* * *
At dinner, Isobel found herself a few tables away from Alexander. Of course she had known they wouldn’t be seated together. She had always found this Swedish custom rather odd—that couples, with the exception of a newly engaged couple, were always seated far away from one another. As if they couldn’t have anything to talk about. Actually, the only time a married couple ever sat next to each other was at their own wedding. Alexander was close to the bridal couple, and she noticed his neighbor was a cute brunette. He politely held her chair out for her before sitting down himself. He said something to the woman on his other side, a heavily pregnant Swedish businesswoman Isobel had recently read about in a glossy magazine.
Isobel was between a young guy named Axel with a neat beard and a Gothenburg accent, and a man in his forties. He introduced himself as Christer and said he worked for a publishing house. He immediately began to compete with Axel for her attention.
“There’s no one more self-obsessed than male authors,” Christer said, taking a sip of a generously sized dry martini. “Except for female ones, of course,” he added. Isobel burst into laughter.
The three of them were soon drawn into an intense, lively conversation about books, the publishing world, and what Isobel could only describe as tall tales. They made her laugh so much she had a pain in her side before they even finished the starter. The toastmaster got back to her feet and introduced the evening’s first speaker: Natalia Hammar.
Natalia began by talking about how Åsa had lived with the De la Grips after her entire family had died in a car accident. Isobel hadn’t known about that, and she studied the elegant bride. Åsa looked like a Hollywood star sitting next to her hot gangsteresque husband. Who was she underneath? Natalia continued, talking about how Åsa had brought champagne to the maternity ward when little Molly was born and how she’d sworn never to do something so bourgeois as to get married, right up until the day she announced she was planning on having the biggest wedding Stockholm had seen since the crown princess got married.
The applause after the speech was deafening. Isobel saw Alexander get to his feet, head over to his sister, and plant a kiss in her hair.
As the main course was served, a waiter bent down to Isobel.
“One more vegetarian, right?” he asked.
She glanced over at Alexander.
He was listening to his neighbor, but it was as though he knew he was being watched, because he raised his head and over tables, clinking glasses and expensive flower arrangements, their eyes met. Everything around her fell silent, and she imagined she could hear his voice, feel his touch, read his thoughts.
Thanks, she mouthed.
He smiled and lowered his head in an ironic bow.
He was so considerate she didn’t know what to think. He insisted on maintaining that superficial façade, but when had she last been with a man who remembered small details like that? A man who loaned her crown jewels and gave her tissues and arranged food and gazed at her across the room? If it was a game, he was extremely good at it.
The next speaker was David Hammar.
Isobel had thought he seemed like a stern, impressive person, but the speech he gave was a hilarious account of Åsa and Michel’s love story, which had clearly begun many years earlier and then blossomed the previous summer via a huge number of text messages, arguments, and passion. By the end of his speech, people were slumped on their tables in fits of laughter.
The speeches continued and toasts were made, and by the time the main service was cleared away, her two neighbors were drunk and their joking was getting risqué.
She looked up and realized that Alexander was watching her again. She smiled at him before being drawn into another nonsensical conversation with Axel and Christer.
With dessert, Alexander stood up and made a speech to Åsa. He was drunk, but not too much. Isobel could see that his eyes were glazed over, but he seemed happy, and his speech was hysterically funny. He sat down to laughter and applause, and raised a glass in Isobel’s direction.
The next time she looked up, when the coffee was served, Alexander’s seat was empty. She blinked, wondered where he was. And then she heard his voice at her side, low and commanding, talking to her neighbor.
“Swap seats with me.”
“But . . .” Axel protested.
“No buts. Go. Now.”
Axel got slowly to his feet. Isobel flashed him an apologetic smile, and Alexander slipped into the chair next to her.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“It’s my firm belief that niceness doesn’t count for much with women.”
She shook her head. If there was one thing she had learned, it was this. “Actually, kindness is the important thing.”
