessandro arrives at the same time and
helps me to my feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” People have actually stopped to
look at me. Fabulous. I should be more embarrassed than I am, but I’ve had
worse. Brushing the snow off myself, I plaster on a smile. My head hurts, and
my hair is damp.

“Are you ready to try again?” Alessandro
asks, and I want to whack him with one of my skis – if I can only find
where they are.

I nod, realising that everyone falls when
they’re learning, and I shouldn’t let it discourage me. From now on I will only
ski across the mountain, though. “Yes. Small slope. I’ll see you later, Mum.”

“Be careful,” she says and glides off down
the mountain. Falling over like a twat doesn’t embarrass me but my mother
skiing better than me certainly does.

For the rest of the morning, Alessandro
keeps me on the baby slope, and I’ve not complained once. I do, however, want
to knock over every person smaller than me as they progress onto something
steeper.

At half past one, we stop for a two-hour
lunch break – as instructed by Mum. I’m glad for the break. Sitting in
the dry, warm restaurant with a roaring fire is worth sitting with Mum as she
goes on about my slight mishap this morning. It’s an honest mistake, who would
have thought you ski across rather than down? It doesn’t make any sense, to
begin with anyway.

“I think I’ll go shopping for the rest of
the day and pick up skiing again tomorrow,” I say as I pop ravioli in my mouth.

Mum puts down her knife and fork. “Amelie,
if you would just listen to Alessandro’s instructions you wouldn’t have
fallen.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Anyway, I think we should have a talk, so
perhaps we should give skiing this afternoon a miss.”

Oh why? Talk about what? “Sure, Mum.”

“Have you spoken to Aden much since we’ve
been away?”

“A few times.” It’s only day one.

She nods and cut into her lasagne. “Things
are going well?”

“Yes.” Where the hell is she going with
this?

“Good. He’s a good man. You could do a lot
worse.” Shaking her head, she looks up at me, and I know I’m not going to like
this next part. “The men I imagined you to end up with, Amelie. I am very
grateful for Aden.”

“Oh?” I reply, not knowing what else to
say.

“Well you have always been so determined to
do the opposite. Every man we suggested you turned away from.” Because they
were all preppy freaks with their head up their own arse! “You passed on so
many suitable men, or so I thought. I’ve recently realised that you needed
someone that could handle you. You’re a very strong willed woman, Amelie, and it
takes someone special to accept that.”

Accept it. I smile tightly. If Aden didn’t
like who I am, we wouldn’t be together. I’m grateful that Aden doesn’t
care about my ‘quirkiness’ and finds it ‘fucking hilarious’.

“You remind me of my younger self.”

I almost spit my ravioli out.
Oh hell no.
“I what?”

“Oh, I understand we’re not that alike, but
we are both strong women. No one could tell me what to do either. Did you know
your nan wanted me to marry someone else?”

I blink in shock. Well this is news. “No. She
didn’t like Dad?”

“She didn’t dislike him, but there was
another, who she felt a more suitable, gentleman. Edward Ryhart. He came from a
wealthier family. There was no contest for me, though. I knew your father was
the one, and we’re wealthier than the Ryhart’s now you know.” I mentally roll
my eyes. The first half of that was sweet, but it always ends in a contest.

“So you knew Dad would be richer?”

“Your father had more drive and ambition. I
admire that and knew I would have a good life with him.” So it was all about
love then. “I know you will have a good life with Aden. When will the wedding
be?”

Is it possible to have a heart attack and
not know about it? “Wedding?”

“Yes, Amelie. Do you have a date in mind?”

Have I missed a proposal? “No date. We’re
not planning on getting married anytime soon, Mum.”

“You really should, Amelie. I see no reason
to wait.”

“We’re not ready for marriage. That’s a
pretty good reason. We’ve not been together that long – another good
reason.”

“If you think you’ll be together for life
you really shouldn’t wait. Aden is the perfect match for you and I can tell he
loves you very much. Think about it, I’m sure he is.” Is he? Could he really
want to get married already? My throat dries and I no longer feel hungry.

I stand. “Excuse me for a second. I need
the bathroom.” Mum nods and sips her disgusting red wine.

How I got to the bathroom, I don’t know. My
head is spinning, and I feel like I’m in a dream. Why does everything move so
fast in my mother’s world? Are they all so terrified of having to do things for
themselves that they married the first guy that comes along?

I dial Aden’s number, and he picks up
straight away. “Aden, do you want to get married?” I wince. Perhaps I should
have opened with hello?

“Babe, are you proposing?”

“No, I’m just asking!”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I swear to God if you don’t just answer
the question-”

His laughter cuts me off. How is this
funny? “Millie, I love you more than anything. I don’t want anyone else, and I
can see myself with you forever, but not yet. I’d like you to move in, travel
and spend some time together before we plan a wedding. Having said all that, if
you want to do it now, I’m in.”

“What, just like that?”

“Getting married now or in a few years’
time makes no difference really, though I’d prefer to wait. Where is all this
coming from? What did your mum say?”

“Oh she’s just being pushy. We should get
married as soon as we land and all that.”

“Forget her. What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to, eventually.”

“Eventually it is. How is it going?”

“We’re both still alive, does that answer
your question?” He laughs down the phone. “Oh but I almost died today.”