Five Days Before the Fashion Show
7:30 a.m.
Felicity
FELICITY STOOD AT THE BASE of the ski gondola and rubbed her hands. It was too early in the morning, and she was freezing. The pine trees were blanketed in last night’s snow and a squirrel darted sleepily across her path.
Raj had insisted that everyone meet at the gondola to ski the famous white carpet. It was supposed to be the most glorious run of the day: miles of fresh powder, without a single imprint. The sky turned from purple to blue before your eyes, and the snow was as soft as a down comforter. It was important to be the first skiers on the mountain; if you waited until later, the fresh powder would disappear.
First you had to ride in the gondola, and then you transferred to a chairlift, when you reached the top, it was so cold you couldn’t feel your nose. It had been too early when she left the hotel for a cup of coffee. No matter that the guidebook said it was the experience of a lifetime; snuggling under a down comforter in her pajamas seemed like a better idea.
Raj hadn’t been happy that she’d missed the excursion to Alp Grüm, because it had been the perfect photo opportunity; she couldn’t beg off again. A photographer was going to meet them for lunch and take photos of all the models. Her head felt perfectly fine, and she had gotten plenty of sleep; after Gabriel left, she’d spent the whole afternoon and night in bed. At first, her mind had been a jumble of thoughts. How could Adam suggest they see other people, and how could she change his mind? When she finally slept, she never wanted to get out of bed. The mattress was soft as butter, and the pillows were filled with feathers and fitted with silk pillowcases.
She had been tempted to call Adam and apologize. But she thought about waiting years to get married, and knew she couldn’t do it. Then she imagined losing him completely, and her chest tightened and she felt sick.
At least Raj had promised her lunch at the Alpine Hut. It was where all the fashionable people ate when they skied the Corvatsch, and needed to refuel before returning to the slopes. That was one of the wonderful things about the Alps. The mountain cafés served bratwurst and lamb cutlets and soup so thick you could eat it with a fork. Felicity was going to order pizzoccheri with beef noodles and potatoes and crepes stuffed with walnuts and jam.
“Let’s go.” Raj motioned for her to climb into the gondola. “The models are all on the first gondola. If we don’t hurry, other skiers will get there first, and the white carpet will disappear.”
“The only carpet I want to see at this time of day is the one in my suite,” Felicity grumbled. “Even the squirrels think it’s too early. They gave up collecting nuts and went back to bed.”
“Greta said it’s the experience of a lifetime.” Raj sat on the hard surface and made room for Felicity beside him.
“Who’s Greta?” Felicity asked as the gondola lurched and they started up the mountain.
“I met her at the Polo Bar last night and we went on to the King’s Club. She’s from Zurich, and she knows everything about St. Moritz.” Raj adjusted his gloves.
“You took a woman to the King’s Club?” Felicity raised her eyebrow. “Wasn’t that expensive? The dress code says ‘dress to impress,’ and you practically need to show the bouncer your bank balance to get inside.”
Felicity had read about the King’s Club in the hotel brochure. It was the oldest nightclub in Switzerland, and every celebrity who visited St. Moritz sipped White Ladies or Vodka Fizzes at the club’s bar. Disco balls hung from the ceiling, and the dance floor was so packed it was like attending some terribly sophisticated high school prom.
“I ordered two glasses of Sambuca, and they lasted all night.” He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket. “And she was a wealth of information: Bobby’s Pub is where all the young people hang out, and the only place to be seen for après-ski drinks is the Roo Lounge. You may think the patrons of the Miles Davis Lounge are simply enjoying casual conversation with their cigars, but they’re most likely conducting cutthroat business deals.”
Felicity glanced at the paper and looked at Raj. “Her name and phone number are on the top, and my German isn’t very good, but I think she left her room number.”
“We’re going to meet this afternoon to discuss where I can get the best deals on toboggan rentals for the next photo shoot.” He snatched up the paper. “Anyway, you should talk. Nell told me you and Adam had a fight, but she didn’t mention you already met someone new.”
