Page 23 of Deception

It takes me several minutes just to tromp through the drifts, taking care not to slip and checking frequently if I’m still heading the right way. I’ve never been in weather like this before. Terror and bitter cold rip away all my reason. Only self-preservation matters.

My knuckles feel like they’re going to split when I knock the first time.

By the third attempt, I’m pounding on the door with both hands.

“P-please…” I chatter out.

The door opens a sliver and I feel blessed warmth seep out.

“M-may I—” is all I manage before a gust hits me, nearly bowling me over. In an instant I feel a hand at my back, steadying me, guiding me inside.

Instantly, I’m jarred by how hot it feels inside, so perfectly, life-savingly hot.

Shivers still wrack my whole body, and I take a few moments to just stand there catching my breath. I realize after a second or two that whoever opened the door is standing in front of me, watching me.

“Th-thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His voice is gravelly, deep and dark. Despite the warm relief to my aching bones, fear claws at my spine, making me clench my fists. Compose myself.

I raise my eyes to meet his.

And what I find is shocking. Stunning.

He’s only wearing a robe and some warm, comfy pants.

The crease of his chest peeks out from the split in the soft garment, right at my eye level. Above that, he’s steady, intently gazing with narrowed eyes.

Like a predator deciding how to bring down his prey.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a simple question. One he shouldn’t even have to ask me, I should be offering him excuses, an explanation.

“Um, I…” Every story I planned flutters away, my mouth going dry. “Got lost in the blizzard, followed the only set of lights I saw.”

“So you followed us a half hour up the mountain?”

My mind is trying to catch up, the flickering fire in the next room thawing my thoughts out, beckoning me to find a way to stay and get warm. “I couldn’t turn back once I realized I was going the wrong way.”

“Hmm.” His posture relaxes slightly and he cocks his head to the side, a sharpness to his expression making me second guess how drunk he seemed just an hour ago. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella Bianchi.”

“I’m Alessandro,” he offers hesitantly. “Bianchi? Like the Cortino Bianchis?”

Recognition sparks in his eyes.

“Um. Yes. Distantly. I’ve been traveling through several mountain towns, researching my heritage on vacation.”

Hopefully it doesn’t sound too rehearsed.

His stance is relaxed, but there’s a tension to the air. He’s suspicious.

“I’m so sorry to intrude; I feel so foolish. Thank you for letting me in. If you’ll let me warm up for just a moment, I’ll be on my way.”

A part of me truly wants that, to run, get back to my hotel room and hide.

Alessandro takes a deep breath, crossing the distance between us. He looks angry, put out. His shirtless, chiseled muscles flex in the shadowy firelight cast on him through the doorway.

My entire body locks up, my mouth bone dry as he looms over me. Instinct is screaming at me to flee.

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