The first full day in St. Moritz had been a blur of forced togetherness. Dinner had been warm and loud, thanks to Miguel's booming anecdotes and Sofia's determined efforts to include me in every conversation. Alex had been polite but distant, his presence a heavy, silent anchor.
The second morning, Sofia declared that sitting indoors was unacceptable.
"We are in the Alps, darling!" she announced at breakfast, pulling a map of the resort toward her. "We are skiing, or we are snowboarding, or we are sitting in the hot tub with champagne. No moping, Alex."
Alex just raised a challenging eyebrow at Miguel, but offered no verbal protest.
It quickly became apparent that Alex and Miguel were both exceptional skiers, fast, effortless, and terrifyingly competent.
Sofia preferred the leisurely, scenic routes and mostly wanted to talk about resort gossip.
When we arrived at the equipment rental shop, Alex handed me a form. "Skis or board?"
"Neither," I admitted, flushing slightly. "I've never done either. We went on tropical vacations when I was a kid."
Miguel laughed and clapped Alex on the back. "A challenge! Perfect. Alex is a brilliant instructor, Ava. He taught me the basics when we were fourteen."
Alex shot Miguel a look, but his gaze immediately softened when he turned to me. "Snowboarding is easier to learn on the first day. Less complex footing."
"Alright," I said, my heart fluttering nervously. The thought of Alex being forced to physically guide me was both mortifying and exhilarating.
Within the hour, I was bundled in layers, wearing rental boots that felt like concrete blocks, and standing on a gentle beginner's slope, the massive, dark snowboard strapped clumsily to my feet.
The sunlight on the snow was dazzling, and the air was thin and sharp.
Alex stood a few feet away, already looking like he belonged on an Olympic team, even just standing still.
He was patient, walking me through the basics, how to balance, how to use the edges to brake, and the all-important necessity of falling correctly.
"Keep your weight centered over the board. If you lean back, you'll catch the edge and sit down hard. Lean forward, and you'll go straight down," he instructed, his voice low, a serious note underlying the lesson.
I managed two excruciatingly slow runs, spent mostly in the snow. My legs burned, and my concentration was shot.
"This is pointless," I sighed, scraping the snow off my goggles after a particularly undignified tumble.
"You're not catching the front edge," Alex said. He didn't sound annoyed, just clinical. He skied easily to me, stopping precisely inches away.
"You're trying to stop with your heels too aggressively. You need to keep the board level, and press into your toes slowly to control speed."
He knelt beside me, unstrapping my back foot. "We'll try a run just using the front foot to steer, and I'll provide balance."
Before I could process what he meant, he positioned himself behind me.
He reached out and placed his hands on my waist, firmly, definitively. The thickness of my coat and his gloves did nothing to mitigate the shock of the contact.
"Lean into me," he commanded softly, his breath warm near my ear. "Relax your shoulders. I have you. Just focus on your balance."
With his body shielding mine and his hands providing a solid, immovable anchor at my center, the world shifted.
The burning in my legs, the frustration of the falls, it all faded away, replaced by the acute awareness of his warmth, his strength, and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Now, shift your weight slightly to the toe side," he instructed, guiding my hips with the slightest pressure.
We started moving. Slowly at first, then picking up a terrifying, exhilarating speed. My single, strapped-in foot found the balance point, and for the first time, I felt the satisfying whoosh of gliding, controlled movement.
I laughed, a bright, involuntary sound. "Oh! I'm doing it!"
Alex's grip tightened, and I felt the barest hint of movement in his chest, almost a vibration that wasn't quite a chuckle.
"Keep your eyes up, Ava. Don't look at the board."
I was doing it. We were gliding down the slope in perfect synchronization, his body pressed against my back, his presence surrounding me entirely.
The sun was warm, the snow glittering, and for a fleeting, perfect moment, the tension that bound us was channeled into exhilarating speed.
But the moment, like the slope, had to end.
I held my balance for maybe ten more seconds before the unfamiliar sensation of speed completely overwhelmed my control. I leaned too hard to the left, trying to turn back toward the safety of the flat area. The front edge caught.
"Whoa!" I shouted.
Alex swore, a muffled sound against my hair. He immediately angled the board to protect me, but there was no saving it. We went down hard, the board skidding out from under us.
We tumbled in a tangle of limbs, snowboards, and laughter, landing in a deep, fresh drift of powder. Alex's heavy frame landed half on top of me, pinning my arms against the snow. My helmet was askew, and a blinding spray of snow had settled all over my face.
I couldn't stop laughing. It was a release of tension, of effort, of frustration. I giggled until my stomach hurt, snow falling from my lashes.
Alex slowly pushed himself up on his forearms, settling his weight beside me. He was breathing heavily, his dark hair dusted with white powder. He looked utterly disheveled, completely unlike the controlled, impeccable man who owned my house.
He stared at me, his eyes wide and startlingly bright, trying to maintain the facade of gravity. But my infectious, unrestrained laughter was too much. The corner of his mouth twitched once, then twice, before the sound finally escaped him.
It was a rough, surprised sound, a low, genuine, rolling chuckle that sounded like a foreign language coming from his throat.
He laughed.
Alex Matteo laughed.
Lying in the cold snow, utterly defeated by a beginner's slope, he looked at me and laughed.
The sound resonated deep in my chest. In that moment, surrounded by quiet, glittering white, the heavy, expensive cloak of formality that always separated us completely vanished.
He reached up, his thumb wiping a smudge of snow from my cheekbone. The touch was slow, tender, completely lacking in self-consciousness or restraint.
"You're terrible at this," he murmured, the laughter still lingering in his voice, his eyes dark and fixed on mine.
"You're a terrible teacher," I shot back, grinning widely.
The moment stretched. His face was only inches from mine. The cold air suddenly felt warmer. It wasn't about the board, or the slope, or Miguel and Sofia. It was just him, breathing in my space, his gaze holding me captive.
This feels different, I thought, a desperate, silent realization. This is real.
Before either of us could move or speak, a shout echoed from the top of the slope.
"Need a rescue, lovebirds?" Miguel called down, skiing toward us with Sofia trailing behind, both wearing wide, knowing smiles.
Alex's eyes immediately clouded over, the barrier snapping back into place. He pulled his hand away and rolled swiftly to his feet, instantly regaining his composure.
"We're fine," he called back, his tone strictly formal. He held out a gloved hand to me.
I took it, allowing him to pull me up out of the snow, my heart still pounding from the shock of his touch and the unfamiliar sound of his genuine laughter.
The moment was over. But the imprint of his hand on my waist, the sound of his laugh, and the brief, shared look of intimate surprise in the snow, felt like the most important thing that had happened all week.