“What are you talking about?” Felicity asked.
“It was all over the blogs this morning.” He took out his phone. “Pictures of you in the arms of some hunky, dark-haired doctor. To be honest, I was shocked—that isn’t like you at all.”
“Of course it isn’t like me—it never happened.” Felicity’s heart pounded. “A sled almost knocked me over and I took a tumble in the snow. I blacked out for a minute and he carried me to my room.”
“According to silverweddings.com, ‘Felicity Grant continues to surprise us in St. Moritz days before the debut of her winter collection. We broke the news that she might be planning her own wedding, but now the identity of the groom is in question. Was she modeling her own design in anticipation of nuptials with her longtime sports manager boyfriend, or is her future husband a dark-haired man rumored to be St. Moritz’s doctor? All we know is they looked very cozy when he was carrying her down the catwalk at Badrutt’s Palace. If only we had followed them into the elevator, we might have learned the whole story.’”
“Let me see that.” Felicity grabbed his phone. There was a photo of Gabriel carrying her through the hotel lobby. Her arms were around his neck, and he was wearing a blue ski sweater.
“It’s wonderful publicity for the collection,” Raj commented. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“You can’t even see my face, and I don’t care about the collection!” Felicity gulped the cold air. “If Adam sees this, he’ll never speak to me again.”
“Nell said you weren’t speaking to each other anyway,” Raj reminded her. “Though I didn’t believe her. Ever since I saw him in our apartment six years ago, I knew you’d end up together. What guy would iron a wedding dress for a girl he just met, unless he was falling in love?”
“His mother put the dress in her steam room,” she corrected. “And we were so young. It’s easy to be in love when you don’t expect anything of each other except a slice of pie as a thank you. We got in an argument yesterday. I told Adam that I couldn’t wait years to get married. He said I cared more about the wedding than him, and that we should take a break.”
“All grooms are the same. They never understand the significance of the perfect diamond ring or the right gown,” Raj said thoughtfully. “A fancy wedding isn’t necessary, but neither are expensive cars or memberships to the gym. You can travel up Fifth Avenue on the bus, and if you want to stay fit you can jog around Central Park. But the grooms all come round the day of the wedding. They drink beers with their groomsmen and slip into their rented Armani tuxes and everyone is happy. The bride posts photos of the bridal party on Instagram, and her friends can’t wait to buy a gown just like ours.”
“Can we not talk about Felicity Grant Bridal for a moment!” Felicity’s veins felt like ice. “Adam and I got in a huge fight, and now there are photos of me in the arms of another man.”
“I was just trying to distract you,” Raj said gently. “You and Adam have had disagreements before. Do you remember the summer he wanted to take you to Disneyland, but you were designing the gown for a wedding at the Plaza? The bride wasn’t happy with the alterations, and you had to cancel the trip at the last minute.”
It had been Felicity’s first society wedding, and five hundred guests had watched the bride walk down the aisle. And that dress! Yards of silk taffeta and two petticoats and a peau de soie bodice. The bride had worn her grandmother’s diamond-and-ruby choker, and her undergarments were hand-sewn in Paris.
“How was I supposed to know he was going to surprise me with a holiday in California?” she fretted. “Anyway, no one in the wedding industry takes a vacation in July. It’s like telling Adam to go to Bali during the NFL draft.”
“You see, your career is important to you,” Raj countered. “Adam loves you. He just wants to wait until his firm is established to get married.”
“I love my career, but I want a family before I’m too old to enjoy it,” she said slowly. “It doesn’t matter. When Adam sees these photos, our relationship will be over.”
“Adam hardly reads Silver Weddings with his morning coffee.” Raj slipped the phone into his pocket. “We’re about to ski the most exhilarating run in the Engadin valley. Stop worrying and enjoy yourself.”
