Chapter 5
1394 Words
EMMA
Snowflakes, Strangers, and A Job I Didn’t Ask For
I woke to silence.
Not the stiff, uncomfortable silence of the Roche villa, where secrets hid behind every antique piece of furniture but a peaceful quiet, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket.
The cabin smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke. Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, dusting the room in gold. For a long moment, I simply lay there, staring at the wooden beams above me and trying to remember how I’d gotten here.
France.
Cheating ex.
Motorcycle club.
Mysterious, ridiculously attractive stranger with tattoos up his neck.
Oh. Right.
I sat up slowly, a heaviness in my chest easing just a little. My heart still hurt, but at least I wasn’t surrounded by people who supported Damien’s betrayal.
Here, at least, I wasn’t being humiliated.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Sophie.
Sophie: Girl, if that man drives a motorcycle and has tattoos, YOU BETTER NOT COME BACK UNLESS YOU GET HIS NUMBER.
I snorted, then texted back:
Me: I’m here for work. Shut up.
I tossed the phone aside and swung my legs out of bed. The floor was cold, but a good kind of cold, crisp and energizing. I slipped into jeans, a chunky sweater, my boots, and pulled my hair into a loose braid.
A job.
Gabriel had given me a job.
Funny how heartbreak could push you into bizarre new situations, like designing a biker Christmas party in the middle of France. But work…
Work I could do.
Work made sense.
When I stepped outside, the estate glowed with Christmas morning softness, frost glittering across grass, thin mist curling over the ground. People wandered around with coffee mugs and cigarettes. Not a single person stared at me with judgment or pity.
It felt…nice.
“Emma?” a warm, feminine voice called.
I turned and instantly recognized her from the penthouse windows the night before.
Clara Moreau.
She looked like the luxurious, mischievous sister in a Christmas romance movie; tall, elegantly dressed in a long cream coat and boots, her curls bouncing as she approached.
“I knew you’d be up early,” she smiled, linking her arm with mine without hesitation. “Come, come, you need the grand tour before anything else.”
“The grand tour?” I blinked.
“Obviously. You’re in charge of saving our holiday this year.”
I laughed nervously. “No pressure.”
“Oh, tons of pressure,” she said cheerfully. “But don’t worry, I’m here to help. Come on.”
She guided me toward the largest building on the estate, a massive lodge with floor-to-ceiling windows and warm lights glowing inside.
“You’re Gabriel’s sister?” I asked.
“Yes.” She beamed. “Older sister. Wiser. More fashionable. Somewhat bossier.”
A small laugh escaped me. “He didn’t mention you.”
“He never mentions family if he can avoid it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He thinks being mysterious makes him intimidating.”
“Does it?” I asked.
Her grin softened knowingly. “Only until he meets someone who steals his attention.”
I choked a little and quickly looked away.
She noticed.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that.” she started.
“It’s fine,” I cut in quickly. “We just met.”
Clara’s eyes sparkled, but she didn’t push further. “All right, all right. I’ll behave.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d reacted so quickly. Maybe because my heart was still a bruised mess. Or maybe because the idea of Gabriel Moreau noticing me made something in my belly twist in ways I wasn’t ready to examine.
She pushed open the door to the hall, and I forgot all thoughts immediately.
The space was enormous with wooden beams, high ceilings, and even chandeliers shaped like antlers. String lights wrapped the pillars. There were long banquet tables waiting to be decorated.
It was beautiful and a blank canvas.
Clara spread her arms. “So? What do you think?”
“I think…” My lips slowly curved. “I think this place could be magical.”
“That’s what I want to hear! Let’s get to work.”
She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me inside. We spent the next hour walking from one end of the hall to the other. I wrote notes, sketched layouts, muttered ideas under my breath about where garlands should go, how to soften the lighting, colors to use, how many poinsettias we’d need, and which tables would need centerpieces.
Clara watched with amusement.
“You’re adorable when you work,” she said.
“I take Christmas events very seriously,” I replied.
“And this is why Gabriel hired you.”
Her tone warmed on his name.
I cleared my throat. “So, um… where do we get supplies?”
She let out a dazzling smile. “Let’s make a shopping list, shall we?”
We sat at one of the long tables with hot chocolate while I scribbled down pages of items; ribbons, garlands, lights, candles, wreaths, linens, ornaments, scented pine cones, lanterns, snowflake projectors, and enough warm-toned candles to light a small village.
Clara added humorous notes like:
— No ugly plastic Santas
— Gabriel hates silver glitter; don’t ask why
— We need mistletoe, lots of it… for reasons
I ignored the way she wiggled her brows at that last part.
When our list was finally done, we gathered our things and ran right into a wall of solid muscle.
Except it wasn’t a wall.
It was Gabriel.
My breath hitched.
He stood there in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed up his forearms, tattoos peeking out along his neck. He looked like winter carved him from stone.
“Good morning,” he said, voice deep enough to warm the air between us.
“Morning,” I managed.
His eyes skimmed over me, checking. Not in a possessive way, but in a protective one, the way someone might glance at a fragile object they didn’t know how to hold.
Clara rolled her eyes. “I’ll wait outside. You two talk business.”
She vanished before I could stop her.
Gabriel stepped closer. “I wanted to run through the contract before you left.”
“Oh… right, yes.” I nodded quickly.
He pulled out a folded envelope and handed it to me. Inside was a simple agreement; seven days of event planning, a fixed payment, lodging, and meals included. Nothing predatory. Nothing manipulative.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said softly. “It’s more than fair.”
He offered me a pen. Our fingers brushed again. A spark raced up my arm like lightning. My breath caught. I signed quickly, pretending nothing happened.
“Good,” he said quietly, watching me. “But you can leave anytime you want, Emma. You’re not trapped here.”
The words hit deeper than he probably intended.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
We parted, and Clara whisked me off to a charming Christmas market in the nearest town. We spent hours laughing, shopping, tasting pastries, arguing about ribbon colors, and carrying far too many bags.
By the time we returned, my arms felt like jelly, but my heart… my heart felt lighter than it had in months.
We decorated the hall until the sun dipped below the trees. Bikers passed by to peek and compliment the work. Someone even played Christmas rock music. Eventually, as the first snowflakes drifted down from the sky, the hall glowed with warm lights, evergreen garlands, candles, and delicate ornaments.
It was beautiful.
Not perfect.
But warm, alive, festive.
By nightfall, club members filled the space with laughter and noise. The celebration had officially begun.
I slipped away quietly, exhausted, ready to collapse in my cabin. I’d almost reached the courtyard when a hand gently wrapped around my wrist.
I spun, breath catching in my throat.
Gabriel stood behind me, the snow catching on his dark hair, his eyes glowing a fierce green in the soft light.
“Where,” he asked quietly, “are you heading?”
Electricity shot through me at the touch. Straight to the parts of me I thought Damien had crushed for good.
And Gabriel… he didn’t let go.
- Writer
