First time in Aspen

“Good surprise?” he whispers, and there’s a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Oh, Christian, fantastic surprise.” I run my hands up his chest, curl them around his neck, and kiss him.
“When did you organize this?” I ask when I pull away from him, stroking his hair.

“Last night, when I couldn’t sleep. I e-mailed Elliot and Mia, and here they are.”

“It’s very thoughtful. Thank you. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.”

“I hope so. I thought it would be easier to avoid the press in Aspen than at home.”

Once again I’m overwhelmed by the wealth. How much did this place cost? And I have contributed nothing to it. Briefly I’m transported back to the first time Christian took me to Escala. I was overwhelmed then. You got used to it, my subconscious hisses at me.
Christian frowns but takes my hand, leading me through the various rooms.

The master suite is something else. The bed is huge, bigger than the bed at home, and faces an enormous picture window looking out over Aspen and toward the verdant mountains.

“That’s Ajax Mountain . . . or Aspen Mountain, if you like,” Christian says, eyeing me warily. He’s standing in the doorway, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops on his black jeans. I nod.


“You’re very quiet,” he murmurs. 

“It’s lovely, Christian.” And suddenly I’m aching to be back at Escala. In five long strides he’s standing in front of me, tugging at my chin, and re- leasing my lower lip from the grip of my teeth.

“What is it?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.


“You’re very rich.”


“Yes.”


“Sometimes, it just takes me by surprise how wealthy you are.”

“We are.”

 “We are,” I mutter automatically.


“Don’t stress about this, Ana, please. It’s just a house.”

Zax is the most exclusive nightclub in Aspen—or so says Mia. Christian strolls to the front of the short line with his arm wrapped around my waist and is immediately granted access. I wonder briefly if he owns the place. I glance at my watch—eleven thirty in the evening, and I’m feeling fuzzy. The two glasses of champagne and several glasses of Pouilly-Fumé during our meal are starting to have an effect, and I’m grateful Christian has his arm around me.

I gape at myself in the full-length mirror, not recognizing the vixen that stares back at me. Kate has gone all out and played Barbie with me this evening, styling my hair and makeup. My hair is full and straight, my eyes ringed with kohl, my lips scarlet red. I look . . . hot. I’m all legs, especially in the high-heeled Manolos and my indecently short dress. I need Christian to approve, though I have a hor- rible feeling he won’t like so much of my flesh exposed.