Avalanche of Emotions

*Blizzard of Emotions is the first book in this series. This is the second book. You can still read this since it’s an additional love story, but just thought you’d want to know:)

<<< Emily >>>

I crawl out of bed - or rather, flop, because I swear I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a sumo wrestler. Every muscle is protesting like a picket line. It’s going to take me a solid twenty minutes of stretching to unknot this mess, just like yesterday.

Slowly, I waddle over to the covered windows and jab the button. As the curtains slowly retract, the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps stretch out. This view looks like it was plucked straight out of a postcard. It’s so stunning it almost makes me forget I’m still half-asleep.

The slopes are already buzzing with skiers and snowboarders. They’re all eager to tackle the fresh powder from last night’s snowfall.

The Swiss Alps have been a dream destination for me. Finally being here feels like I’ve stumbled into a surreal dream. I promised myself that I’d make it here one day. After the rollercoaster of the past six weeks, I desperately needed this time to recharge. I’m currently between jobs so I figured why not take advantage of this freedom before getting tied down again?

Two weeks ago, I packed up my entire life from Georgia and high-tailed it to Colorado. Let me tell you, it’s been a welcome change. But let’s rewind six weeks, back to when my life took a sharp left turn after stumbling upon a clickbait article titled ‘Billionaire shot saving his wife.’

Like any curious soul, I couldn’t resist the urge to click. Little did I know that innocent click would flip my world upside down. I was met with the biggest surprise of my life when I opened that article - a snapshot of me standing beside a handsome stranger. It was me, yet somehow not quite me. It took me longer than it probably should have to connect the dots. The person in the photo was none other than my long-lost twin sister, Claire, who was kidnapped as a baby. She now goes by the name Raya.

I practically sprouted wings and flew to Colorado to confirm it was really her. Our resemblance is so spot-on that even Raya’s husband, Phoenix, had a brief moment of doubt when I showed up. It took him a hot minute to piece it together - he was so confused. I reckon it was my slight southern drawl that finally blew my cover.

Once I confirmed that Raya was indeed my sister, we set a date for the long-awaited family reunion. The day I dropped the bombshell on my parents about finding my sister is forever seared into my brain. Neither of them believed me at first. Thank goodness for smartphones. I whipped out a picture of Raya and me, like “Voila!” Their faces went from “Yeah, right!” to “Holy guacamole!” in seconds. Mom dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Dad followed suit. We turned into a bunch of blubbering messes faster than you can say “family reunion.” It was a tear-jerking moment - as one would expect.

Finding Raya had lifted a weight that had been dragging my family down. My parents were finally being reunited with their long-lost daughter who was kidnapped when she was six weeks old. Tears flowed freely as they hugged her for the first time in 26 years. It was a full-blown sob fest - completely understandable.

Little did I know, my billionaire brother-in-law, Phoenix, had a grand plan up his designer sleeves. He surprised my parents by purchasing a mini-mansion right down the street from his. He wanted all of us to be close in order to make up for lost time. After missing out on so much, they were determined not to let any more moments slip away. Moving into our new mini-mansion two weeks ago felt like a dream come true.

My parents drained their savings account paying countless ransoms in hopes of getting Raya back. Each ransom ended in tears when she was never returned. When the ransom demands stopped, they hit rock bottom. I was too young to remember. I didn’t feel the same gut-punch of loss that hit my parents since I never knew her.

Before Raya’s kidnapping, my parents were living their best life - I’ve seen the footage! I stumbled upon old home movies of them. They were the poster couple for happiness - all hearts and flowers. Their world seemed like the ultimate happy place before it got the wrecking ball treatment. The moment I stumbled upon my sister, relief hit me like a ton of bricks. All I’ve ever craved is a slice of that normalcy, and guess what? It feels like I’m inching closer to that dream - I’m finally free.

Don’t get me wrong, I was crushed she was kidnapped, but there were moments I secretly wished it had been me instead. I entertained this wild notion that she was taken by someone desperate for a child but unable to have one of their own. In my mind, she was growing up in a happy, loving home - a world apart from the one I knew growing up.

Living with parents whose child has been kidnapped is like being trapped in a never-ending nightmare. I grew up with a father who always had a bottle of something strong clutched in his hand. Thankfully, he wasn’t a raging drunk, for which I’m eternally grateful. Most of the time, he was sprawled in a chair, asleep, trying to drown his sorrows in those bottles.

On the flip side, my mother was like a one-woman detective agency on steroids. She threw herself into the hunt for her missing daughter. Constantly acquiring new maps and plotting fresh routes became her obsession. My entire childhood was spent on the road, endlessly driving around in hopes of finding someone who resembled me. Her fixation consumed her - she stopped living, we all did. I suppose I never really started living since this has been my reality since I was six weeks old.

