Alpine Affair

Three : Interesting

This newcomers suit alone—tailored so perfectly it clung to him like a second skin—was more than enough to make every other man in the room look suddenly ordinary.

As he was offered a flute of champagne, the room seemed to grow quieter, conversations around us softening as people turned, seemingly as hyper aware of him as I was. I didn’t recognise his face, which wasn’t surprising since Leo was right—I didn’t make much effort to keep up with the business world. But something told me that had I come across this man’s image even once I’d have seared it into my brain. His dark hair was swept back with a bit of an unruly wave hinting at the kind of confidence that didn’t bother with perfection. His jaw was sharp, the lines of his face precise as if they’d been carved from stone and his eyes were striking, intense and dark with a faint gleam that was as unreadable as it was magnetic.

He was, in a word, breathtaking.

The contrast between his gaze, so cold and calculating and the warmth of his rich complexion only made him that more fascinating. It was as if he’d stepped straight out of some brooding classic novel, an untouchable Heathcliff in a designer suit that for a moment I forgot where I was, entirely absorbed in trying to decode this stranger’s expression. He wasn’t looking directly at me, but there was something in his posture, the subtle way his gaze scanned the room that made it feel as though he was aware of everything and everyone around him.

I felt a strange thrill, an undeniable pull that left me almost embarrassed by my own reaction. Who was he? And why did I suddenly feel so off-kilter, as though his very being had shifted something fundamental in the air? My breath caught as he suddenly turned and walked my way, his long legs crossing the room in just seconds.

“Ah, Monsieur (Mr) Frost.” Camille smiled at the newcomer smoothly as he arrived. “So good to see you here.”

I exhaled sharply. Frost… As in, Elliot Frost? I winced internally. When Leo had spoke of the man I’d pictured him to be barrel chested, pinched lipped with early onset baldness man, not a walking Calvin Klein model. How could Leo have left our such a crucial detail? Clearly I needed to have words with my gay best friend if he couldn’t acknowledge the absolute peak male specimen that Elliot Frost was. In fact, I wasn’t certain whether he deserved the honour of being my best friend now at all for such a blunder.

Elliot nodded almost boredly to Camille in greeting.

“Camille. Pierre.” He said, extending a hand to Camille’s fiancé who greeted him with equal formality. “Good to see you both again.” After exchanging pleasantries, he turned his sharp gaze toward me. “I don’t believe we’ve met…?”

“Stella Marchand.” Camille introduced proudly. “Of the Marchand family.”

Elliot’s brow lifted slightly. “As in Marchand Industries?”

“Yes, that’s my father’s company.” I said as I offered him a polite smile, accustomed to the reaction when people heard my surname.

“And an impressive one, at that. What’s your role?”

“Oh, I don’t actually work there.” I replied with a breezy laugh.

“I see.” Those dark eyes of his narrowed just a fraction. “Then where do you work, if I may ask?”

A sudden awkward silence settled over the group.

It was the kind of question that, in circles like ours, didn’t usually require an answer because if one didn’t immediately volunteer a company or role upon introduction, it was typically assumed they were part of the idle elite—a socialite, as it were, wealthy offspring who simply existed in the upper echelons of society. There was a tabloid term for people like us though: trust fund babies. We played no real part in the machinery of wealth or power, but we moved within its circles with confidence and grace nevertheless, invited to the galas and retreats and, often enough, the life and souls of a party.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me, waiting, judging. Even kind-hearted Camille seemed floored and normally, this kind of question wouldn’t bother me; I’d perfected the art of brushing it off with a charming smile or a well-timed laugh. But under Elliot’s steady, dissecting gaze, I felt as though I was under a spotlight as suddenly, my lack of employment felt somewhat shameful.

“Well… Nowhere.” I admitted, my voice casual though there was an undeniable hint of defensiveness I couldn’t quite suppress. “But I’m very involved in charity work.”

“Charity work.” He repeated slowly with the barest hint of condescension. “How… Benevolent of you.”

I felt my spine straighten instinctively. “I help organise events for various causes.” I elaborated, my tone sharper than before. “Especially in underfunded education and arts programs.”

“Stella’s very invested in helping the less fortunate.” Camille interjected, giving me a supportive smile.

My gaze flickered to her and then to Pierre, catching the faint hints of sympathy in her eyes and the subtle shift in his stance that made it clear I wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with this exchange.

Elliot offered a smile that was more of a grimace. “Well then. How very noble of her, too.”

