A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) (5 page)

“What’s been going on round here? What have I missed?”

“Same old shit, just another day,” Chase says with a touch of sarcasm.

I frown upon seeing him shuffling uncomfortably from side to side.

A white light flashes on the number one as we pass the first floor. I sniff, then cover my nose with my hand.

“I think maintenance need to be called. There’s a blockage.”
Must be the plumbing
.

I hear Chase puffing and blowing heavily at my side.

“Yeah, there’s a blockage alright.” He makes a slight joke, though his face reddens and he appears to be in pain.

I wretch.

“Good God, man, control yourself.”

He holds his hand to his stomach, which growls angrily.

“That Thai chicken didn’t agree with me.”

With each floor we pass, his shuffling becomes more obvious and the odour gets worse. I can’t hold my breath or laughter back, and almost spit it out in his face. He’s going to shit himself in a minute. I smirk, looking down at his white trousers; rather an unfortunate choice of clothing.

Tenth floor, the lift stops. I crunch the champagne bottle and glass under my arm, then take the suitcase and hand luggage from Chase. The doors open.

“It’s okay, mate,” I say, tapping him on the shoulder. “I can manage from here.”

I don’t give him time to answer and exit the lift, gasping in a breath of fresh air. Then I stand and pause; there’s something I have forgotten to do. With a quick step back, I skim my hand over the button for every floor, making sure not to miss one. I know he won’t use the hotel toilets; he’ll wait till he gets back down to his own room on the second floor, so he’ll have a slow and rather broken journey.

Chase is almost keeled over as the lift door begins to close.

“You bastard!” he shouts.

Cupping my hand, I shake it from side to side.

“Now who’s the wanker!”

“Touché,” I just about hear him say as the doors close.

We’re more like brothers than boss and employee, and God, have we had some laughs and done some crazy shit together, but he’s the one person I can honestly say I trust with my life.

I walk a few feet to my suite, and swipe a card to open the door. It’s a magnificent room, one of two presidential suites that only the rich can afford. Everything is made of marble, even the floors, all beautifully white and pristine. I amble through the main lounge and open the double doors to my bedroom. I drop my bags, at the same time almost dropping the glass and bottle of champagne.

“God, you don’t waste much time.”

Vanessa is reclined in the hot tub, and upon hearing my voice she turns, resting her head on its rolled edge. Her blonde hair cascades over the side. She already has a glass of bubbly in her hand, and the small table within arm’s reach has a collection of chocolate-covered fruits and a half-empty bottle of pink champagne sitting on its top.

“Am I worth waiting for?” she purrs. “Well, you guna join me?”

I hear the water move as she lifts herself up. Looking at me under her eyes and fluttering her lashes, she stands. The water glistens, and as I look at her it’s as though the smallest of diamonds decorate her naked body. The nipples on her fake boobs I paid for stand erect. I gaze down to the small cherry tattoo she has on her waxed pussy and see the small slit beneath, like a moneybox waiting for me to enter. I lick my lips and my eyes wander towards the strawberries, knowing how fruity she’s going to taste on my tongue.

“Do you want me wet or would you prefer me dry?”

She passes me that knowing look I know so well. Lifting her leg, she steps out of the hot tub and drips her way over to where I stand. She thrusts her pixie-like face into mine, tugging at my bottom lip with her teeth. I wince as she bites down harder. My lip burns. She grabs my arm, taking my hand between her breasts, and down further until it rests between her open legs. Every button pops off as she rips the shirt from my chest.

“Come on, Snow, what you waiting for? Fuck me.”

She looks at me playfully, blinking her long dark lashes, then turns, runs and jumps onto my bed, lying on her stomach. She wants sex, she wants fucking, I feel nothing; I haven’t even got a semi. I glance down at my cock;
no chance
, I think to myself. Maybe if I go to the bathroom and show it who’s in charge.
Fuck it.

“Vanessa, not now, it’s been a long journey.”

She rolls onto her back, sinking further down into the quilt, and lifts her head from the pillow.

“My God, that’s a first, you never turn down sex, night or day, tired or not.”

She cocks her head on one side.

“Come on, Snow, out with it, who is she?”

