Page 188

Alice laughed and told him they should take to the slopes and not go by car.
He was a brilliant skier. The conditions were now perfect for skiing: light, steady snow overnight had led to a cushioned, pillowy path down, with just enough grip for her to handle the challenging turns. He kept pace with her and she knew that he was slowing himself down. She was experienced but he took experience to a new level.
They made it to the town in under half an hour and it was as bustling and charming as she had expected, with shops—expensive boutiques catering for the expensive tourist.
Alice had tried to stop him from shopping with her but he’d raised his eyebrows and insisted on accompanying her into the shops. All seven of them, from what he could count.
‘You’ll be bored,’ she’d warned.
‘I never get bored looking at you. You could do a few twirls for me. I like the thought of that. I could sit and admire the view whilst smoking a cigar.’
‘You don’t smoke.’
‘True.’
Now, looking at her from under his lashes, Mateo knew exactly what was going through her head: the price of the things she was rifling through. The places here were all exclusive. The salespeople all resembled models and the shops were achingly modern and austere with the clothes arranged artfully on mannequins without heads.
‘Let me get this.’ He wasn’t sure whether this was the right thing to suggest or not, but the embarrassed hesitation on her face and the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes stirred something fiercely protective in him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I persuaded you to stay. If it weren’t for me, you’d be back at your chalet with your friends and a suitcase full of clothes you’d brought with you.’
‘There’s no way I would accept anything from you, Mateo. I know you earn more than me; I’m not blind. But you’re still self-employed and I know what that means. You could be earning good money now but you never know what’s round the corner.’
‘My corners are pretty predictable.’
‘I still don’t want you getting me anything,’ she told him quietly. ‘I can’t afford much, but I don’t need much, and I’ve already eaten you out of house and home.’
He’d watched as she’d turned away and chosen the cheapest jumper on show and the cheapest waterproof trousers, along with one pair of grey jogging bottoms. It was such a novel experience, not paying for whatever a woman wanted, that he wasn’t sure whether to feel terrible or oddly pleased.
Or deceitful, considering she was oblivious to how much he was worth. He ruled the last out because he wasn’t deceiving her. He was simply living in the moment with a woman who was likewise doing the same. Within this scenario, what he earned or didn’t earn was irrelevant.
‘In that case,’ he said, shopping concluded as they stood outside, both of them briefly admiring the quaint buildings and the pretty tree-lined streets, ‘I insist on buying lunch. Like you said, I have more than you.’
He’d wanted to do more. He’d wanted to take her into some more shops, buy stuff for her, but knew better than to go near that suggestion.
A couple of hours later, they were back at his lodge, and he smiled wolfishly at her. ‘Okay, you denied me the masculine pleasure of treating you to whatever you wanted...’
‘I’m very independent like that.’ Alice laughed, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.
‘Didn’t you let your fiancé buy things for you?’
Mateo stripped off, dumping outer garments on hooks and ski boots on the ground, watching her as he did so.
‘That’s different, and anyway, there wasn’t much money flying around for unnecessary purchases.’
‘So that’s “he didn’t treat me to little surprise gifts because he was thoughtless”...’
Alice burst out laughing, her eyes warm and alight. ‘You bought lunch. I’ll cook for you in return.’ She looked at him, her expression trusting and open, a smile still playing on her lips. ‘Or, at any rate, I’ll give it a go.’
Mateo stilled. He had never done domesticity. He and Bianca had gone out, socialising with the glamorous crew that tagged along in the wake of successful sportsmen, and he had been a very successful amateur boxer with his admiring followers. But cosy nights in had been few and far between. Bianca had loathed cooking. They’d eaten out most nights, or else had takeaways, and in fairness he’d been living with his father when he’d been dating her. And post marriage they’d rented a place, but somehow the business of cooking for one another, watching telly and discussing long term plans had never materialised. They hadn’t had that sort of relationship. She’d wanted to socialise, and had wanted the thrill of being admired. There had been no room for domesticity in that scenario and that was just the way he’d liked it.
Buried deep inside him were too many memories of what that domesticity had felt like once upon a time, when he’d been a kid and the house had smelled of cooking and rang to the sound of laughter and love. His parents had been so in love. Domesticity, he’d decided a long time ago, was the flashpoint where want became need, and need became the sort of vulnerability that could be your undoing.
Mateo had always made sure that women didn’t get their feet under the table. That was always going to be the safe route. He could handle the woman who wanted glamour and the thrill of being envied and admired by other men. He could handle the women who were like his ex, because they were a known quantity. He liked it that way and the women he dated liked it that way as well. They enjoyed being treated to the very best money could offer and, as someone accustomed to being a loner, he was content with that. Enjoyment without emotional involvement: standard procedure.
He’d done the cooking since Alice had arrived, which was fair enough: his house, his food, his responsibility. But now, just like that, he realised how much he had confided in her, how much of himself he had exposed.