There were those rare moments when my mother needed me, and I’d feel special. Those instances were few and far between, usually reserved for when she needed to take my photo. What’s better than a sketch artist or computer-aged photo progression? - an identical twin, a.k.a. me. I was her personal model for the “Missing Persons” posters.

Seeing my picture plastered on every milk carton at the grocery store was downright freaky. Some people even mistook me for the one who was kidnapped. I remember two occasions when the cops were called to the store. It took a while to explain to the police officers that my twin was missing. It was a bit chaotic. I understand why the police officers were suspicious; I can’t blame them. I’d be suspicious too. It was just our reality.

My childhood was spent in a rundown trailer park. The place was falling apart faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. There were so many leaks in the ceiling that I had to place buckets everywhere to catch the rainwater. I’d empty the buckets every morning after it rained. I hated living how we were. But there isn’t much you can change when your parents rely on government assistance and can’t function. All the money they received went towards gas, car repairs for our rust-bucket car, and booze for my father.

There were times I’d go hungry because there was zilch in the fridge or cupboards. Thank goodness for school days with their free lunches.

Mom often made me play hooky if there was a whiff of a sighting. We’d jump in the car and road-trip it, even if it meant days-long trips out of state. She needed someone to scan the streets while she drove. I ended up missing a lot of school because of that.

My education wasn’t exactly mom’s top priority. Nope, her radar was set to ‘find my long-lost daughter’ mode 24/7. She hardly noticed me. Maybe she avoided me because I resemble my sister. I wonder if every time she looked at me it was like holding up a mirror to her heartache. After all, being identical twins meant I was a living, breathing reminder of what was missing from our family portrait.

My cleaning career kicked off at the ripe old age of five. Let’s just say, the trailer’s cleanliness was on par with a frat house after a particularly wild weekend. I began cooking then too with whatever ingredients I could get my hands on. With a pinch of creativity and a dash of desperation, I learned to stretch what I had into multiple meals.

I was practically running the family finances by the time I hit double digits. I handled paying bills - writing checks and signing them (with permission, of course). I remember long stints without power for weeks on end because mom didn’t pay the bill. And don’t even get me started on the water situation. Let’s just say, I’d wipe myself down at school in the private bathroom at the end of the hall. The other kids would tease me because I was dirty.

Once I was old enough, I landed a job as a dog walker. I needed to help support my family somehow. Going to work became my only escape from my private hell. There were days I considered fleeing the scene, but I couldn’t leave my folks to fend for themselves. I’ve been their caregiver my entire life.

After high school, I juggled as many jobs as I could possibly manage. I was determined to escape that trailer straight out of a horror movie. Gradually, I scraped together enough cash to repair the roof and fix other broken bits. We upgraded to a slightly newer trailer last year. With my hard-earned savings, I made a down payment and took out a loan. It was a struggle, but I was determined to improve our lives.

Now that my sister has been found, my parents are slowly getting their act together. It’s as if they’ve finally exorcised the demons that haunted them for eons, and now the healing can begin. We’ve even started family counseling to navigate through the emotional minefield. It’s going to be a marathon, not a sprint, but we’re on the path to recovery - something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.

I needed a break once my parents and I were all settled into their new house in Colorado. My life had been so overwhelming for so long that I was practically a walking stress ball. Since I’m currently between jobs, I figured I’d take advantage of the situation and go on a little adventure before diving into the job hunt in Colorado. Raya promised to keep an eye on my parents and use the opportunity to bond with them.

So, here I am, living it up in the Swiss Alps for the past three days. It’s even better than I imagined. The sun reflecting off the snow makes everything sparkle like a disco ball. The town nearby the resort is straight out of a storybook, and the people here are so friendly.

Now, about skiing... let’s just say I’m making “attempts.” It turns out that skiing is a lot harder than it looks in the movies.

I get ready for the day in my hotel room that’s so over the top. It’s like a scene from a movie about rich people. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging above the bathtub for goodness’ sake! This place is extravagant. The balcony stretches the length of the two-bedroom suite with a hot tub. I’ve been soaking in it nightly. And let me tell you, it feels amazing on my sore muscles.

Phoenix insisted on footing the entire bill for my trip. It was a nice gesture, but it did make things a tad awkward. I turned down his offers more times than I can count, but he was relentless. I nearly spit out my hot tea all over him when he suggested taking his private jet. Seriously, that jet ride alone could probably fund a small village! It’s like he’s trying to upgrade me from trailer park girl to billionaire’s sister-in-law in one fell swoop.

Once I’m finally ready, I head downstairs to grab some breakfast in their cozy little cafe. The food is to die for! Their croissants are so buttery and flaky they practically melt in your mouth. Pair that with a steaming cup of tea and you’ve got yourself the perfect breakfast.