Raj skied off with the models and Felicity perched at the top. Raj was right; she couldn’t call Adam from the slopes, and what did it matter? He’d said they should take a break and see other people; he probably didn’t care if she was in the arms of some Swiss ski instructor.
But what about Gabriel’s advice? He’d thought she had to tell Adam how she felt. If she kept it bottled up inside, it would be like ignoring snow on the roofs in the village after a heavy snowfall. You had to shovel the new snow, or the whole chalet could collapse.
The sun caught the tips of her skis and she pushed off down the mountain. The wind touched her cheeks, and she felt the delicious thrill of picking up speed. For the next few hours she wasn’t going to think about anything except the trees flying by and her skis digging into wet powder.
* * *
Four hours later Felicity unbuckled her boots and pushed her goggles onto her forehead. She had skied all morning, and now she understood the magic of the white carpet. The sky was the color of topaz, and the runs were so wide she barely saw another person. At one point she stopped to watch a squirrel collecting nuts, and it was all so beautiful, she never wanted to be anywhere else.
It was noon and the sun was high above the mountain. Her cheeks were sunburned and she realized she was starving. Raj was already inside the Alpine Hut getting a table, and a photographer was taking photos of the models.
Her phone buzzed and she fished it out of her pocket. The screen lit up and Felicity counted five texts. She clicked on the messages and read:
Just checking on you. I saw an odd posting on a blog.
The blogs must be wrong but I thought you should see them. Give me a call and I’ll explain.
Felicity, what is going on? I need to hear from you. You are all over the internet.
Felicity, I’ve been texting you all night. Where are you?
For God’s sake, call me. I just got home from dinner and you’re not answering your phone.
How had she missed Adam’s texts? Her phone had been buried in her parka, and she hadn’t heard it beep. It was six a.m. in New York; what if she called and woke him? Adam was often irritable first thing in the morning. But if she waited, he might leave for a client breakfast and she wouldn’t be able to speak to him all day.
She rushed inside and approached the hostess. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Welcome to the Alpine Hut,” the woman answered. “Will you be joining us for lunch?”
“I’m trying to make a call,” Felicity said urgently. “My phone doesn’t have any bars.”
“There’s no reception at this altitude.” She handed Felicity a menu. “Would you like to see a menu? Today’s specials are cheese raclette and apple strudel for dessert. The chef makes it with whole cream and cinnamon; it’s the best in the Engadin valley.”
“I don’t have time for raclette; this is an emergency.” Felicity turned back to the deck. Music blared from the loudspeakers, and the outdoor tables were filled with men and women eating bowls of soup and hunks of bread with cheese.
She searched for her skis and found them wedged behind a pair of Rossignols. A voice called her name, and Raj waved from a table by the window. Felicity didn’t have time to explain. She buckled her boots and pushed off down the slope as if her life depended on it.
* * *
Felicity paced around the living room of her suite and stared at her phone. She had skied straight down the mountain and hurried back to the hotel. Now it was two p.m. and she still hadn’t replied to his texts. Texting back was tricky; what if he interpreted what she wrote the wrong way? She tried to call him but his phone went straight to voicemail. Adam was probably taking Doug out for ham and cheese omelets at some trendy breakfast place in Manhattan.
How could the photos of her and Gabriel have ended up all over the internet? She was tempted to open a bottle of scotch from the minibar. Even Raj would agree that her boyfriend seeing photos of her with another man was a good reason to spend fifty Swiss francs on a shot of alcohol.
She wished she could talk to Nell, but she was still on the slopes. Suddenly she noticed Gabriel’s card on the coffee table. She hadn’t gone to the village yesterday to buy colored pens, and she didn’t want to get behind on the sketches for Camilla. She’d go now and pay Gabriel a visit at the same time. Her ankle throbbed, and she winced. Gabriel had warned her to take it easy, but she had skied the white carpet anyway. There was nothing she could do about it; she gingerly slipped on her boots and walked to the door.
