A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) (12 page)

I gaze up at him and he smothers my mouth with hot kisses, our breaths mingling. He pulls himself from me, and lying in one another’s arms we close our eyes.

T
he moment I open my eyes there is a wide grin sitting on my face; last night was amazing and it wasn’t a dream. I turn to snuggle closer to him, but the covers have been thrown back on his side. I stretch, then toss my legs over the bedside and sit up. I can hear running water from the bathroom, and the door stands ajar.

“Fancy some company?” I call.

Round two
, I surmise, trembling at the thought. I stare towards the door, excepting his face to peek round at any moment. I’m not a little girl any more, I’m a woman. Tingling inside, I await his presence. I roll my eyes as the door closes without even a good morning or hello. I can’t help but think his name is so apt, since he changes like the weather.

Hearing a knock at the door, I grab a white towelling robe from a hanger in the wardrobe.

I unlatch the door.

“Room service, madam,” a deep voice calls out.

I look up at a middle-aged man dressed in navy trousers and a white shirt, who passes me a silver tray. I smile, taking it out of his hands, thank him and ask him to wait. Hurrying back into the room, I place the breakfast down on an oval table near the window. I grab a couple of pounds from my purse, which is buried at the bottom of my grey duffel bag.

“Here, thank you,” I say, placing the money in his upturned palm.

He peers down and it’s as though his eyebrows meet; then, without so much as a thank you, he turns and walks towards the lift.

“How rude,” I mutter under my breath, walking back into our suite.

“What?”

I glance up. How handsome he looks. Snow is already dressed in a shirt and grey flannel trousers. He is sitting at the table, with one leg crossed over the other, cutting into a croissant.

Sitting opposite him, I fidget with a serviette in my lap.

“He didn’t even say thank you for the tip,” I gabble.

“How much did you give him? Did you get the money out of my wallet?”

“No,” I gasp, “I wouldn’t dream of going in your wallet. I’ve got my own money; I had some change in my purse.”

“Change?” His eyes crease as he starts to chuckle.

“Yeah, I had two pounds.”

“Darcy!” I hear him swallow. “This is a five-star hotel and we’re in the presidential suite; two pounds doesn’t cut it. You probably insulted the man. I keep a wad of fifties in my wallet for tipping.”

I guess he sees my blushes, and tells me he will sort it when we check out. I bite the inside of my cheeks. After last night I expect him to say something about us, something to make me feel special, but he’s unusually quiet. After a moment or two of silence he looks up and I catch his eye; I smile, though his face remains straight. It seems he looks past me and out through the window. It feels to me like he’s regretting us.

I scrape the chair legs along the tiled floor and stand.

“Thanks for the trip,” I say, throwing the scrunched serviette on the table. “But this just isn’t working.”

He lunges forward, spilling tea on his shirt as he grabs for my hand.

“Why?”

“Well, look at you last night, and look at you now. It’s like…” I pause. “It’s like you got what you wanted and now you don’t want to know me.”

“No, Darc, it’s not you.”

“Well then, what? Do you regret us, last night?”

“No, Darc,” he repeats. “Last night was amazing,
you
are amazing.”

I feel a fluttering return to my stomach as his eyes light up. Still holding my hand in his, he pulls me back down into my seat.

“It’s my mother. The thought of seeing her is driving me mad. I haven’t seen her in years, and she probably won’t even recognise me. I’ll be okay later, believe me, I just want to get this morning out of the way. Say what needs to be said, let you meet her and say my goodbyes.”

He moves his chair round the table so we are no longer opposite, and he sits next to me. As I butter my toast, he places the palm of his hand over mine. It feels like there’s no need for words, his touch says so much, and I relax.

T
he reception area is quiet; the phone rings, but the swivel chairs at the desk are empty. It takes my breath away as we walk along the corridors of St Mary’s Hospice. I shudder; it feels like death accompanies us and walks mockingly at our side. I glance at the numbered doors on each side. The only sound apart from our own breathing is the clattering of tea trollies and the shuffling of feet. Snow’s steps slow and we stop outside room seventy-two. His hand feels clammy as I take it in mine. There’s a vacant expression on his face as he stands with his other hand on the doorknob, and it must be a minute or more before he turns it and walks in onto the blue carpet. I step in behind him. We are met by darkness, the windows masked by dark curtains. Snow walks over and inches them open, allowing in a little light. A middle-aged woman is sat propped up by pillows in a high-backed chair. She lifts her head from out of her hands and frowns at us. I see no smile on her lips, no outward emotion.

