Alpine Affair

Two : Frivolous

“Of course you’ve never heard of him. You only read gossip columns and fashion blogs.” Leo rolled his eyes.

I stuck out my tongue. “Who is this Elliot Frost?”

“He’s only one of the most cold-blooded, cutthroat business mogul of our generation. He’s built an entire empire from scratch and made more than a few enemies doing it.” He leaned in closer. “He’s an American, naturally, and they call him ‘The Grim Reaper’.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s known for swooping in, taking over struggling companies and tearing them apart for profit. He’s already amassed a small fortune in just a decade.”

I raised an eyebrow. “He sounds… Delightful.”

“Hardly. He’s the type who makes everyone nervous just by being in the same room as him.”

“You’ve met him?”

Leo nodded sagely. “I once saw him silence an entire gala just by walking in.”

“If he’s such bore, then why would he bother coming here?”

“That’s the thing…” Leo said, lowering his voice slightly, though there was no one to overhear us now the staff had all left. “There’s a rumour he’s here scouting his next acquisition. No one knows which company it is, but apparently he’s already put out feelers.”

“Then everyone’s going to hate him.”

He shrugged as he leaned back. “I don’t think he cares either way for making friends, nor does he seem to care who he pisses off.”

“And here I was, hoping he would be my next best friend…”

“Fortunately for you, my dear, you’re suck with me—and regardless, he’d likely find you far too frivolous to bother with.”

“Frivolous?” I feigned offence, lifting my chin. “I’ll have you know I’m a very serious socialite.”

He snickered. “Yes, I’m sure he’d be thoroughly impressed by your expertise in party planning and impeccable taste in fashion. Really though, a man like Frost isn’t someone you want to get to know.”

“Then we shall have nothing to do with each other.” I declared. “I’ll stick to mingling with people who actually know how to have fun.”

“I will toast to that!”

We finished our wine after a bit more gossip and made our way toward our rooms to unpack. Leo helped me move my cases into my room and I left my luggage unpacked, since I’d need the staff to repress my gowns. Instead, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the softly falling snow. The world outside was silent, the trees heavy with fresh powder and our private cabin felt like an escape from reality itself.

A small smile played on my lips as I took in the serene scene. The last two times I’d come to the Winter Business Summit I’d stayed in the main lodge, crammed alongside other up-and-coming socialites who had little real repute. But this year was different. This year, I was here as Leo’s “partner,” which meant an upgrade from the busy main lodge to this lovely, secluded cabin. It felt like a win, no matter how much Leo claimed he was the one benefiting from our arrangement.

Honestly, I often felt I gained the most from being his fake girlfriend. Since we’d started this charade back in college, we’d been “on-again, off-again” fake partners so many times that it had become practically expected, like a running joke amongst our circle of close friends. Yet, the public ate it up every time, dissecting every “breakup” and “makeup” as if it were the latest scandal. My assistant had even told me there were entire social media pages and fan groups dedicated to us, with followers who eagerly shipped our so-called romance and even had a “couple” name for us: “Stelio.”

But despite what the public thought, me nor Leo had ever been a real couple. Firstly because of the obvious: he loved p***s probably more than I did, but also because despite what the ‘shippers’ wanted to believe, we were more like siblings than friends. I’d do anything for him and in turn, I knew out of everyone in this world he would always have my back.

Returning back downstairs to the living room, I found Leo already sprawled on the sofa wearing his hot pink onesie. Giving the hideous apparel a sigh, I laid opposite him and proceeded to monitor my social media accounts and send updates for my 15 million followers of my arrival. They all knew we were attending the Summit, of course, since the rumour mill had included our names, but announcing it made it official and immediately my timeline was swarmed with jealous exclamations and followers begging me to take at least one picture of our accommodation.

I amused myself in reading the comments, but despite what many people believe, being rich could be incredibly boring—and not at all what social media said it was like. My social media for instance. It was filled with pictures of my life, but only the good parts, the ones my publicist thought would catch the publics attention. She vetted every picture I posted and was often the one replying to comments and DM’s I received to ensure the image she and my team had curated for me stayed intact.

So… Despite what mg socials looked like, the reality wasn’t often as interesting. Take me and my fake boyfriend, for example. Here were were, lounging in a $20,000-a-day lodge with a butler and private chef on demand, surrounded by exclusive ski slopes with private instructors ready at a moment’s notice, and yet… We were both glued to our phones.

“I’m going for a nap.” Leo announced with an exaggerated sigh as if the mere act of standing required all his energy.

I leaned back tiredly. “I have a hair appointment at three so I can’t. I’ll never wake up for it if I sleep now.”

“Cancel the appointment.”

“No way! I need my hair to be on point for dinner tonight.”

“Then go for a walk to perk up, my dear.” He suggested. “Le Glacier Royale is your oyster.”

I toss a pillow at him, which he dodges with a squeal as he dashes up the stairs. I roll my eyes, staring at my phone screen, trying to scroll through i********: feeds, but it all feels so… Bland, now that my own updates have been sent for approval. Influencers posing in identical outfits, brunch photos, dogs in winter sweaters, ridiculous synchronised dances—it’s all blurring together, even my own posts.

After a few minutes of uninspired scrolling, I decide Leo might actually have a point: maybe I could do with a walk. In fact, I could scope out the lounge area and see if anyone interesting has arrived, or even just enjoy the scenery for a bit. Anything but the autonomy of social media. I pull on my boots, wrap myself in a warm coat and head out, strolling along a heated stone path.

The short walk through the snow-dusted trees led me to the main lodge, where the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of glasses greeted me. As I step inside, the main interiors are immaculate, with every detail screaming luxury—from the chandeliers that glitter overhead to the plush carpets that muffle every footstep. I made my way toward the lounge, hoping to pass some time before my hair appointment, when a familiar face caught my eye.

“Stella!” Camille Lemaire called, her hazel eyes lighting up as she noticed me.

She was on the arm of a tall, handsome man with sandy hair dressed impeccably in a tailored coat. I could tell by the way he held himself he was one of the ‘new money’ crowd. His posture was impeccable, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes and a slight fidget in his hands as he gripped his champagne flute that betrayed how new to all of this he was.

“Camille.” I greeted my old school friend warmly, exchanging air kisses on each cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you! I thought maybe you’d spend the evening tucked up inside your cabin with Leo.” She teased, her French accent lending a melodic charm to her words.

I smiled and lowered my eyes coyly. “I left him in bed, actually.”

We shared a giggle before her date cleared his throat pointedly.

“I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Pierre Dubois.” Camille finally introduced. “Pierre, this is my dear friend from L'École du Montclair, Stella Marchand.”

Pierre extended his hand, giving me a genuine smile. “Enchanted, Stella. I’ve heard a lot about your school years with Camille at Montclair.”

“All good things, I hope.” I said, shaking his hand. “Congratulations on your engagement. I hope I’ll be receiving an invitation to the wedding…”

Camille looped her arm through his. “Don’t be absurd, of course you will! We were just talking about how nice it is to escape Paris and relax for a change, but so far all we’ve done is talk business. This season is starting out so droll.”

Just as I was about to respond, a tall figure entered the room and my words sat forgotten instantly.