A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) (17 page)

“What the fuck’s my relationship with Darcy to you?”

It’s the first time I notice him lower his eyes; it seems he can’t bring himself to look at me. This is far too easy.

“My, my, aren’t we the doting brother-in-law? Picked yourself the wrong sister, didn’t you?”

Chris steps forward, his face inches from mine.

“You condescending prick, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. If he thinks me to be condescending, I won’t disappoint, so to piss him off that little bit more I brush my fingers across the caps of his shoulders just to show him that I’m a class above.

He grabs the tops of my arms.

“Now listen to me…”

“No,
you
listen to
me
!” I shout back in his face. “Take off those rose-tinted glasses you wear and look at the shit you live in. You’re an embarrassment to your wife; she hardly looks at you. And as for your foul-mouthed kids, they’re a joke.”

I pull myself from his hold and then circle around him like a shark.

“Think of the life my money could give you and your family… Now look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t got a price.”

Chris doesn’t stand quite as straight as he did only moments before. My face can’t help wearing a grin.

“It would be such a shame if the house sale of our dear parents were to fall through. I’ve got a funny feeling you may be relying on that money.”

Chris doesn’t answer; he’s no longer playing the big man.

“Eight hundred thousand, how does that sound?”

I see a change in his expression as he stands in silence, mulling over my offer. I pull my folded cheque book out of my jacket pocket and wink. Courtesy of my casino win, so it’s no loss to me.

I sign my name on the cheque and hand it to him. He holds it between his fingers, but doesn’t take it from me.

“How the fuck do I explain this to my wife?”

I shrug my shoulders. “That’s your problem.”

After a moment, Chris snatches it out of my hand.

“Now remember, we have an understanding?”

Chris nods.

“I’m not the man I was, people change.”

“Maybe,” he replies, “but not you.”

“You’re wrong. I’m thirty in a few years, I want a life and I want Darcy in it.”

“Guess we’re done,” Chris mutters, folding the cheque in half. “Make your excuses, and get the fuck out of my home.”

I walk towards the door. As I take the handle, I glance back over my shoulder.

“Keep away from Darcy.”

“Or what?”

“I know a lot of people, Chris, and many of them owe me a favour, understand?” I pause. “This agreement of ours stays in this room.”

I
wake up and roll over in our king-size bed. I so wanted to feel Snow’s arms around me, but he’s not there. His side lies empty, the perfectly white quilt pulled back. I crawl across the sheet, reach for the bedside cabinet and grab the small black remote that opens the blinds. Sinking into the pillow, I press the button and watch them sweep along the window, leaving me with the most beautiful panoramic view of the city, so perfect I could almost be looking at a picture postcard.

I’m sure I hear a noise, and disturbed from my thoughts I push myself up, my eyes darting towards the en suite.

“Snow!” I call out, but there’s no reply.

Disappointed, I look back out across London. I can imagine starched-shirted men with leather briefcases clutched at their sides as they jump from black taxi cabs, checking the time on their watches before rushing to their offices for their nine till five day. In my head I can hear so vividly the sounds of the city: the shuffling feet of pedestrians rushing from pavement to pavement, the beeping horns of impatient drivers who shout out obscenities. It’s so fast down there, my head spins at the thought. They say New York never sleeps, but from what I’ve seen of London, I don’t think it does either. I’m so glad to be away from it all.

I check my mobile for messages; there’s one from Jenny and one from work. Work’s on my case; my boss tells me if I don’t come in in the next couple of days, not to bother coming back at all. Whatever; I’ll sort it when I get home. I press delete, then open Jenny’s message. She says how nice it was to see us both yesterday, and that we’ll have to catch up again soon.

I don’t feel like catching the lift and eating alone in the hotel restaurant, so I lift the phone and call down for room service. Ten minutes they tell me. Still feeling quite sleepy, I stretch and then get up from the bed. I take the ‘do not disturb’ sign off the door and jump in the shower.

The water’s hot, and feels so refreshing; I’m hardly able to move as I stand encased in the steam. With my index finger pressed against the glass, I break the mist’s continuity by drawing a heart with both our initials inside. It’s quite ironic that I did the very same thing at school on the back page of one of my textbooks. It was always Snow; it was always his initials that I penned in the heart beneath mine. Thinking about it, I can hardly believe I’m here, that my girlish dreams have actually come true.

I remember sitting at home on the bed, sobbing into my pillow, telling my mum how I felt about Snow. She had laughed while stroking my hair. I wonder if they would approve if they were still here. Tears well up in my eyes. Why are my thoughts taken back to the two open coffins in the chapel of rest?

Although outwardly hot, I inwardly shiver as I picture their motionless bodies and that nothing expression on their faces. I close my eyes. Why can’t I see their smiles? Why can’t I bring more of the happy times we shared back to mind? It breaks my heart to think how much of my life they’re going to miss, and how much I’m missing them… I shake my head, shaking them from my thoughts. I really can’t do this; sometimes it’s easier not to think, and then it doesn’t hurt quite so much.

The shower has lost its appeal, so I turn off the water and drip myself dry into its porcelain base. Droplets of water run down the glass; the heart I drew only moments ago now lies broken, and as I watch it fade, I realise it will soon be no more.

A knock comes at the door, so I grab a warm towel and wrap it around my head. I slip my arms into a towelling robe, tie the belt around my waist and, as I pass through the hallway, grab a fifty-pound note from Snow’s wallet that he left on the table.