“This is Darcy. Darcy, say hello.”

Holding out my hand for her to take, I step towards her, but her eyes don’t meet mine and are still focused on Snow. I rest my hand on her shoulder; she flinches and folds her arms around her waist. I catch her lined face and pale skin, but not her eyes, which dart down into her lap. My gaze follows and comes to rest on her hands; I notice her nails are trimmed and beautifully polished. As I glance back up, I notice her strawberry-blonde hair, which sits on her shoulders. I can’t see a strand out of place; it’s almost too perfect. Then I remember the posters I saw on the walls in the foyer advertising mobile hairdressers and beauticians.

Feeling awkward and not knowing what to say, I turn back to Snow. He passes me a half smile.

“How about you go sign us in?”

I nod, as he adds for me to give them five minutes alone. It’s such a relief closing the door behind me, knowing she’s on the other side. From the welcome we received, it’s hardly surprising Snow was apprehensive about coming here today. She doesn’t know me, yet I feel she hates me already.

Dragging my feet, I trace my steps back to the reception area, where a dark-haired woman now sits behind a desk. She looks up as I approach.

“Do we need to sign in?” I ask.

“I can do it for you, if you like. Who are you here to see?”

She pushes her thick black hair behind her ears and reaches across her desk for a leather book and pen.

“Mrs McKenzie,” I tell her. “I’m visiting with her son.”

“Oh, Rayne?” She smiles, and I frown; I didn’t know he had a brother.

“No, Snow.”

“Oh, I didn’t think he went by that name any more.”

I stand, dragging my fingers through my hair. I guess she senses my unease, as she is quick to sign us both in. A flashing red light catches my attention from the reception desk. The woman lifts her head.

“Mrs McKenzie.” She chortles. “Her ears must be burning.”

“What?” I quiz.

“The buzzer, she’s pressed the buzzer in her room. Best see what she wants.”

She gets up from her swivel chair and bustles round the desk. I inhale a waft of perfume, a fruity essence that catches in my throat as she scoots past. I turn down the corridor and follow her; as I look up, I’m surprised to see that Snow is heading towards us. He looks pale, his face drawn.

“Come on, Darc, let’s get out of this place.”

I open my mouth to reply, but he grabs my elbow and whisks me around and I almost have to run to keep up with him.

“Slow down, will ya?” I snap, trying to catch my breath.

His grip tightens and his steps quicken as we pass back through reception, the glass door opening automatically as we approach.
What’s wrong with him? Surely he can sense I’m out of breath.
But whether he does or not, he doesn’t slow down as we hurry outside and I feel like I’m being dragged towards the taxi. Snow grabs at the handle, opening the back door, then pushes me inside just far enough to allow him to slide in beside me.

“Regent Park,” he calls to the driver, then grabs for my hand on the seat.

I peer between the headrests, my focus on a small clock mounted on the dashboard.
Unbelievable!
We only parked up ten minutes ago.

I take a sideways glance at Snow; he’s sitting bolt upright, rigid like a cardboard cut-out. His lips are sealed, and I can hardly hear him taking a breath. My hand squirms beneath his sweaty palm. The car jolts forwards and we move away. I hear a long drawn-out breath, which he finally releases. The leather seat behind us creaks as he sinks into it.

“Thank fuck that’s done and dusted, now our day can start, and boy have I got a day planned for you.”

My eyes narrow; the nerve of the man. I move towards the door for some much-needed space, though he takes my hand and pulls me into him.

“Darc, I’m really sorry about what happened back there.” Dark fronds of hair fall into his eyes as he shakes his head. “From the word go it was all a charade. I should never have gone to see her … I should have left well alone.”

“Whatever she said, whatever she did, she’s still your mum.”

“In name, maybe,” he huffs, “but that’s all.”

I can’t miss the biting edge to his voice. I feel like my head is about to explode.

“Snow, I need some space, you’re too much.”

