Ivy

I ’m pressed against Alder’s side smiling so wide my cheeks will be sore if I keep this up. God, please don’t let this end in disaster.

“Hey, Red,” he greets me with that familiar nickname that makes my stomach turn sour. Turning his attention to Alder, he assesses him. There’s no question that he’s intimidated. His eyes flick back to meet mine, and I’m just sending up prayer after prayer that my smile hasn’t turned manic. I try my best to soften my face. Alder gives me a small squeeze with the arm wrapped around my back. Right. I have given him nothing. No explanation.

I look up to see Alder wearing an easy smile. It looks so natural. Like I’m in his arms all the time. That thought is stopped in its tracks when Noah clears his throat and speaks again.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you would be here until we landed,” he says. We? No. Coming into view now is her. Margo . I feel light-headed, but I also haven’t eaten, and I was getting ready to check my blood sugar when Alder came into my office and scared the shit out of me. I clear my throat. I don’t know what to say or if I can respond. My vision is starting to feel a little fuzzy on the edges, and if I faint right now, I don’t know if I can bear to come to, with my ex-husband, his new fiancée and woman I despise, along with Alder standing over me. My skin feels clammy, and I fidget. “I know this isn’t exactly ideal. When I heard your father acquired a ski lodge, I never would have thought you would be here. You hate the snow and…” he continues to speak, but all I can hear is rushing in my ears. Please no.

I’m jostled slightly by Alder moving to reach behind me. I hear glass clinking and then smell oranges.

“Do you want one?” Alder asks me casually, holding out one of my candied orange peels. He pops one into his mouth, and I nod. He grabs two from the container and offers them to me. I pop them into my mouth and chew. He pulls me to him and leans me back into my desk, letting me use it to keep steady. “Why would it be a problem that is here?” Alder addresses Noah. “I’m Alder, by the way.” He steps toward him with his hand extended.

“Noah James,” he says his name like it holds weight. He will always be in his father’s shadow. Try as he might to step out of it. “It’s not a problem for me that is here; it’s just that I know the divorce was hard on her, and I don’t want to open any old wounds.” Well. That has my vision clearing, only now it’s tinted in a violent shade of red. That mother fucker thinks it’s him that I was upset about. I’m not sure why I would expect anything less. It’s Noah we’re talking about here. I believe Carly Simon wrote a song about him. I open my mouth to correct him, but Alder responds before I can.

“Ohh… the ex-husband. Is he your son? Or nephew, maybe? I know it’s hard when family gets involved.” His words are polite, but they hit their mark perfectly. Noah is only forty-three, but the premature balding spot at the top of his head tells a different story. I choke on air. On words that I haven’t yet said. I cough, trying to hide the hysterical laughter that threatens to bubble over. “That could be awkward, but I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to make sure you and your family’s stay with us is pleasant,” he finishes. I stay silent for a moment longer. Noah is fuming.

I try to de-escalate the situation. “Um, Noah is my ex-husband,” I tell Alder, and his eyebrows shoot up before he can stop them.

“Oh, sorry. I read that all wrong,” he tells Noah. My ex’s face is turning red as he fights to control his expression.

“Not at all,” he says to Alder, then asks him, “And how is it you know so well?” Alder doesn’t look the least bit flustered and is ready with a reply, but I choose this moment to spring my half-hitched plan on him.

“Alder is my boyfriend,” I blurt. To his credit, Alder shuts his mouth quickly and just smiles. Noah is less than convinced.

“Your boyfriend?” he asks, surprised, pressing me for more information.

“Mmhmm,” I hum. I’m winging it so hard I may take flight. Really playing at the angle of less being more right now.

“Yep,” Alder confirms. “Meeting her really knocked me on my ass.” He sends me a wink, and I giggle. I am going to owe him so big for this. I’m a little nervous about what he’ll ask for. I might also be excited. Alder, in a word, is exciting .

“Right,” Noah replies. “Well, I just wanted to give you the courtesy of hearing it from me that Margo and I will be here through the new year,” he says, pulling the small, petite blonde woman close to him. Through the new year? That’s at least three weeks.

