Page 141 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“That’s where the photographers think I’m headed. We’re going to Cervinia.”

“That’s four hours!” It was on the Italian side of the Alps, absolutely the wrong direction for her.

“We’ll go over the top.”

“The cable cars don’t run at night.”

“Stella.” His tone was insulted, but he didn’t say anything more because the limo was pulling into the heliport.

“Oh.” That answered that. “But I don’t want to go to Cervinia,” she pointed out.

“You’d rather be eaten by wolves? Because I had to jump from an e-taxi to a limo to lose the photographers who were staking out the chalet. We have about five minutes before they realize this is where I was really headed. They’ll see you’re with me and everything will grow exponentially worse. Let’s talk on the other side.”

“This feels like a kidnapping,” she told him crossly. One she facilitated by jogging up the stairs to the helipad that mostly serviced heli-skiing and sightseeing tours of the Alps.

Minutes later they lifted off. She was alone in the back seat while he was next to the pilot looking as though he knew what he was doing up there.

She took a few breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart. This was all happening too fast. Was he really saving her? Or managing her?

She shouldn’t have come with him. It had taken a lot for her to become as independent as she was. Alot. But she had a good life in Zermatt. One that sustained her and allowed her to help Grettina. One that made her feel valued and secure and confident.

Now, as the moonlit Matterhorn slid behind her, she felt as though her connection to her safe place and the life that she’d built stretched and snapped like a rubber band.

She could get it back, she reassured herself. She had her ski pass in her wallet. That would get her onto the cable cars. A taxi around the base of the mountain cost the earth, but she had a credit card if she had to resort to taking the ground route. There were trains, too. One way or another, she could find her way home.

They didn’t descend into Cervinia, though. Not the proper part of the town. They landed on a private helipad next to a chalet built on the edge of a small lake on the outskirts. It was a mountain retreat that didn’t seem to have a plowed road into it. Four people on snowmobiles were riding away from it.

How would she get anywhere from here? Snowshoe?

A flutter of panic went through her. This was exactly the kind of situation she had run away from—being under the thumb of a man who held all the cards while she had none.

Atlas hopped out and opened the door beside her.

“Come,” he shouted, reaching to unbuckle her. “The pilot wants to get back to his dinner.”

He helped her down from the helicopter and used the flap of his coat to shelter her as they ran from the cloud of snow that was stirred up by the churning blades. As soon as they were at the door to the house, the chopper lifted off again.

“The house is fully stocked, but I told them to release the staff,” Atlas said as they entered to shake off the snow in the ski room. “My people will arrive tomorrow. In situations like this, I don’t want anyone around me who isn’t on my payroll.”

“Like me?” she suggested, stomach tilting with the knowledge they were alone here.

She hung her jacket and sensed him stilling as he looked at her.

“That was a joke,” she said.

“I know.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He turned away to remove his own things.

She glanced down, wondering if she had something on her shirt.

She’d worn this cashmere sweater over black trousers to work today. Her wardrobe was a careful curation of high-quality consignment shop items. In Zermatt, designer labels often wound up in the secondhand shops. The trick was finding things in her size that flattered her figure, but she was a decent hand with sewing so she was usually able to alter something to make it work.

This pearl-pink pullover was simple and classy beneath the blazer she wore at work and she loved the feel of it, but she suddenly realized how closely it hugged her torso and breasts.

She glanced up again, but Atlas was stowing his boots on the shelf, profile stiff.

“This feels like we’ve pulled a bank heist,” she muttered. “What thehell, Atlas?”

“Fun fact, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that this evening. We need to discuss how we’re going to respond.” He held open an interior door, inviting her to walk down a hall past a glass-enclosed fitness room.

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