I open the door to Walter’s smile. He passes me a silver tray with a selection of fruits and a large jug of orange juice.

He turns to leave, but I lift my finger.

“Here you go,” I say, handing him the note.

Walter smiles, showing every one of his perfectly white teeth in thanks. What a different response from the first time I tipped him.

Closing the door, my damp feet leave marks as I pad back towards the bed. I lower myself down next to the tray, lift the jug and begin to pour myself a drink. With the glass only half full, I stop and glance down at a white envelope part hidden by the jug; it has my name written on it in blue ink. I lean over, resting the jug and glass on the floor, and then flip up the seal. Pulling out a folded note, I straighten it and begin to read
: Darcy. It’s your turn to play dress-up for me.

It’s sad really; I’m on my own, yet I’m giggling. I cover my mouth and chew on my bottom lip as I think of that sexy cop stunt Snow pulled, and what a night we had after. I continue reading.

You will be in the hotel bar at eight o’clock sharp. When I walk in and look around the crowded room, I don’t want to recognise you.

Tonight I don’t want to fuck an upmarket brunette; I want to fuck a blonde. Not a classy blonde, that don’t turn me on; I want a fake dirty blonde. I want your hair long, thick, down your back, so that when I push myself inside you I can grab it between my fingers and pull it tight.

I want you to lose that subtle innocence of yours, I want the make-up you apply around your eyes to be dark and bold and your lipstick to be a glossy crimson, one that I can smudge across your mouth and cheeks, and I want to wear it around the end of my cock when I take it from between those dirty lips of yours.

You will be taken around all the boutiques in London with your own personal assistant who knows my taste. You’ll pick a black cocktail dress exactly two inches below your ass, and don’t rush, you have all day to try on as many as it takes until you find one that fits you like a second skin. When you walk I don’t want to see a single crease in the material; when you move, it must move with you.

I hate bare legs, but fantasise about a woman wearing suspenders; therefore, you’ll wear nude stockings with a perfectly straight line from your ankles to your thighs. This, however, will be for my eyes only and will be covered by a pair of black leggings.

On your feet will be open-toed stilettos and they too must be black. Three-inch heels, no more. I want to hear you walk towards me in the lobby, and feel those motherfuckers sink into my skin as you step down my spine wearing only your stockings and heels.

My name will no longer be Snow, understood? And your name will no longer be Darcy. You will call me Sebastian, and as for your name, surprise me.

You and I work for the same company. I’m the boss’s son, and you are my father’s secretary. I’m rough around the edges, which my father hates. I’m the son who’s supposed to be taking over this godforsaken business. I hate this line of work, but it has its perks. You, Darcy, God, you’re so fuckable, and you have no idea how much I want you. I’ve felt you pull away when I’ve brushed past you, and watched your eyes drop to avoid me. The kiss we shared at the Christmas party said so much. I’ve wanted to get my hands inside your knickers ever since.

I know you’re married, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be happy in the knowledge that I’m fucking you behind your husband’s back, and happier still knowing you can’t get enough of me.
You’ll be needing a wedding ring, so pick the most brash and disgusting ring you can find and wear it on the correct finger. When I’m deep inside you, I will smile thinking of the man you married while I’m shagging his slut of a wife.

Go shop, Darcy, make sure you get everything on my list. There’s no need for money, everything will be credited to my account. A limo will be waiting outside the hotel at 10 a.m. sharp; be in it.

Your fuck for tonight

Sebastian

PS Darcy, do not disappoint me.

My fingers are trembling and I can feel myself heating up inside; the demands he makes are daunting. When he played the cop for me, he was so natural, whereas I haven’t a clue. At school I sucked at drama, hiding in the cloakrooms to get out of the lesson. But Snow knows what he wants in the bedroom, and tonight there’s no cloakroom for me to hide in. It’s kinda kinky, a turn-on, yet at the same time doubts run through my head; have I got the confidence to go through with what he asks of me? Can I really play the part, when all I’ve ever been is me? Feeling hot and flustered, I lean down, pick up my glass of juice from the floor and swallow down a large gulp, needing something to cool me. I scrunch my face at the bitter aftertaste it leaves in my mouth.

I gaze across at his side of the bed; a couple of dark strands of hair stand out against the perfectly white pillowcase. I don’t know why, but seeing them and picturing him lying there with me last night, I know I want this to work.

My gaze takes me out of the window and far beyond. I guess partly because of my birth mum, sex to me has always been a mishmash of misconceptions, probably the reason I put it off for so long. I’ve had so many opportunities to take the next step; I dated Sam for almost a year, and he was more than patient, but when it came to that crucial moment I always managed to make an excuse. His dreams of being a vet eventually took him to Edinburgh University, but it wasn’t the distance between us that destroyed our relationship, it was the lack of intimacy, and that was all down to me. Maybe my years of fantasising over Snow and knowing that was all it would ever be, was my excuse not to go there; all my feelings were held in my mind, somewhere my body had no reason to go. Fuck and sex sounded so dirty, and I wanted so much more; I wanted the romance, I wanted to find true love, and more than anything I wanted my very own fairy-tale ending. But Cinderella doesn’t exist; this is real life I’m living, and Snow is so much more than a fantasy. I shudder. Maybe I don’t like to admit it to myself, but sex, being fucked, is awesome when you’re with the right person. God, I want that feeling. I can’t wait for Snow to make me feel good tonight. I don’t feel dirty, I just feel loved. To hell with it, if he wants a dirty secretary, that’s what he’ll get.