She lowers her legs over the bed and stands up, slipping on a tiger-print bikini. She then grabs a white towelling robe from a hook on the back of the dressing-room door and slides her arms in, tying the belt loosely to cover herself. She smiles as she walks over to join me, and I watch her steps slow and her green eyes gaze up into mine.

“It’s a shame, the last few months have been fun,” she says, disappointed.

She stands tall on the tips of her toes, and places a soft kiss on my cheek.

“All I can say is, I wish her luck.”

Her white robe brushes against my chest as she passes. I turn as she lowers the handle of the door. She looks back, and I catch sight of the fifty thousand dollar earrings I bought her last month and the matching chain she wears around her neck.

“You know what?”

I look up.

“She’s guna need it.”

The door slams behind her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I look at the empty bed, at the empty hot tub, and grab my dick in my hand, shaking it.
Wake up why don’t ya?
I hurry into the lounge, but it’s too late, she’s gone. I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair, over and over, then kick out rather sharply at the plush settee as I head towards my office.

I punch in the four-digit code and my office door swings open. The scent of rich mahogany enters my nostrils. The furnishings in here are such a contrast to the rest of the suite. I sit down at my desk and stare through the window, looking out for miles across the turquoise ocean. This is a place I love, somewhere I come to clear my mind.

I reach forward, opening a small drawer directly to my right. Rummaging with my fingers, I pull out a small packet containing the white stuff, my own personal stash of snow. I tip a small amount onto my desktop, then reach into the back pocket of my trousers and slide out my wallet, grabbing my bank card. I tease the powder into a neat line, then lean over and press my finger against my nostril. I freeze, immediately sitting back. It wasn’t a bank card I had grabbed from my wallet, but the folded picture of Darcy and Hooper, now masked by cocaine. I can almost feel her disapproval of me as her brown eyes stare up at me from the photo.
God, if only she could see me now. She’s so lovely, and I…
I am quick to brush the white powder off my desk and wipe off the residue with my arm. I relax into my black leather chair and cross my ankles, then straighten the creased picture with my index finger. Looking down, I take in Darcy’s unobvious beauty. So natural and gimmick free, she is perfection.

I can still remember the sensation of the soft tips of her fingers stroking around the edges of my tattoo. Then I remember her words as she gazed up into my eyes: ‘Who’s Summer, Snow?’

The floor creaks as I get to my feet; automatically I walk towards the metal filing cabinet. I rock back and forth on the heels of my shoes before pulling out the top drawer; I grasp all the files together, bunching them in my hand and pulling them forward. Bending slightly I reach behind them all and blindly search with my fingers. I trap it between my thumb and index finger and slowly lift it from its confines; it dangles before my eyes and my heart drops like a stone. That tiny red knitted glove, such an insignificant item of clothing, yet it holds so much significance.

My thoughts wander back to a memory, an incredibly painful memory…

I
’m ten years old; my hair is wild, and whichever way a brush runs through it, it goes in the opposite direction. I do like my eyes, which are large and brown, but I don’t like my mouth, as when I smile I can see the metal braces I wear on my teeth.

Feeling a pull on my arm I glance down and smile at Summer, my little sister, who has just turned four. We stand in the hallway of our large house, putting our arms through the sleeves of our coats, fastening our hats and pulling on our winter boots.

“Are you ready?”

I nod on hearing Mum’s voice and gaze up as she opens the front door. Everything in front of me is white, even down to the spiders’ webs that hang from the porch, decorated with a thin layer of ice.

I take Summer’s gloved hand in mine as we step outside. I shiver; it’s a freezing cold afternoon in the middle of December. Each breath I let out sends mist into the air, and then in the briefest of moments the ice-laden atmosphere has swallowed it up. Mum reaches out to grab Summer’s free hand in hers. I listen as Mum counts to three, and we lift her small frame from the floor, swinging her forwards. She giggles.

“Whoosh!” I shout before her feet are planted back down into the snow.

After a while my arm grows tired, so I let go of her hand, leaving her to walk with Mum. I walk slightly behind, looking at them both. I can hear Summer’s chirpy voice, and watch her dark brown hair as it bobs up and down beneath her red beret. She looks so pretty, dressed all in red, and I notice how she stands out against the stark white snow.

