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Viktor
Every morning for a week, Cymbeline showed up at ten to six ready for her training session. I kept upping the regimen but as I suspected, there was nothing I could do to break her. If she ever wanted to complain, I certainly never heard it from her. My adoration and admiration for her grew to new levels. Ones I wasn’t entirely certain were reciprocated.
Other than the way she kissed me.
We ended every session with a few kisses. Ones that kept me awake at night despite my physical exhaustion.
After the end of an hour of intense exercise, we were inside my house having coffee and pieces of Lizzie’s bread and cheese. After the second day, Cym had started to bring a basket of food with her that Lizzie had put together for her the night before.
I tore a chunk of bread from the loaf. “What have you told Lizzie about why you need breakfast in a basket?”
“She didn’t ask,” Cymbeline said. “My family seems to have accepted my eccentricities. No one questions me much these days.”
“What about your clothes? Do they wonder about that?” Today, she’d dressed in a flannel shirt and one of the pairs of knickers that she said she’d found in the back of a closet.
“I told them I meet a friend for sport to prepare for the upcoming ski season.”
“Do they know it’s me?” I asked.
“Oh, goodness no. They’d have us married by Christmas if I told them that.”
I laughed. “Would that be so bad?”
I put a slice of cheese between two pieces of bread. “I feel as if I need two breakfasts these days.”
“Me too.” She took a bite of her bread and chewed before speaking. “After this, I spend the day working with Poppy. By the time lunch comes, I’m hungry enough to eat for three men.”
I looked out the window. The sky had the close, white feeling that came before a snowfall. “Looks like we’ll get our first snow today.”
“I hope so. I can’t wait to get on the slopes.” She took a big sip of milk, then wiped the mustache away with her napkin. Just then, she looked like the little girl I’d first known. God, I loved her. “I overheard Phillip tell Papa that the new jump is finished.”
“New? What was wrong with the old one?” They’d built it last year after Chamonix, hoping to attract jumpers to the mountain. From what I could tell, the idea had worked. Word spread throughout Colorado that the Emerson Pass ski mountain had a slope, bringing daredevils excited to try something new. None of them could beat Cymbeline. However, the men coming from afar might.
“They wanted to make sure it’s good enough for the competition.” Cymbeline sat back in the chair and placed her arms over her midriff. “That was the best cheese and bread I ever had.”
I nodded in agreement. “It’s the fresh air and hard work.”
She’d taken off her cap when we sat down for breakfast. The perspiration from the exercise had made her hair even curlier. I reached across the table to put a finger through one for a second. A smudge of mud streaked one of her cheeks. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” Cymbeline asked.
“Not to me.”
She placed her cheek in one hand and looked over at me. “They announced the official dates and sent it out through the newspaper. Papa said it will be in all the papers across America.” A slight tremor in her voice caught me by surprise. I’d never heard her admit any nervousness or apprehension about our scheme.
“No. No you don’t.” I waggled a finger at her.
“What?”
“No nerves. We’re in this far. We’re going to do this.”
She brushed a crumb from the table into her hand and let it fall onto her plate. “I started thinking about Papa and Mama. What if I embarrass them?”
“You won’t. They know how you are. What you want. It shouldn’t even surprise them.”
“True. But this feels different somehow. Deceitful. I’ve never done anything my family didn’t know about.”
“Your sisters know,” I said. “Your family hasn’t seemed to mind when you girls want to do something. Josephine opened the library. Fiona plays music.”
“Yes, but I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“Is this nerves or conscience?” I asked.
Cym shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just that I’m a Barnes. I hate the thought of making anything difficult for my parents.”
I smiled. “What about Flynn?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s fine. Flynn’s like me. He bounces. And nothing makes him mad for long.”
“This is for yourself,” I said. “And to prove to the world that women can jump. Even if it doesn’t mean anything in our lifetime, someday it might.”
A fleeting smile crossed her face. “That’s true. Like the women you told me about.”
“That’s right. You keep your eye on the prize.”