* * *
Felicity strolled through the village with her new pens and consulted the card that Gabriel had given her with his office address. She turned a corner and glanced up at a wooden building strung with Christmas lights. It was perched above the village square, and looked more like a chalet than a doctor’s office. There were window boxes and a red front door with a pine wreath. She knocked and waited for someone to appear.
“Felicity! This is a surprise.” Gabriel opened the door. A long white coat covered his shirt, and he held a clipboard. “What are you doing here?”
“I had an errand in the village, and thought I’d come see you. I hope that’s all right,” Felicity said, walking inside. The waiting room had a linoleum floor and paneled walls. There was a vinyl sofa and a coffee table covered with magazines. “I would have texted, but I didn’t want to disturb you if you were with patients.”
“It’s quiet now.” Gabriel followed her. “You missed the afternoon rush: a girl broke her wrist skating backward even though her mother warned her not to, and a man needed stitches from attempting the Cresta Run. He’s lucky it isn’t worse. How any sane adult can torpedo down the mountain on a board as flimsy as a waffle is beyond me.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t come to talk about ski injuries.” Felicity grimaced. Her ankle had felt fine this morning, but now there was a slight twinge. “I wanted to ask for your help. I’m in even more trouble than before.”
“Don’t tell me you hurt yourself again.” He glanced at her ankle. “I told you to keep your foot elevated as much as possible. And what about your head? You had a nasty bump. Please don’t tell me you went skiing after almost getting a concussion!”
“When I woke up this morning, my head felt perfectly normal. And I’ve been trying to be good about my ankle, but Raj begged me to ski the white carpet,” she admitted. “It was worth it in the beginning. I’ve never experienced such soft powder, and the runs were so vast, it was like performing a ballet.”
“I can give you some pain medication for your ankle if you like.” He rummaged through his doctor’s bag. “But you have to be careful; it’s easy to get addicted. I’d rather you just listen to me and keep the ankle up in the first place.”
“It’s not my ankle—I told you, I’m good at pain.” She sat on the sofa. “It’s Adam. He saw photos of us on a wedding blog and sent texts demanding to know what was going on.”
“Photos of us doing what?” Gabriel asked, perplexed.
“You were carrying me into the hotel lobby. A photo of me with my arms around your neck ended up on social media.”
“Your boyfriend is worried about a doctor helping you, after a sled almost ran you over?”
“He doesn’t know about the sled.” She gave him her phone. “Someone made up a silly story that you’re the mystery man I’m going to marry. It’s all over Instagram and on the wedding blogs.”
“I don’t see the problem.” Gabriel glanced at the photos.
“His texts were livid,” she said anxiously. “I can’t get hold of him to explain.”
Gabriel opened a cupboard and took out a bottle. He found two glasses and poured large shots.
“My father always keeps a bottle of schnapps around for emergencies.” He handed her a glass. “Your boyfriend broke up with you because you wanted to get married, and suggested you both see other people. Now he’s angry because you’re involved with another man? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“I’m not involved with anyone,” she corrected. “It just looked like it from the photos. I don’t blame him for being mad. I’d be furious if I saw pictures of him on Facebook having dinner with another woman.”
“You’re not the one who told him you needed a break,” he reminded her. “Did he expect you to wait patiently until he decides what he wants?”
“It’s only been a day,” she said, wavering. “Maybe he thought something was going on before he gave me the ultimatum.”
“Still, it was his idea. I don’t see why he’s upset.” Gabriel sipped the liqueur. “Unless there was a time stamp on the break. Like a carton of eggs with an expiration date.”
“You know what it’s like when couples argue,” she sighed. “People say things they don’t mean. It happens all the time.”
“So you don’t think he wanted to break up with you?”
