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Hugo

T he tip of the cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness, a small, pulsing ember that briefly illuminated his fingers as he brought it to his lips. As he exhaled, a ribbon of smoke coiled and drifted into the cool night air, disappearing as quickly as it formed.

The restaurant at the top of La Flégère, perched high in the Chamonix valley, was one of his favorite places in the world. It was also usually closed on weekdays during the summer months, but his friends had convinced the owner to open up for the evening.

They’d arrived just in time to see the sun bathe the surrounding peaks—the Aiguilles Rouges and Mont Blanc massif—in hues of gold, pink, and deep purple. There was something bittersweet about the scenery tonight for Hugo, knowing that Jo wouldn’t see it.

He put out the cigarette, for once not tempted to light another one. These days, he’d been smoking less and sleeping more. Except last night. He hadn’t slept a wink, and for once couldn’t blame it on a nightmare. His thoughts had been full of Jo. They were getting married. And Hugo knew this wasn’t a real marriage. He’d made an offer, and that was the offer she’d accepted—nothing else. But when he’d seen her arrive at the restaurant tonight, followed by Isolde and Drake, his heart had hammered into his chest. Mine . That was what she looked like. That was what it felt like. He turned at the telltale clicking of her cane on the terrace floor. “Hugo?” she asked, her voice tentative. Hugo frowned, thinking about how hard simple things, like looking for someone in a restaurant, must be for her.

“I’m here,” he said. There were no obstacles between them, so he waited as she came closer. Waited, and watched. Watched her legs, long and slender in those slim black jeans she’d chosen. Her soft, black sweater showed what his mother might have referred to as tasteful cleavage. But there was nothing tasteful about what he wanted to do. He wanted to grab the neck of her sweater and pull down on it, releasing her breasts right into his waiting hands. He wondered what her nipples would look like—whether they’d be a dusky pink, an earthy brown, or some shade in between. His hard-on grew, and with it came embarrassment. Because she couldn’t see the evidence of his desire, and that made it somehow obscene.

“It smells fresh out here,” she said. She didn’t mention the cigarette smell, which he knew still tainted the air. That was Jo, though. And the air did smell fresh. Of pine trees and alpine flowers, with an occasional breeze hinting at the lingering snow on the highest peaks. He hoped she could smell all that.

He forced his gaze up, away from those long legs, that slim waist and those creamy breasts. Looking at her face should be safer. But there was nothing safe about her. The column of her throat moved as she swallowed, and that simple, innocent movement took him from half-mast to full-mast in seconds. Fuck . He couldn’t help himself. His hands stopped inches from his jeans as he fought the urge to rearrange himself. “There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, his tone strangled.

Her expression fell for a moment, then quickly composed itself into a neutral look. “If you’ve changed your mind, about the wedding, I understand.” Her tongue came out to lick her lips. “It’s okay.”

“What? No. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been as sure about anything in my life.”

“If you’re sure,” she said, uncertainly. “So what is it?”

“I’m hard.” Her mouth fell open. “You make me hard. Every single time I see you. And it doesn’t affect our deal. But it doesn’t feel right, for you not to know, that you make me feel this way.”

“You’re hard … now?” she asked, her tone tentative as she took one small step forward.

“Yes,” he said, between gritted teeth. And this conversation wasn’t helping. He thought of placing the heel of his hand against the erection, but that hadn’t helped when he was a teenager, there was no reason to think it would work now. A cold shower might help. Or climbing up to one of those snowy peaks and sticking his dick in the snow.

“That’s … not necessarily a bad thing,” she said. “The other night, when we kissed, I got excited too, you know?”

Hugo groaned. The memory of that kiss was exactly what he didn’t need, not if he was going to go back inside and spend time with his friends. Thinking of that kiss made him want to put her over his shoulder, take her away, lay her down under the stars and—“Hey. I found them,” Yvette said from the doorway.

“Good. I thought we were celebrating without the happy couple,” Alex joked.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Hugo whispered in Jo’s ear. He took a small step away in a vain attempt to regain his sanity. “We were just on our way back inside,” he said loudly, placing his hand gently behind Jo’s back, so she’d know where he was. He wasn’t sure how to touch her to help her back inside. “Help me, Jo.”

Jo’s hand grazed along his side and all the way to his upper arm. Her touch, however innocent, thrilled him. “There,” she whispered. “If you hold your arm like that, I will hold on.”

“Is that it?”

“Pretty much. If there is ever an obstacle, or a lot of people in front, move your arm down and behind you. I’ll take that as my cue to get behind you. Then when the path is clear again, you pull your arm back up—like this—to let me know.”

