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Maid to Marry
Dani Collins
Atlas came in as the woman left.
“Wow.” He halted to take in her satin A-line dress in winter white. It was tea-length with an off-shoulder neckline, simple and elegant. At least, that was what Stella had thought but she brushed self-consciously at the fall of the skirt.
“It’s not too simple? Or too sexy?” She had long ago learned there was no hiding her curves, so she might as well make the most of them.
“You are exactly the right amount of sexy. You look beautiful.” His gaze touched the baby’s breath the stylist had woven into the braided crown she’d arranged atop Stella’s head. “I meant to ask you to keep your hair down, but I look forward to watching you take that apart later.”
When they consummated their marriage. The air in her lungs evaporated.
PROLOGUE
Five years ago
MAYBE HER FATHERwas right, Stella Sutter thought as she hurried to prepare more drinks. Maybe lying did send you to hell, because that’s where she had ended up.
It had only been a little fib!
Yes, I have worked in a bar before, she had told the chalet manager. Because she had. As an after-hours janitor.
She had also worked at other chalets.Thosemanagers had only ever asked her to make up beds and scrub toilets or, at most, brew a cup of coffee. This was her first week working for this new resort, which seemed to target a younger crowd with ads showing après-ski parties and hot tubs big enough for groups.
Stella had been thrilled to get on with them. They provided accommodation as part of their compensation package, which was only a shared room with three other girls, but rent was outrageous in Zermatt. She was grateful for whatever she could get.
She wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, though. One of her new roommates had wanted to keep skiing with someone she’d met on the piste this afternoon and asked Stella to cover her evening shift. At other chalets, that meant tidying up after dinner and turning down beds, so Stella had agreed.
When Louis, the chalet manager, asked if she could stay longer to help pour drinks, what else would she say but yes? Her roommate had already bragged about how great her tips were.
They had better be. These people were hooligans.
At least a few of them must be famous, though. A photographer had tried to get her to talk about them when she’d been on her way in. She had said with all honesty that she didn’t know anything about any of them.
Louis had since told her the guests were a father and his two grown children from the UK. The brother and sister were models for the family clothing brand. The son had been out all day and the father had left for a dinner date. The daughter, whose name was Carmel, was the only one here, and she seemed eager for everyone to get wasted off their faces.
“Girl!” Carmel shouted from the terrace.
Louis had cranked up the pulsebeat of electronica and opened the doors to the terrace, letting in icy winter air and the giggles and whoops of the dozen drunks simmering in the bubbling hot tub.
“What’s her name again?” Carmel asked. “Sheila! Where’s our drinks?”
Carmel was English, so Stella replied in that language. “Coming.”
“She’s coming,” someone repeated, and they all laughed hysterically.
Stella didn’t get the joke, but suspected it was dirty. They were making a lot of remarks that were outside the bounds of good taste. She kept looking to Louis to settle them down, but he only seemed to encourage it.
“Sheila.” Louis padded in, leaving yet another trail of puddles for her to mop up. He wore only a small red bathing suit and his ponytail. He was at least ten years older than the group of twentysomethings. She had a feeling he got a commission on the bottles they opened, because he was not shy about ordering her to do it.
“Stella,” she reminded him.
“Whatever. You have to get the drinks out faster.” He was consuming alcohol as quickly as everyone else. “I thought you said you’d done this?”
She pointed to a tray. “These ones are ready.”
“Just bring those bottles and the corkscrew. They don’t care about clean glasses.”