POV Caroline
"A ski weekend," my mother announces, her voice carrying a warmth I have never associated with Helen Ellsworth. "Edward has invited us to join him at his lodge in Vermont for a family bonding experience. I've already accepted on your behalf."
I set down my coffee cup with deliberate care. "Family bonding. In Vermont. With the Calloways."
"Edward believes it would be beneficial for everyone to spend time together outside of formal settings." She smooths an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve. "I happen to agree with his reasoning."
"You sound almost excited, Mother. I didn't realize you enjoyed winter sports."
"I am practical, Caroline. This merger requires the families to develop genuine rapport." She pauses, and something flickers in her gray eyes. "Edward has been very thoughtful in his planning. He remembered that I prefer the south-facing suites because they get the morning light."
"He remembered your suite preferences. How remarkably attentive of him."
"Don't be impertinent. We leave tomorrow morning. Pack warm layers and something appropriate for dinner—Edward mentioned the lodge chef trained in Lyon."
The lodge exceeds every expectation I refused to form. It sprawls across a mountainside like something from an architectural magazine, all exposed timber and floor-to-ceiling windows framing snow-covered peaks.
Edward waits in the grand foyer with James, both dressed in casual elegance that somehow makes the setting seem even more impressive.
"Helen, you look absolutely radiant." Edward takes my mother's hand, his fingers lingering against hers. "I'm so pleased you could join us on such short notice."
"The pleasure is entirely mine, Edward. This property is magnificent. How long have you owned it?"
"Nearly fifteen years now. Lucy helped me renovate the main house, actually. She had an eye for these things."
"Lucy had excellent taste in everything. James, don't you think your father has outdone himself with these arrangements?"
"He's been planning this for weeks," James says, his gaze finding mine. "Let me show Caroline to her room while you settle in by the fire."
I follow him up the curved staircase, acutely aware of his proximity in the narrow hallway. He stops before an oak door and opens it with an expression I cannot read.
One room. One bed. Exposed beams and a crackling fireplace that would be romantic under any other circumstances.
"The booking system had an error," James says. "My father apologizes for the inconvenience, but the other guest rooms are being renovated."
"Of course they are. Your father wouldn't happen to have learned manipulation tactics from your friend Oliver, would he?"
"The resemblance is unfortunate but coincidental." He sets my bag on the luggage rack. "I can sleep on the floor if you prefer maintaining some boundaries."
"Don't be ridiculous, James. We've already established that we can share a bed without complications. Unless you're concerned about your self-control."
"My self-control is impeccable. It's yours I'm worried about after that guesthouse incident."
"I seem to recall you participating quite willingly in that particular incident."
"Participating implies I had a choice. You threw a paperweight at my head and then kissed me. I was merely responding to circumstances."
We spend the first day maintaining careful distance, orbiting each other like planets forbidden to collide. I claim a headache to avoid the slopes, watching from the lodge windows as James cuts elegant lines through the powder. During lunch, the nausea arrives without warning. I excuse myself and barely make it to the restroom.
When the worst passes, I rinse my mouth three times with the industrial-strength mouthwash I now carry everywhere. The mint burns my tongue, but anything is better than the lingering taste of bile.
"Altitude sickness?" James finds me in the hallway afterward. "The elevation here affects people differently. I can ask the staff for medication."
"I'm fine. Just adjusting. It will pass in a few hours."
"You should try the mulled wine at dinner. It's excellent here, and it might settle your stomach."
"I'm not in the mood for wine."
"You're never in the mood for wine lately." His tone shifts into something careful. "I've noticed you haven't had a drink in weeks. Not at the opera, not at dinner with our parents, not even at Oliver's when he opened that bottle I specifically requested."
"I didn't realize you were monitoring my alcohol consumption."
"I'm simply observing patterns."
"And what patterns would those be, exactly?"
He hesitates, and the pause tells me everything I need to know about where his mind has gone.
"Caroline, if you're struggling with something, you can tell me. I know the past few months have been—"
"You think I'm drinking." I almost laugh. "You think I'm sneaking drinks when no one's watching. That's why you keep offering me wine—you're testing whether I'll refuse."
"That's not—"
"You've been watching my mother." The anger rises hot and sharp in my chest. "You've seen Helen with her morning martinis and her trembling hands, and you've decided the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to. I can see it in your face right now." I step closer, fury overriding every other sensation. "Tell me, James—when you smell the mouthwash on my breath, do you assume I'm covering vodka? When I skip a glass of champagne, do you think it's because I've already had my fill in private?"
His jaw tightens. "You have to admit the avoidance is unusual. And you've lost weight, you look exhausted, you're getting sick—"
"Grief does that. Stress does that. Having my entire life rearranged by strangers does that." My voice shakes with rage I can barely contain. "But please, continue comparing me to Helen. Continue assuming I'm so weak that I'd crawl into a bottle the moment things get difficult."
"I'm not calling you weak. I'm worried about you."
"Then worry about something real instead of projecting my mother's failures onto me."
I turn and walk back toward our shared room, my hands trembling with an anger that has nowhere to go.
By midnight, the snowstorm has extended our trip by another night. The wind howls against the windows as I lie awake, watching firelight dance across the ceiling. James breathes steadily beside me.
The nausea builds like a wave I cannot outrun.
I slip from the bed, making it three steps before my legs buckle. The bathroom door seems impossibly far away. I barely make it to my knees on the cold tile before the retching starts.
"Caroline." James appears in the doorway, concern breaking through his careful mask. He kneels beside me, gathering my hair away from my face.
"Go away," I manage between heaves. "You don't need to see this."
"I'm not going anywhere. Stop being stubborn and let me help you."
"I don't need your help."
"You're shaking so hard I can hear your teeth chattering." His thumb traces circles on my back as the worst of it passes. "This isn't altitude sickness, Caroline. And it's not a hangover—I know what withdrawal looks like, and this isn't that either."
"How generous of you to finally believe I'm not secretly an alcoholic."
"I never thought—" He stops, exhales. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. But something is going on with you, and whatever it is, it's getting worse."
I reach for the mouthwash on the counter, but he catches my wrist gently.
"You don't need to hide from me. Whatever this is, you're not fine." His dark eyes search my face. "And I need you to tell me the truth."
The words rise in my throat, desperate to escape. I'm pregnant. It's yours. I'm scheduled to end it in eight days, and I don't know anymore if that's what I want.
"I can't," I whisper. "Not yet. Please, James. I need more time."
"Time for what? To keep pushing me away?"
"Time to understand what it is myself before I try to explain it to anyone else. Can you give me that?"
His jaw tightens, but something in my voice must reach him.
He lifts me from the cold tiles and carries me back to the bed, tucking the heavy duvet around me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"When you're ready to tell me," he says, settling beside me with careful distance, "I'll be here. But I won't wait forever, Caroline. Whatever this is, we face it together or not at all."
I close my eyes against the tears that threaten to fall, and I wonder how much longer I can keep running from the truth that's growing inside me.