“He thinks he does, but he can’t be right,” she said uncertainly. “We’ve been together for six years. We had decided everything about our future: we’d live in Manhattan until I got pregnant, and then we’d move to Connecticut. We’d have two children, and if they were boys we might try for a girl.” She paused. “It would be lovely to design her wedding gown.”
“You agreed on all these things, but you couldn’t agree on a date to get married?” Gabriel wondered aloud.
“We talked about all those things,” Felicity said slowly. Had Adam agreed to them, or had she made all the plans while he never said yes or no? “I always assumed he wanted the same things. That’s what’s wonderful about our relationship.”
“You Americans are supposed to be good at communicating,” Gabriel commented. “It seems neither of you were listening.”
“We’re in love.” She looked at Gabriel. “That’s the most important thing in the world: when you wake up in the morning and you’re so happy because your favorite person is beside you. Or when you work all day and you can’t wait to share everything that happened.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love,” Gabriel said.
“You’ve never been in love?” Her eyes were wide. “That’s impossible.”
“There was a red-haired British girl when I was ten.” He swirled his glass. “She didn’t like Harry Potter, so that ended quickly. Then there was the dark-haired Italian girl I met when I was sixteen. We carved our initials in the pine tree near the gondola, and I thought we would last forever. The next day I saw her initials carved on the same tree beside the initials of Franz, the German ski instructor.”
“What about when you were at college?” she asked.
“When you’re a medical student, the only thing you long for is your bed,” he offered. “It has a never-ending allure because you see it so infrequently. I was too busy learning how the human body functioned to think about love.”
“You’ll fall in love someday,” she said knowingly. “And then you’ll understand why you’d do almost anything to hang on to it. True love only happens once in a lifetime. If you let it go, you might never feel that way again.”
“I suppose I will,” he ruminated. He looked at her closely and sipped his schnapps. “I don’t understand why you’re here. What can I do to help?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” She leaned against the cushions. “All I know is that yesterday I fell and twisted my ankle, and I’d never been in so much pain. You’re a complete stranger, but you carried me inside and made me feel better.”
“I’m a doctor; that’s what I do,” he reminded her. “But what does that have to do with Adam?”
“It always helps to get an objective opinion,” she said carefully. “When you’re in a relationship, it’s hard to separate how you feel from the right thing to do. Haven’t you ever read the advice columns in the newspaper? I used to love reading Dear Abby; my mother saved all her columns. I even wrote to the advice columnist in Elle when I was having trouble with a college boyfriend.” Felicity smiled at the memory. “She replied that any boy who thinks a first date could include a stop at the laundromat to fold his socks isn’t worth seeing again.”
“I’m a medical doctor,” Gabriel said, and chuckled. “I don’t know anything about giving relationship advice.”
“You suggested I tell Adam how I felt, and you were right,” she continued. “I have to know if he’s ever going to ask me to marry him.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you.” He looked puzzled. “You did tell Adam, and he said you should take a break. What are you going to do next?”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said finally. “I thought you could tell me what you’d do if you were in my situation. It will help me see more clearly how I should respond to Adam.”
“I’ve never met Adam. I don’t know anything about the two of you together.” He pondered. “I’d like to try to help, but I’m not sure I’ll say the right thing.”
“You’re right—I won’t bother you again.” She stood up gingerly. “Thank you for everything. I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”
“Look, why don’t we take a walk through the village?” Gabriel ruffled his hair. “We’ll get something to eat, and I can think of a way to help.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive.” He took off his white coat and opened the door. “I’ve seen all the patients for the day, and I’d much rather sample bratwurst than write up a report on intestinal blockage due to eating too much Swiss cheese.”
* * *
They strolled onto the Via Maistra and Felicity shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. The snow on the rooftops was pearl white, and the village teemed with shoppers. A tall Christmas tree was decorated with silvery ornaments, and the lampposts were tied with red bows.
Felicity had never seen such vibrant skiwear: sweaters with geometric patterns, padded ski pants, brightly colored scarves. The shop windows reminded her of Dylan’s Candy Bar in New York, and she was dying to go inside and buy a turtleneck or a pair of gloves.