Hugo memorized the instructions. He loved the way her hand felt on his arm as, together, they made their way back into the restaurant. The inside matched the view perfectly, with its wooden beams and large windows, and its simple, cozy decor. Soft lighting cast a warm glow, and candles on each table flickered gently.

“Let me introduce you to everyone.” He didn’t miss the way her hand tightened on his arm before relaxing again. “They’re going to love you. Yvette, this is Jo. Jo, Yvette is the mayor’s chief of staff. She spoke to her boss and got us an early appointment.”

“It was easy. There’s nothing a small-town mayor loves more than a good wedding,” Yvette laughed.

“Thank you anyway,” Jo said.

“Of course I drink beer,” a sharp voice said behind them.

“ Madame Lagarde?” Jo asked. She seemed surprised that her receptionist had accepted the invitation. Hugo had been surprised too, truth be told. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, except the waiter tried to offer me a glass of wine. Do I look like someone incapable of enjoying a cold beer?”

Hugo wasn’t about to answer that one. He also wasn’t going to say the waiter she was referring to was Saul, the sixty-year-old owner of this as well as three more successful restaurants in the valley.

“A misunderstanding, Madame ,” Saul said, turning up with the most perfectly poured beer. “Your beer. Please let me know when you need another one.”

“Thank you,” Madame Lagarde said primly. Saul ran his hand over his bald head, as if forgetting there was no hair there to smooth out. His eyes traveled up and down Madame Lagarde’s body with undisguised appreciation.

“I think Saul, the owner of the restaurant, likes Madame Lagarde,” he whispered in Jo’s ear. Jo smiled, her head cocked to one side as she listened to the conversation. Eventually she turned, clearly hearing something. Hugo followed with his eyes, noticing Kat and Luc. As usual, Kat kept perfect pace with Luc’s wheelchair.

“Congratulations, Hugo, thank you for inviting us.”

Jo turned to shake hands with Kat first. He noticed, because he was now noticing everything about her, how precise her handshakes were. How she brought out her hand, straight ahead, waiting for the other person to grasp hers before shaking.

“I’m Kat Barreau. And this is my husband—Luc.”

Jo’s hand shot out to shake Luc’s hand. She seemed surprised when Luc grabbed it from below. Jo frowned. “You’re?—”

“In a wheelchair,” Luc supplied helpfully.

“But you’re with the PGHM.”

Luc laughed. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be the right job for me. Kat’s the one with the PGHM—she’s one of their pilots.”

“Sorry. I assumed?—”

“No apology needed. We’re happy to meet the woman who’s making Hugo settle down.”

Jo smiled, but it was shaky. As soon as he could, Hugo pulled her away from the others. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re going to hate me,” she said, her voice so low he could barely make out the words, even though she was right next to him. “All your friends. When they find out the truth, they’re going to hate me.”

Shit . The last thing he wanted was for her to feel this way. Hugo hadn’t expected this many people to turn up. At first, the idea had been to get just his team together for a few drinks, so they could meet Jo. But other people in the office had found out, and it’d been impossible to keep them out of the invite.

“They would never hate you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they can see I care about you. Because they know that anything that hurts you will hurt me as well.” He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him. “We’re not doing anything wrong,” he reminded her.

“Aren’t we?” she asked. “This isn’t how it usually works.”

The words I like you were on his lips, but he held them back. “People get married for all sorts of reasons” he said pragmatically.

“This is not what your friends want for you,” she insisted. “I can tell.”

“You’re stubborn, you know?” Hugo said. Stubborn and sweet. He could feel her pulling away, and that hurt. Debating quickly with himself, he pulled the box out of his pocket. He’d been planning on giving it to her later, once they were alone. But now was as good a time as any. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

Hugo pulled out the ring. He’d been to three jewelry stores before finding it. The moment he’d seen it, he’d known it was perfect. Hugo took her hand in his, gently, letting her know what he was doing. Jo didn’t pull her hand back.

“What are you—” The ring went on easily. It was exactly the right size.

He wasn’t about to make the same mistake as with the red wine. “It’s a platinum band with a small diamond solitaire in the center and two smaller sapphires on either side. The sapphires are clear blue, like the ocean on a bright summer’s day, or like a mountain lake at its deepest point. The exact color of your eyes.” He paused for breath. His hand still held on to hers, which was why he noticed the way her hand was shaking.

“Wow.” she said. She hadn’t touched the ring, so he didn’t think it was the ring she was talking about. “That was … quite a description.”

“I learn quickly,” Hugo joked.

“You do.”

Around them, the mountains faded into silhouettes against the deepening sky, and the lights from Chamonix below twinkled like fallen stars. “So, ready to get married?”