The blades of my ice skates chink together as they dangle at Mum’s side. We near the frozen lake and stop at an old wooden bench, where Mum leans over and dusts the snow off with her hands.

“This would make a beautiful photo,” she says, placing my shiny new skates on the ground in front of me.

Being new, they are a little tight. I take off my gloves, but still struggle to pull the skates onto my feet. The laces are long and awkward to tie, and my fingers fumble until I’m able to tie them into a double bow.

“This is perfect for our Christmas cards, what do you think, Snow?”

I glance up and look round at all our acres of land, with the snow-covered trees and bushes. My eyes wander back to our house, which now sits far in the distance. Every year Mum makes personalised Christmas cards for family and friends. We all sit wherever she decides and wait for the flash, with programmed grins on our faces.

“Yeah whatever, Mum,” I mumble.

Her large blue eyes almost smile back at me as her blonde hair falls from beneath her hat to cover her face. With a look of exuberance she jumps up from the bench.

“I must go back to the house and grab the dog, the camera.” Her voice almost bubbles over in excitement. “And Nana of course; she can take the picture.”

I smile. Summer and I both love Nana, though she is not our grandmother but our au pair, a well-built Jamaican lady with a strong accent. She has a heart of gold and her face wears a permanent smile. Actually, thinking about it, she’s more like a mum and grandmother rolled into one, as we spend more time with her than anyone else. Dad’s very rarely home, working overseas overseeing his chain of hotels, and Mum, being the proverbial social butterfly, has an overly full diary and flits between her friends and the beauty salon.

“I’ll be back in no time,” she calls over her shoulder.

Rearranging her tartan scarf, she turns from me and looks towards Summer, who still sits on the bench swinging her legs.

“Stay where you are and be good for your brother.”

I catch the glint in her eyes.

“You
will
watch her, won’t you?”

I nod and see her flat-heeled boots disturbing the snow and leaving their imprint as she walks back towards the house.

“It’s not fair.” Summer pouts. “You get to skate.”

I pat my hand on her leg. “You will when you’re older, and anyway, you’ll have fun when Mum comes back. You can build a snowman, and I’ll help if ya like?”

I reach out and take hold of her small gloved hand.

“Tell you what, next year I’ll teach you to skate just like me.”

Her dark-brown eyes gaze up into mine.

“No, teach me now!” she shouts, sliding down off the bench.

I feel her pulling away from my hold, so I tighten my grip on her hand, but her fingers are slipping away and she pulls herself free, leaving only her small red glove clasped between my fingers.

“Summer!” I scream after her as she bounds off towards the frozen lake.

I jump to my feet. Still shouting her name, I begin to run, but trip over my skates and fall face first into the powdery snow. Struggling to my feet, I rip at the laces, though my fingers are so cold I can hardly feel them and the double knots won’t loosen. I rub my hands together briskly and try again; this time success, and I pull my feet free.

I can feel the cold biting through my woollen socks as I sprint towards the lake. I gasp. Summer has not waited at the edge, and she’s sliding around on the ice. I gather she’s seen me, as she shouts out my name and starts to jump up and down. I make my way onto the frozen expanse of water, but without my skates on I slide about and can’t control my feet; I feel my legs give way and I go down on the ice with a thud. Then I hear an awful cracking sound … and screams; they will stay in my head until the day I die.

My head shoots up.

“Summer!” I scream, my eyes scooting everywhere, but she’s gone.

I try to stand, but I’m unable to get to my feet, so I resort to scrambling on all fours to where I last saw her.

“Summer!”

Blinded by the tears as they stream down my face, I turn and look towards the house.

“Mum, Nana, help!”

I’m forced to stop. The ice is moving, and large cracks are opening up before me. The middle of the lake is now flowing water from which steam rises and hangs. I catch sight of something red and I glance down; her tiny gloved hand beats at the ice below me. I pummel my fist over and over on the thick ice until my knuckles bleed, but it won’t break. Looking down, I watch her ivory face distorting, making out the tiny air bubbles that slip from between her lips. I see her mouth my name…