“Is it? Why?”
“Without kindness, there’s no trust.”
“And is that so important?”
“You know it is.”
The wedding cake was brought in—a huge, white confection.
“They seem so in love,” Isobel said as Michel kissed Åsa for something like the hundredth time in a row before they started to cut the cake.
Alexander simply shook his head.
“Have you really never been in love?” she asked.
“Maybe once,” he replied.
She only had herself to blame. She had asked, and now she had to accept the slight pang of jealousy. Who had he loved? Who had been unique enough to be loved by Alexander?
“Who was she?” she asked.
He leaned forward and gave her a serious look. “I’ve completely forgotten. I must’ve repressed it. Too painful, you know?” He fell silent, a pained look on his face. She leaned forward, holding her breath.
“She was in my course at the School of Economics. She liked graphs, and I thought it was sexy. I was so in love, it hurt. Worst morning of my life.”
Isobel laughed loudly. Relieved.
He really was the epitome of a total player, the way he sat there, looking at her, a satisfied expression on his face. She smiled at him and blinked slowly, calculating. How hard could it be to seduce him tonight? He cocked his head. Watched her as though he were a hungry lion and she were a passing gazelle.
Not hard at all, she decided.
Chapter 25
He was too slow, that was the problem. That, and the fact he hadn’t punched out Isobel’s neighbor when he had the chance. Alexander crossed his arms and looked out at the packed dance floor. This was what happened when you didn’t act quickly. You had to watch the woman you were dying to fuck waltz across the floor in the arms of her bearded tablemate. The pair swept past, and Alexander caught sight of a malicious grin on the face of the man.
Alexander had danced with his neighbor and then the bride, but now he had fulfilled his duties as a guest and he wanted to dance with Isobel. Truthfully, he wanted to go home and have sex with Isobel, but if she planned on dancing half the night away, he was enough of a gentleman to wait.
The next time she swished past, she was dancing with Eugene, and Alexander caught a wink from his uncle. He gave up and went to sit with a group of Åsa’s wilder friends. The table was covered with ice buckets and glasses, and he picked up a glass of Pommery and tried to spot Isobel in the crowd. She was dancing, laughing, with another man, and Alexander thought that the novelty of feeling jealous was rapidly wearing off. He had never been jealous before, and he had to say it sucked. He poured more champagne, stretched out his legs, and watched the dancers. The music had to end at some point.
Eugene came over, sat down, and flashed Alexander an amused grin.
“Here you are, looking cheerful,” he said.
Alexander pulled an irritated face.
Eugene poured some champagne and drank it with a satisfied sound.
“People should get married more often.”
“If that’s a dig at me, you can forget it.”
“It wasn’t a dig. It was a reflection. So. On a completely different note, which really does have noth
ing to do with my wanting you to find a girl to marry, what have you done with Isobel?”
Alexander gestured toward the dance floor, the music fortunately stopping. Isobel caught sight of him. He got up as she came over, and she sank into the armchair next to Eugene.
“I need to sit down. These shoes are killing me.” She stretched out one leg, and Alexander was transfixed. He had never thought of himself as a leg man. More a breast and ass man. But Isobel’s legs . . . In those shoes, they looked like they were made to wrap around his waist. And she didn’t even seem to realize just how incredibly hot she was.
“Want something to drink? Champagne?”
Or would you rather go home, let me undress you, kiss you?
“Water would be great.” She smiled.
He got up. “I’ll get you some water, but you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Stay here until I get back. Sit right here. No dancing.”
She flashed him that smile, the one he wanted to catch in the palm of his hand and carry with him wherever he went. “I promise,” she said.
Eugene’s grin grew even wider.
* * *
Since all of the waitstaff seemed busy serving drinks and clearing glasses, Alexander found his way to a little kitchen and went in. There were piles of trays and porcelain everywhere, but he found a cupboard full of clean glasses and took one out. He sensed a movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned around he saw Tom Lexington smoking on a little balcony.