They toured Heuberger Butcher, with its huge slabs of ham hanging from metal hooks. Felicity was grateful to Gabriel for showing her, but she confessed she’d rather see her sausage on a plate with a side of potato salad.
He took her inside Glattfelder’s, and she admired glass cases filled with coffee beans and jars of caviar. They tasted dark-roast coffees with names like Verona and Sienna, and sampled imported caviar.
“During World War Two, they had to keep the sale of caviar secret.” Gabriel spooned a drop of caviar onto melba toast. “If the Germans saw anyone leaving the shop with a jar, they knew they were rich, and confiscated all the money in their pockets.”
“I could never spend two hundred dollars on fish eggs and salt.” Felicity took a small bite and grimaced. “I’d much rather eat a bowl of soup or a lamb chop.”
They walked back onto the pavement, and Felicity glanced around. A man pulled a child on a toboggan; a woman in fur boots was carrying bags from Bogner.
Gabriel noticed Felicity’s expression and frowned. “Are you all right? You look pale. I shouldn’t have suggested we go for a walk. You should be lying in bed with your foot up.”
“I’m glad I came. I love seeing the shops, and if I was in my suite, I’d be checking my phone to see if Adam called,” she responded. “I’m just not used to the cold; every part of me is shivering.”
“Why don’t we go to the Kulm Hotel?” he said. “It’s the oldest hotel in St. Moritz, and they serve an excellent afternoon tea.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Felicity asked, even though just the thought of hot tea made her feel warmer.
“Everyone who comes to St. Moritz should try their chestnut puree with fresh whipped cream.” He took her arm. “It will be my treat. My last patient was a Dutch industrialist, and he tipped me one hundred Swiss francs.”
* * *
The Kulm Hotel resembled a fairy-tale castle with stone turrets and flags flying from different countries. A giant Christmas tree stood in the driveway, and valets sprinted between Bentleys and Range Rovers, unpacking luggage and ski gear.
The lobby had crystal chandeliers and marble pillars and oriental rugs. There was a stone fireplace hung with stockings and gilt mirrors resting against the walls. Felicity rubbed her hands and couldn’t wait for a cup of hot tea.
“The idea of winter holidays began in this lounge,” Gabriel said when they were seated on velvet chairs. There was a tray of meringues and slices of tiramisu served in porcelain cups. Felicity ate smoked salmon on pumpernickel and had never tasted anything so delicious.
“The story goes that, in the summer of 1864, four Englishmen joined the owner of the Kulm Hotel for afternoon tea. He urged them to come back in December when the sun shone every day and snow covered the Alps. They were used to miserable British winters, and declined. The owner made a bet that if they didn’t enjoy it, he would reimburse their travel expenses.” Gabriel sipped Darjeeling tea. “They took him up on it and had such a good time, they stayed until April. That’s how winter holidays were born.”
Felicity looked at Gabriel with curiosity. “I’ve lived in New York for ten years, and I wouldn’t know where to take tourists except the usual places like Rockefeller Center and the Met. How do you know so much about St. Moritz?”
“I was born and raised here, and its history is fascinating,” he mused. “I enjoy showing it to someone new. It makes me appreciate the beauty.”
“I thought you said St. Moritz was make-believe, and you’d rather live in the real world,” she reminded him. Her throat was soothed by the sweet tea, and for the first time since Adam sent the texts she felt almost happy and relaxed. As soon as she got back to the Badrutt’s Palace she would try to call him again or reply to his texts.
“I’m a doctor; I want to help people.” Gabriel shrugged. “I didn’t pore over cadavers for years so I could learn how to remove a diamond earring from a little girl’s nose.”
“Did that really happen?” Felicity burst out laughing.