After finishing my meal, I think, why not grab a tea to-go? I flag down the waitress and request a hot cup. She brings it back, I pay, and stand up, pushing my chair in. While executing a perfect 180-degree turn, I collide with someone. Cue the tea-tastrophe! My cup goes flying while doing its best impression of a tea fountain.

So much for a graceful exit!

“I’m so sorry.” My words tumble out in a rush as I frantically grab napkins, like a squirrel hoarding nuts before winter. I drop to my knees with all the grace of a collapsing soufflé and desperately try to soak up the flow of tea cascading down this poor soul’s jeans.

“I didn’t see you there.” I can feel the awkwardness radiating off me in waves - like a neon sign flashing “Embarrassment Alert!” in bright, blinking letters. I just hope I didn’t scald this poor person with my piping hot tea. That would be the cherry on top of this disaster sundae.

I huff in frustration as I realize that no matter how many napkins I use, it’ll never be enough to rectify this soggy situation.

I finally stand up. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I quickly pop my head up to look at my tea victim. Let me tell you, my heart wasn’t ready for the sight before me - it nearly stops in its tracks. Then it does a double take. Whoa, hello there, Mr. Gorgeous!

Can I call a man gorgeous? Or is that word reserved solely for women? Is there a rulebook on this?

Whatever - I’m sticking with it, he is regardless. Can I just take a moment to appreciate the divine masterpiece standing before me? Because seriously, this man is a work of art.

My eyes start their little salsa dance over his features. He’s decked out in a long sleeve black shirt paired with jeans. His long, light brown hair is tousled back, giving him that semi-wild look. It’s practically begging to be ruffled. And to top it off, he’s rocking a rugged, slightly-more-than-a-five-o’clock-shadow look.

But it’s his eyes that truly captivate me. They’re striking with their vibrant green hue. It’s like staring into a forest after a fresh rain. They’re sucking me in.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He flashes me a grin that makes me question my reality.

I stand there like a deer caught in the headlights as my brain decides to take an impromptu mini-vacation to Gawksville. Population: me - looking like a complete fool.

He reaches out and briefly touches my shoulder at my silence. I blink twice before snapping out of whatever spell he seemed to cast on me.

Cue the embarrassment!

I’m guessing he’s touching me because my brain decided to clock out early. His good looks must have stunned me mute. “Hmm?” I manage to hum out, feeling like a malfunctioning robot desperately trying to reboot.

He lets out a slight chuckle - I’m assuming from the confused look plastered on my face as I stare at him. “I asked if you were okay.”

I nod. “Yeah.” Oh, great! Why, oh why, did my voice choose this very moment to betray me and crack like a teenager?! Seriously, pull yourself together! He’s just a man. A ridiculously, absurdly attractive man with forest-green eyes that could melt glaciers, but still - just a man.

My eyes dart around the room noticing diners nearby sneaking glances our way like they’ve stumbled onto the set of a reality TV show. Oh, fabulous! Now I’m even more mortified with a live audience. These poor tourists have a front-row seat to my awkward encounter.

“Can I pay to get your clothes cleaned for you? I’m really sorry my tea spilled all over you,” I blurt out.

“It’s honestly fine,” he tries to reassure me with a smile.

Oh, that smile! His slightly pouty lips have a hint of a playful curve. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s got some secret superpower to charm the socks off anyone within a five-mile radius just by wielding it. I feel weak in the knee just witnessing it.

Keep it together, Emily! My internal voice screams as I try to salvage what little dignity I have left.

I clear my throat, attempting to break the awkward silence that hangs between us like a heavy fog. “Alright. Um… sorry again.” And then, like an extra in a medieval drama, I bow while backing away from him.

What the heck am I doing?! Why am I bowing to him?

I make a mental note to add “improvised bowing” to my list of embarrassing moments that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I hope to never cross paths with this man again. It’ll spare me from reliving this mortifying moment over and over in my mind like a cringe-worthy movie on repeat. If I could vanish into thin air, I would Houdini myself right out of this ski lodge café. But since I haven’t quite mastered that skill yet, I settle for the next best thing - bolting out of here like my snow pants are on fire.

When I finally hit the slopes, they’re packed with eager skiers and snowboarders. I can’t blame them - this place is practically a snow globe come to life. I click my skis into the bindings and head to the chairlift. The lift climbs higher, and the charming town behind me shrinks into the snowy landscape.

It’s the kind of place where you could trade office suits for ski boots and never look back. The warmer months might be slower, but it’d be worth it. I find myself wishing I could extend my stay here for a couple of months, or maybe even forever.

But I know I have to head home soon. Even though I only moved to Aspen two weeks ago, it already feels like home sweet home. Compared to the muggy, sticky summers back in Georgia, the cold is bliss. Give me snow and a crackling fire any day over sweating buckets in the southern heat!