“Everything okay?” Alexander asked as he turned on the faucet. He looked around for a carafe or a bottle he could fill and take with him.
“Yep,” Tom said, breathing out smoke.
As Alexander turned off the faucet, they heard some kind of noise.
“Did you hear that?” he asked as a shout rang out.
Tom flicked the cigarette away, pushed his earpiece into his ear, and listened. Alexander went toward the door and pushed it open. A disturbance he couldn’t quite define was spreading across the far end of the ballroom. Most of the guests were acting as normal, but Alexander saw a few people moving toward one of the doors. He heard another shout.
The seats where Isobel and Eugene had been were empty. He couldn’t see Isobel anywhere. Tom pushed his way through the crowd, and Alexander strode after him. His entire family was here, everyone he cared about, but he had only one thought: Was Isobel safe? And then he saw her. She sat next to a man lying flat on the floor. Her dress was pushed up to her thighs, and she leaned over him, her hand at the side of his throat.
“What’s going on?” Tom’s commanding voice cut through the noise.
Isobel looked up. She swiped her hair from her face, caught sight of Alexander, and then looked to Tom.
“Call an ambulance. He can’t breathe, it’s an allergic reaction.”
Her voice was razor sharp, her eyes steady. “Alex? Are you there?”
“Yeah, what should I do?”
“Find Gina.”
She bent back down again. Said something to the man, whose chest was heaving with difficulty. Tom already had his cell to his ear. Alexander turned around and saw Gina in the doorway.
“Let her past,” he ordered, holding out his hand and pulling Gina through the crowd and over to Isobel.
“There should be an adrenaline pen in his jacket. Can you find it?” Isobel asked. She was so goddamned cool, her voice utterly unruffled. In the midst of chaos, Isobel was rock steady. If someone had set off a bomb in the ballroom, she would be exactly the same, he thought. Level-headed, focused on helping.
Gina rushed away.
“Tom’s called an ambulance. What can I do?” Alexander asked.
“Get people out. Ask someone to get a first aid kit. Gina?”
Gina had returned with an EpiPen. She had already taken off the cap. Together, they undid the man’s trousers. Gina jabbed the needle into his thigh and then pushed the plunger as Isobel continued to talk to him.
Alexander had started to lead people out when Michel and David appeared.
Alexander nodded to them and to Peter, who had also appeared in the doorway.
“Gina and Isobel have everything under control, the ambulance is on the way, and here’s Tom with the first aid kit. Can someone get a blanket?”
David turned on his heel and disappeared.
Isobel took the bag and rifled through it. David came back with a blanket, and they spread it over the man while Gina made a cushion from one of the seat cushions and a tablecloth. She placed it under his head.
Alexander heard Isobel asking brief, quiet questions.
“Do you know where you are? What’s your name?”
“At a wedding. Fares Nassif.”
“Okay, Fares. I’m a doctor. You had an allergic reaction; we gave you your EpiPen, and you’re already breathing better. I’m going to put in a drip now. Did you come with anyone?”
Michel kneeled down next to them.
“He’s my cousin,” he said quietly. “Should I get Nour? His wife.”
“Yes, please.”
Michel returned with a woman, who put her hand to her mouth and sank to the floor next to Fares.
“Does he have a history of any other illness?” Isobel asked as she took out a cannula and carefully pushed the needle into Fares’s arm.
“No.” His wife blinked tightly, again and again.
“Gina, you take over here,” Isobel said, and as Gina busied herself with the drip bag, Isobel took the woman’s hand. Alexander brought over a chair, and Isobel sat Nour down in it. Isobel looked at Alexander. “She’s probably in shock, but everything seems fine. Did you hear that, Nour? Your husband is feeling better already. But he needs to go to the hospital, just to be on the safe side. Do you want to go with him? Is there anyone else to help you here?”
“I’m okay.”