“Three weeks?” I question, not even attempting to hide the outrage in my voice. He never so much as took a weekend off the five years we were married. That hurts. Not because I loved him or because I wanted to spend more time with him…well, that’s not really true. I wanted our marriage to work at first. I tried. I wanted it to mean something after the way it happened. He was trapped, and so was I. I guess I just thought that we may be able to find some common ground. Possibly find a friendship. For all my efforts, all I got were weeks without speaking and nights alone in his big house that was as hollow as me.

“Margo wanted to celebrate our engagement with a trip. She’s very fond of winter and all things holiday,” he says, chuckling like he wasn’t an absent and emotionally abusive asshole when we were together. She looks completely uninterested in this whole interaction.

“Well, whatever Margo wants, she should get,” I bite out. I need to be away from here. No, I need him away from here. The raging sea inside is so close to spilling over, and I’m afraid I may physically be sick or physically attack the man in front of me. Alder presses closer to my side, and Noah sighs.

“, I hoped we could move past this. Our families are always going to be tied together, and I do hope you can move on.” His words are as cold as him. I think knowing he never cared about me isn’t the worst part. It’s knowing that he wouldn’t have cared for our child—had I been able to carry him to term. My loss that I mourned while he fucked the woman standing beside him, the French, would-be nanny we chose together. Fuck. I blink rapidly. My heart rate is increasing, and the orange peels weren’t nearly enough to bring my blood sugar up to normal. I’m going to crash. Alder tightens his grip on me.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely stay celebrating your engagement. Let us know if you need anything, but I’m absolutely certain you won’t be needing anything from .” He almost threatens. “The chalet should be ready, and if you need help with bags or directions, Jack should be at the front desk,” Alder tells Noah, dismissing him. “We’ll see you around the resort, Noah.” He smiles that casual, unaffected smile, and it helps me remember I should try and smile as well.

“Have a nice stay,” I say weakly.

“Thank you,” he replies, holding an arm out to let Margot go first, then they walk back down the hall and out of view. My shoulders sag, and the dizziness is in full effect. I feel arms band behind my back and my knees, and the sudden lightness tells me I’m being lifted. My eyes fly open to see the landscape outside tilt sideways. I’m cradled for only a moment before I feel myself softly lowered into a chair.

“What do you need, ?” Alder asks me. Concern is marring his words, and I feel fatigue start to claim me.

“I need something…to drink. Something with sugar,” I say weakly. Drinking something fixes the issue quicker. Staying on top of my glucose level is best, but here we are. I hear him leave. His soft footfalls against the wooden floor. I tip my head back against the chair. This feeling is like a punch to the gut. Being helpless is a fear I still fight to master. I have variations of it in the form of nightmares from time to time. Sometimes I’m screaming, but no one can hear me. Other times, I’m in a room, and there’s a door but no handle. I shiver, pushing the memories back down. I’m contemplating how I can be better at keeping track of my sugars when I feel his presence.

“Here,” he says. He moves to reach behind my neck, presumably to tilt my head up, but absolutely not.

“I’ve got it,” I tell him, sitting up and seeing what he’s brought me. It’s a can of cherry cola. He can’t possibly know this, but cherry cola is my favorite. I will never tell him. He cracks the tab and hands it to me to take a sip. I take two big gulps and set the can on my desk. He stands there, arms crossed, but not in a Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do way. It’s more intense. Watchful. He’s studying me. My body and movements.

After a long moment, he speaks. “Does this happen to you often?” he asks.

“Not really,” I tell him. It has happened. What definition of often are we working with here?

“Take another drink,” he advises. I glare. It’s weak, but I manage. He chuckles.

“Come on, Stormcloud. You need to take another drink.” This time, he sounds more suggestive. I’m open to suggestions. I pick up the can and take another long drink.

I swallow audibly. “I’m fine. Or I will be,” I tell him, hoping I sound more grounded. He shakes his head.

“I didn’t doubt it,” he quips, and I think he means it. There’s no sarcasm there that I can detect. “Hypoglycemia?” he asks.

I nod with my answer. “Yes. I’ve been handling it for a few years now. I’m typically better about checking my levels, but someone,”—I look at him pointedly—“I don’t want to name names or anything, made a surprise trip to my office, nearly scaring me to death before I could,” I tell him as sweetly as I can. He grins.

“Was that before or after the surprise ex-husband showed up?” he inquires, thoughtfully. Oh. Yes…that. I take another drink of the soda and set it down, running my finger up and down the side of the sweating can.