I watch his eyebrows rise.

“Why?”

“I’m sick of all your crap, all the lies.”

He lifts his arm from behind me, trying to position it around my stiffening shoulders.

“What lies?” he quizzes, turning his head so that his warm breath trickles across my face.

Despite the anger he triggers in me, I still tremble in his arms, though I try hard to keep my composure.

I clear my throat. “Think back, Snow.”

I see a confused expression cross his face.

“My memory must be far better than yours.”

I wriggle myself free of his arms, and this time succeed in pressing myself against the door.

“The summer we spent together.” I can’t help a slight sarcasm from surfacing in my voice. “You told me your mum was dead, and today I find myself visiting her in a hospice.”

“Darcy, you’re not being fair, let me explain.”

“And to make matters worse, you said you were an only child.”

His eyes widen and he fidgets with his hair.

“But that’s no lie, I am.”

“Bullshit!” I yell, then clasp my mouth with my hand, seeing the utter shock in the driver’s eyes as I catch his stare in the rear-view mirror.

“Okay,” I say, lowering my voice, “then tell me who’s Rayne?”

“Rayne…?” he stutters.

“Yes, Rayne. And while we’re on the subject of lies, why don’t you tell me your real name? Who the hell are you?”

“What the fuck, Darc? Who’ve you been talking to?”

I frown. “The receptionist; she said you don’t go by that name these days.”

He laughs. “And you believe her over me? Some stupid bitch of a receptionist? I think she should get her facts straight before opening her mouth.”

I screw up my face and throw him an icy stare. He looks out of his window, and I turn and look out of mine. I clasp my hands so tightly in my lap they almost knot together. The driver must have picked up on the atmosphere between us, as he turns the radio on. At the same time, Snow whips out his phone and starts texting.

I thank God for the music as the silence between us continues. I watch every minute pass on the car clock; it’s the only place my eyes can settle and not feel awkward. We pass through numerous sets of traffic lights, and I hear Regent Park mentioned as we slow, eventually stopping outside a set of iron gates. I reach for the door handle to let myself out, but Snow’s arm is already in front of me.

“Wait,” he says, shouting out an address to the driver.

Once again we are on the move.

“So you want to know the truth about Snow, about Rayne? Well, I’m taking you somewhere that’ll answer your questions. It’s over an hour from here. I’ve been in touch with Rayne, and he’s agreed to meet us.”

“Sir, the fare; you do realise how much this is going to cost you?” the driver pipes up.

Snow’s face hardens, his features drawing in.

“Mate, I’m paying you to drive.”

He lifts himself slightly, pulling out a leather wallet from the back pocket of his trousers. Grabbing a wad of fifty-pound notes, he proceeds to throw them, one at a time, over the headrest. I watch as they are caught by the air-con; some land on the front passenger seat, others float and come to rest at the driver’s feet.

“You wanted money, you’ve got it. No more shit, and no more of your shitty music, just watch the road and drive.”

My eyebrows arch, and my head flicks towards him.

“When did you turn into such an arrogant bastard?” I hate to swear, but I can’t find any other words that fit.

“I’ve gone out of my way to make today perfect. There was a table waiting in Regent Park, I’d hired musicians, they were going to play while we ate… I paid shit loads for our own exclusive tour around London where we could take in the sights uninterrupted and I’ve done it all for you,” he says as he looks down into my eyes. “I’m crazy about you…” he whispers into the nape my neck. “And when I’m in love I go all out to impress, and trust me, I don’t fall in love easily.”

“Snow…”

“Oh, not forgetting the jewellers I contacted; after 4 p.m. the shop will be closed to the public. You have a couple of hours to browse; you can choose whatever you want.” His eyes are almost sparkling as he awaits my response. “Every item of jewellery laid out before you, every precious stone, will have no price tag. So what say we turn around, forget Rayne and forget this morning? Life moves forward, fuck the past.”

I heat up inside at his use of the L-word, yet he used it so flippantly and I can’t help wondering if it meant nothing. I gaze up at him through my lashes.

“I can see the trouble you’ve gone to,” I say, forcing a smile. “Sounds amazing…” I pause for a second.

“But?” He flips his hand palm up in front of me, prompting me to continue.