Nour bit her lip and straightened up. Alexander saw that the color had returned to her face. “I’ll go with him,” she said firmly, and at that moment two paramedics came in with a stretcher. Isobel talked to them, with brisk technical words and terminology that sounded as if it belonged in a TV show. Fares was given an oxygen mask and held his wife’s hand. The scene still looked dramatic, but there was a sense that the worst was over.
Tom came back; Alexander leaned against the door frame and grinned in Isobel’s direction. She was still debriefing and instructing the paramedics. “Isobel’s with me. Impressive, isn’t she?”
Tom fixed him with his dark eyes but said nothing.
The paramedics and the stretcher were escorted out by Tom and his staff, and the room slowly emptied until only Isobel, Gina, Alexander, and Peter were left.
“I’ll give Gina a ride home once she’s done,” Peter said.
Alexander gave him a disconcerted look. “Is that fine with you, Gina?”
She simply nodded. “Yes.”
Alexander watched them leave the room together. Once that surprise was over, he turned to Isobel. She was sitting in a chair and seemed to be breathing deeply.
He picked up an overturned chair and smiled at her. Her hair was ruffled and her dress was creased. “Do you want to go home too? Should I call for a car?”
“Do you think that would be okay with the bridal couple? If we leave the party before them?”
“You just saved Michel’s cousin’s life. As far as they’re concerned, you’ve got a free pass to do pretty much whatever you want.”
* * *
Isobel slumped into the backseat. She rested her face in one hand and sat that way as the car left the Old Town, passing over a bridge.
“I’m still coming down,” she said after a while.
“I couldn’t tell,” he said. He stretched out his arm along the back of the seat.
“The thing is, it doesn’t make a difference how good a doctor you are. If we hadn’t found that needle, he wouldn’t have made it.”
“But he did.”
“Yeah. His wife said she�
��d let me know how it goes, but I’m not worried.”
She leaned her head against his arm, and Alexander rested a cheek on her hair. It wasn’t cool to start seducing a woman who’d just saved someone’s life, he knew that, but at this rate he’d be gray by the time he got Isobel into bed. He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of her. This wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but with Isobel, nothing went as expected. She moved, and her cheek ended up against his collarbone. A silk-clad knee brushed against his trouser leg. A soft breast rested against his chest. He swallowed. The air in the car disappeared, and his pulse started to increase rapidly. Isobel moved again. It was as though she couldn’t find a comfortable position. This time, one of her hands ended up on his thigh, high up. He would have no choice but to move her, he thought dizzily. He was getting aroused. It was embarrassing. But he was dying for her. He couldn’t remember when he had wanted a woman this much. He twisted, but she followed his movements, ending pressed up against him.
“Isobel,” he heard himself exhale harshly.
She slowly turned her head until their faces were almost touching. As the car passed beneath a streetlight, he caught a glimpse of her freckles, sprinkled like a translucent powder across her nose and cheeks.
“What?” she asked. Her voice was husky and low.
He bent down and kissed her lightly on the nose. “You have freckles on your forehead,” he mumbled before thinking that it had definitely been a mistake to kiss her, to breathe in the scent of her, to put an arm around her so that the touch of her skin made every single inch of him buzz with electric anticipation.
“Are you tired?” she asked, blinking slowly. She licked her lips, and they shone. He stared. “Or do you want to continue the evening?”
Alexander had never missed an invitation in his life, wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but it took a moment before Isobel’s words, tone, and questioning look caused the pieces to fall into place.
“Aren’t you . . .” he started. He stopped to clear his throat. “I thought you were tired.” His hand caressed the smooth, smooth skin of her bare arm.
“No,” she replied, her beautiful eyes glittering. “Saving lives doesn’t tire me out. The opposite, actually.” Her cell phone buzzed. She took it out and read the message. “All okay. They’re keeping him overnight, but it doesn’t seem serious.” She put the phone back in her bag. “Where were we?”
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