Page 49 of Sinful Beauty

I’ve been watching the road signs, and it’s obvious we’re leaving Switzerland.

“Where are we going?”

“You don’t like surprises, do you?”

Judging from his boyish grin, he quite enjoys the act of surprising.

“You like to be in control.”

He reaches for my hand, weaves his fingers through mine, and lifts my finger to his mouth, and playfully bites. The more distance he puts between us and Geneva, the more playful he becomes. I know something about leaving one’s home behind. I’d thought he moved on to explore the world, that perhaps he discovered people and places he preferred. But perhaps, like me, he escaped a troubled world too. If so, why return?

His focus returns to the road, as it should, because we are flying.

“How much further?”

“Settle down.” He squeezes my hand. “Enjoy the journey.”

The soaring peaks of the Alps come into view, dominated by Mont Blanc, standing regal and snow-capped against the sky. Pine forests cloak the lower slopes, their dark green needles contrasting sharply with the pure white of the glaciers draping the higher elevations.

In the changing light, the mountains exhibit a mesmerizing palette, from the granite grays and earthy browns of rock faces to the alpenglow pinks and fiery oranges painting the snowfields as the sun dips lower in the sky.

I snap several photos with my mobile.

Even with the snow clouds rolling in, the view is spectacular from his luxury vehicle. If it didn’t feel obnoxious, I’d take photos of the inside of his Range Rover to send to Khalani, too. If only there were a way to capture the leather smell permeating what must be a new vehicle.

“Are you sending those photos to someone?”

I hit send, and say, “My friend, Khalani. She’s the one I mentioned who moved back to the United States.”

“Do you have plans to visit her?”

“Do you have any idea how much a plane ticket—” I halt because, what am I saying? Someone like Tristan doesn’t care about the cost of travel.

“One day we’ll go.” He’s still holding my hand, and presses his lips to my knuckles. “Where in the states is she?”

“In New Jersey. Close to New York. She can see the city skyline from her apartment.”

“Have you been to New York City?”

My mouth opens and closes, and I pull myself together. “No. I’ve never been to the states.”

“We’ll definitely go.”

He says it like there’s going to be plenty of tomorrows, but there won’t be. His mother would never allow it. No matter what he says, or believes. No, we’re from two different worlds. Someone like Tristan can choose to ignore reality without repercussions. I’ve lived a different life. I’ll enjoy this weekend, and whatever time we have, but I won’t lose track of reality.

Based on the road signs, it appears we’re headed to Chamonix, a famous ski area. He mentioned we might watch snow fall. He wouldn’t expect…

“You know, I can’t ski, right?”

“Seriously? You’ve lived in Switzerland for almost a decade and you haven’t learned how to ski?”

Plenty of people don’t know how to ski. The expense alone would keep me off the slopes.

“Don’t worry, wide eyes, no one is skiing this weekend. The slopes aren’t open.”

“Oh.”

“It’s early November. I would take you to the Four Seasons, as it’s one of my favorite spots. But they aren’t open right now. We’re hitting the area at a less popular time.”

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