Molly had told him honestly that she wanted to move on, start afresh and that he needed to think about doing the same because it was clear that his marriage was over. He’d hated that. Facing up to a fact. But if she could do it then so could he and if he didn’t, if he chose to limp on in a fake marriage, that was his choice. Molly was out of there.
She shifted slightly, arching her back to reposition her shoulder blades on the lounger, feeling the warmth radiate into her bones, but it did nothing to soothe her. She’d lain awake for most of the night, going over everything, returning to the start. Hoping that seeing it through her supposedly adult eyes, might help. The Switzerland trip had changed everything. She closed her eyes tighter, the memory clear, as though it had happened yesterday.
St Moritz had shimmered. The slopes had been sculpted by wind and sun into perfect white icing that coated the mountainside. The air had been cold enough to sting her throat, but Molly had loved it. Loved the speed. The danger. The freedom of cutting through powder with Shane just behind her, calling encouragement, laughing when she fell, watching her in that way he always did when he thought no one noticed.
Her mum had stayed home, saying she hated the whole ski vibe and had too much on at work. Molly knew it was an excuse not to be with Shane, especially since he’d already moved out of her suite and into a spare room on the floor below. Snoring had been the reason given, Molly suspected otherwise. Dee had been too young and too afraid of avalanches or breaking a bone so stayed home, too.
The trip was a gift from Shane for her sixteenth, which had been and gone – but they’d had to wait for the ski season. Molly had felt so grown up as they’d waited in the executive lounge at the airport, taking a trip with her stepdad who treated her like a friend he liked to hang out with.
Their chalet was pure luxury, all wooden floors and polished steel, the balcony that overlooked the piste. They’d skied all day every day, until the light dimmed and the sky blushed peach. Then came the après-ski. Cocktails too strong, too early, sipped through paper straws in a bar that pulsed with music and candlelight. The Europeans had a casual attitude to drink so nobody turned an eye when Shane had let her have whatever she wanted. Told her it was a celebration. Her coming of age.
On the third day he took her to Da Vittorio, a Michelin-starred Italian restaurant, where he’d looked at her across the table with a strange intensity as she laughed over her glass. She’d felt it then, the connection. The electric charge under the table, the way he reached for her wrist when she made a joke, his thumb tracing her palm.
By the time they returned to the chalet, her skin tingled from the cold and the alcohol. The fire had already been lit by the maid and outside, the snow was falling again, soft and soundless. Inside, it was just the two of them.
It wasn’t the first time he’d blurred the line between father figure and friend. There had been moments before, fleeting, seemingly innocent. The prolonged hand on her shoulder. The gifts. Little ones, chosen carefully. A designer scarf. A bottle of perfume her mum didn’t know about. Compliments that made her flush with a strange, tangled pride and confusion. He’d made her feel chosen. Special. And Molly, riddled with teenage insecurity and the complicated ache of adolescence, had soaked it up like sunshine.
He’d never touched her, not properly. But he hadn’t needed to. Not until then. He’d primed her, little by little. Made her feel mature, desirable, in on something thrilling. So by the time they were alone in that chalet, she already half-believed it was her idea.
Molly had toed off her boots, shrugged off her coat. Her cheeks were flushed from the wind and drink. Her limbs loose. Liquid. She felt older. Different. She swayed slightly across the open-plan space, aware of how her leggings clung to her, showing every perfect curve. Aware of his eyes on her back. She liked the way it made her feel. Like a spark.
‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to him, smiling. ‘For today. It was perfect.’
He gave a small laugh. ‘You’re welcome. You kept up better than I thought you would.’
‘I told you I was good. School skiing holidays paid off in the end.’
‘You’re better than good.’
There was a pause. Molly stepped closer. Reached up. Placed a kiss on his cheek. It should have been innocent. It wasn’t. Theireyes met. And something passed between them. Slow and hot and unmistakable. For a moment, neither moved. Her breath came shallow. His hand hovered near her hip. The fire crackled, the only sound in the room.
Then he stepped back, fast, as if burned.
‘Molly,’ he said sharply, voice tight. ‘No.’
But the protest sounded weak. She didn’t back off.
‘Why not?’ she asked, voice low. Daring. She closed the space between them again, stepping into his shadow.
He shook his head, his eyes darting to the windows, the ceiling. ‘This is wrong. I’m your–’
‘You’re not anything,’ she cut in. ‘Not really. Not like that.’
Another beat. He didn’t move. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his cashmere jumper. His heartbeat. Fast. Erratic.
‘You’ve been looking at me all week,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t act like you haven’t.’
His breath caught. He tried again, weakly. ‘You’ve had too much to drink.’
She smiled. ‘You let me.’
His hand caught her wrist, but not hard. Just enough to hold her there. Not enough to push her away. ‘Molly…’
And then she kissed him. He resisted for a second. Half a second. And then didn’t. His arms closed around her. His mouth opened under hers. And just like that, the line vanished. They sank to the rug in front of the fire. Her top peeled off, then his. She didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop her.
The room spun. She’d expected clumsiness. Guilt. Something strange. But it wasn’t like that. It was practised. Confident. Like he’d been waiting for it. And when he looked at her, it wasn’t with confusion or shame. It was hunger. Possession. Satisfaction. After, he’d pulled a throw from the sofa to coverthem and she lay curled against his chest, the firelight reflected on their skin. He was quiet. She looked up at him.
‘Are you going to pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow?’