The silence that followed that statement was almost deafening. I kept my expression smooth, refusing to let him see that he’d gotten under my skin. I was no stranger to judgment; in my world it was part of the daily routine, but there was something uniquely infuriating about the way Elliot Frost looked at me, as if he’d assessed me in mere seconds and found me lacking for merely existing.

His gaze had already shifted before I could say or do anything, his attention squarely on Camille and Pierre as he angled his body subtly away from me, a physical confirmation of my perceived irrelevance. It was so rudely intentional that it left me momentarily speechless. Blinking at his side profile, I swallowed, the sting fresh. I wasn’t used to being ignored. Marchand was a name uttered in high society for hundreds of years and I’d been a part of it since the moment I’d been born, silver jewel coated spoon and all.

Just who did this man think he was? His indifference had settled in like a splinter under my skin and despite my better judgement, I couldn’t shake it.

“Congratulations on your latest business venture.” He said to Pierre. “Collaborating with Fontaine Enterprises was a bold move.”

Pierre beamed, nodding eagerly. “It’s been an exciting project.”

“Risky, too, but I imagine the returns will be significant.”

I bit the inside of my cheek irritably. I had nothing to contribute but I hated how effectively he had shut me out, leaving me standing on the fringes as though I was some outcast unworthy to join in.

Camille, ever acute, leaned toward me. “Stella, didn’t you recently attend the Fontaine gala in Dubai?”

“I did!” I replied, grateful for the lifeline. “It was magnificent. They really know how to throw a fantastic product launch—it even made me want to invest!”

“You’re thinking about investing?” Pierre asked, his interest piqued as he leaned in a bit closer, trying to re-create the circle with me included.

“It was only a brief consideration.” I shrugged in a way I hoped looked charming rather than uncertain. “I admit I don’t know enough about it all.”

Elliot let out a sound suspiciously like a scoff. “Investing in business isn’t a little hobby, Miss Marchand. It should be left to professionals.”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t.” I pointed out, my smile wavering.

“For the best—It’s always wise to stick to one’s strengths, like your little charity luncheons, for instance. I’m sure that’s something you excel at.”

My eyes narrowed as I felt my cheeks warm with irritation. “It is, and I find it infinitely more rewarding to bring people together for a good cause than, say, tearing apart someone’s life’s work to simply to flip a profit.”

I heard Camille gasp softly. My comment was rude and directly so, not even softened by polite distain like was proper. Even I was shocked by my own social faux pas (false step), but seeing the flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or annoyance—flash in his eyes made me wish I’d said worse.

“I suppose that’s a luxury one can afford when they’ve been handed daddy’s credit card all their life.”

His tone was soft, almost casual, yet the meaning behind it was cold and unmistakable and my palm itched with the urge to slap his perfect, smug face. Instead I held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“Money can be inherited, Mr. Frost, but values are earned. Some of us choose to invest our resources in ways that benefits society, rather than profiting off the misfortune of others.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“That’s what I know.”

He inclined his head, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed as though he might not respond, but then his lips curved into the faintest of smirks.

“How naïve.” He murmured. “Though perhaps hiding behind values is a convenient justification for those who’ve never had to struggle a day in their life.”

“Tell me, Monsieur (Mr) Frost, do you get a thrill out of ruining the dreams of others, or is it simply just business to you?”

He leaned in, his gaze darkening, a smirk curving his lips and I felt my breath hitch as his lips grazed my ear as he pitched his voice so that only I could hear.

“If I told you what I get a thrill out of, Madame Marchand, I’m afraid it might knock you off that pretty little pedestal you elevate yourself on.”

“Is this how you normally charm the ladies?” I asked, equally as quiet.

“If I were trying to charm you, you’d be bent over that sofa there.” He murmured, voice soft and dangerously low.

My mouth fell open in shock, a sharp, angry flush rising in my cheeks as I recoiled away from him. “You pig!”

He leaned back with a low chuckle, utterly unfazed. “You do keep interesting company, Pierre.” He remarked, giving our mutual friend a casual, almost amused slap on the shoulder.

Pierre looked from me to Elliot, clearly confused by the exchange, while Camille’s gaze flickered between us as though she were witnessing the birth of Christ. I steadied myself, refusing to let Elliot see just how deeply his words had rattled me, my cheeks still burning in indignation. He gave me his shoulder once again dismissively.

“A pleasure as always Pierre and Camille.” He simply said with a nod to them.

I stood there, watching his retreating figure, anger simmering beneath the surface as I stared at his back, wishing my eyes could burn holes in him.

Camille broke the silence first. “Well, that was… Interesting?”

I released a sharp breath.

Yes. It certainly was.