“Noah, my ex-husband that I haven’t felt the need to discuss or bring up because you barely know me—” I’m cut off by Alder’s deep voice.

“,” he says my name in a way that makes me want to be her. Whoever the is he’s speaking to, he holds in reverence. I think I would like to be her. “You do not have to explain anything about your past to me. Nothing that you don't want to anyway,” he tells me, eyes boring into my own.

“I appreciate that, Alder. Really. You have been, so much kinder to me than I had any right to expect, and I know you mean what you’re saying. So, that makes what I’m about to ask you to do a little more complicated.” As I’m speaking, his head tilts in confusion. Something I’ve noticed he does when he’s trying to understand something. It’s endearing. “Noah and Margot,” I choke her name out, “will be here for three weeks, and that is extremely distressing to me on a few levels. Not only was I married to him way too young, but also…” I shut my eyes against the vulnerable feelings this stirs up. “I was pregnant when we got married, and Margot was the nanny he and I decided on hiring before I…” I clear my throat and reinforce the wall I built a long time ago. “I lost the baby,” I finish. He places his hand over mine and squeezes it .

“That motherfucker. Say the word, . Say it, and he’s gone,” he assures me. I snort.

“Are you going to tell me that you know a guy?” I ask. When an expression I can’t quite pin down crosses his face, I continue my little confession. ”So, when he came here today with her. I think I kind of lost my mind for a minute. I completely understand if you’re not up for it, but I need you to do me a favor over the next few weeks.” I swallow. I don’t ask people for things.

Asking Alder for anything under better circumstances would have been enough to make me want to scream into the void, but now? After I’ve been so cold. It makes my skin itch. “If you’re willing,” I tack on, trying to sound like I don’t need him. I hate needing . I get along fine on my own and have for as long as I can remember.

“What do you need, ?” The way he asks it. I feel the armor I wear go transparent. He’s seeing into me. Asking on a deeper level. It scares me that, on an introspective level—I haven’t a clue. I don’t know what I need anymore. What I should want. I shake myself, and my defenses settle back into place. Instead of thinking too long about the depths of depravity that is my wants and needs.

“I need you to keep up the charade I’ve placed you in for the next few weeks. I’ll try to keep my interactions to a minimum, but just in case,” I say.

“So…” he says, leaning down as he places his hands on either side of my chair's armrests. His sudden closeness has my breath coming a little faster. Then he looks up at me through the dirty-blond hair that's fallen over his brows. Hair I want to slide both my hands into and pull at the roots until his mouth falls open, and oh, that mouth… “You want me to what? Be your boyfriend? Is that what you’re telling me, princess?” he asks me this, and internally, the sultry little vixen in me nods so furiously she’s making herself dizzy. I flick her nose before I respond.

“ Fake boyfriend. Yes,” I answer as calmly as I can. I know my cheeks are flushed, but I’m praying he chalks that up to my low blood sugar spell. “Can you do that?” I ask him. Why did I do this? I’m not a teenager trying to make a boy jealous. I shake my head. “You know what, never mind. This was a horrendous idea. One of my worst, and that’s saying something,” I backpedal.

“I’ll do it.” I meet those icy blues. God how does he manage that earnest look of his? “Under one condition,” he states. There’s the catch. Men. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. They all want something. What does Alder want?

“So there are conditions?” I ask. “What is it you require from me then, Lover Boy? It better not be anything too nasty. I may not be into it.” He doesn’t need to know any of the things I am into.

He chuckles and drops his head, removing his cage on me as he stands to his full height. Which has to be at least six foot three. He was still a head taller than me in my heels today. “I think we both know I have a little bit of an idea of what you’re into,” he teases. I’m a tomato. “Let me teach you to snowboard,” he says. Huh?

“You want to teach me how to snowboard? In return for helping me with my dilemma?” I question, standing from my seat. “What’s in it for you?” I ask. Surely there’s more to it than this.

“I get to spend more time with you.” He smirks. “One on one.” He steps into my space and lifts his hand to my hair, pulling my purple pen from it, letting it spill over my shoulders. The weight of it hitting my back sends shivers down my arms. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you today,” he whispers, and I’m not sure whether he’s aware he said it out loud or not. Then he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Deal?” His breath hits my face. It smells faintly of my candied oranges.

“Deal,” I confirm. Fate sealed.