“Her mother wasn’t paying attention, so the girl plucked it out of her ear and stuck it up her nostril.” He sighed. “I don’t know who was more upset: the little girl because of the pain, the mother because she’d lost her favorite earring, or the father because he had to pay my fee and buy a new pair.”
Felicity took a bite of chestnut puree and licked her spoon thoughtfully. She glanced at Gabriel and her face lit up in a smile.
“You look like you just tasted whipped cream for the first time.” Gabriel buttered a scone.
“The hotel is gorgeous, and the tea is piping hot, and you know so many interesting things.” She traced the rim of her cup. “For a moment I forgot everything that happened and was enjoying myself.”
Gabriel leaned forward to refill her cup, and tea spilled on the tablecloth. They reached for a napkin at the same time and bumped their heads. Felicity sat back and rubbed her forehead. Suddenly she didn’t want the afternoon to end. She didn’t want to go back to the suite and worry about Adam, and if Camilla would accept her sketches for Bergdorf’s fashion show.
“Could you do something for me?” she asked. “Could you tell me another folktale?”
“You want me to tell you a folktale in the middle of the afternoon?”
“It did such a good job of clearing my mind yesterday and not letting me worry about anything.” She looked at Gabriel. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear another one.”
“I’ll tell you ‘How the Devil Crushed His Foot.’” He rubbed his chin. “It was one of my mother’s favorites.
“An old and pious woman lived in the Verena Valley. She devoted her life to helping the poor, but as she reached her old age she could no longer deliver food or make clothing. She built a small hermitage and spent her days praying for the inhabitants’ well being.
“The old woman’s prayers worked, and the devil realized he wasn’t capturing as many souls in the vicinity. He traveled to the hermitage to investigate and heard the old woman praying. When he saw what was going on, he decided to put a stop to it. He rolled a boulder from a cliff and positioned it over the woman’s head.
“Just as he was about to deliver the fatal blow, the rock slipped and landed on the devil’s foot. He howled with pain and ran away, leaving the boulder where it fell. The woman lived to be one hundred, and the rock is still there, where people visit it today. My mother used to fix a picnic and we would go and eat it on the rock. She baked devil’s food cake just for the occasion.”
Gabriel stopped talking. Felicity opened her eyes and noticed that their hands were close together.
“That was a wonderful story.” She nodded and moved slightly. “I feel much better.”
Gabriel glanced down as if he had just noticed his hand was next to Felicity’s. “I’m glad. I’ll ask for the check. It’s getting late; I still have to call in some medications.”
* * *
Felicity looked up from her sketchpad and gazed out the window of her suite. The sun was edging behind the mountain, and the clusters of fir trees were thick with snow. A snowmobile whizzed by, and Felicity heard people laughing.
After afternoon tea at the Kulm Hotel, Gabriel had offered to walk her back to the hotel. She’d thanked him and said she could manage by herself. She made a cup of coffee and tried to work on a sketch for Camilla, but the oversized satin bow wasn’t working, and she had used the sweetheart neckline a dozen times before. She set it aside and wondered what Adam was doing in New York.
It was five days until the fashion show, and there was so much to keep her busy. She had to make sure the models had the right lipsticks and eye shadows. Sometimes a model wore her favorite pink lipstick when Felicity instructed her to wear red, and the whole color scheme of her outfit was thrown off. And she needed to make sure there were shawls in the dressing room in case the models got cold while they waited for their turn on the runway.
She wished she could tell Raj about the sketches for Camilla. But she had promised herself she wouldn’t say a word until after the fashion show. It would only make him more anxious, and there was nothing he could do to help. Either Camilla would love her designs and put them in the show, or all her work would be for nothing.
And how should she reply to Adam’s texts? She had planned on texting him as soon as she arrived back at the suite, but she still wasn’t sure what to say. She closed her sketchpad and pulled off her sweater. First she would take a hot bath; then she would reply to his texts. She didn’t want to get it wrong; their whole future together depended on her response.