Falling

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “I’m not quite as uneducated as you think,” she said amicably.

  “But Mom, even I’ve been here before.”

  “Anyway, I’m happy Natalia suggested it. It’s good to try new things—that’s what I’ve always thought.”

  That statement was so out of character that Alexander wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly.

  “And I’m happy the three of us could meet,” she added.

  “Peter couldn’t come,” Natalia added hastily.

  Thank God for that small mercy at least. Alexander wasn’t sure he could make it through lunch with his mother and his brother without exploding. Was Peter even in touch with Ebba, or was that just wishful thinking on Natalia’s part? He glanced at his mother and sister, talking in low tones about what they would order. He had to admit that it felt a little strange that Peter was frozen out of the entire family. It was one thing that he couldn’t stand his brother, but the idea of their mother freezing him out felt heartless, even for her.

  “I hear you’ve been spending time with Blanche Sørensen’s daughter,” Ebba said as they were brought bread and water.

  Alexander glared at his sister.

  But Natalia shook her head, mouthed a firm I haven’t said a word.

  “We’ve met a few times.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “Lay off, Mom,” he said sharply.

  “I’m just making conversation. Isn’t that allowed?”

  “Not about things that have nothing to do with you.”

  Ebba blinked rapidly, and he saw her eyes turning shiny. “I don’t understand why you’re always so mad at me,” she whispered, her voice trembling, and Alexander knew she really meant it. Ebba really didn’t understand. The anger he felt was so goddamn pointless. She was who she was. Maybe it was too late. Maybe it had always been.

  “Please,” Natalia said, giving him another pleading look.

  He bit his tongue, drummed his fingers, and looked away. He knew he was about to ruin this lunch for her. But didn’t Nat know that was what he did? He hadn’t asked her to have these expectations of him. If she had them and was disappointed, she only had herself to blame.

  Or was he only justifying his own bad habits?

  He nodded that he understood.

  He couldn’t love his mother, but for Natalia’s sake maybe he could stop hating her.

  Maybe.

  “Shall we order?” Ebba looked at him. The pale face he had once loved studied him with an appealing look. She wasn’t smooth at all, he could see that now. Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth betrayed her age after all. She had abandoned him, over and over again. Manipulated him, lied to him, always put herself first, to the detriment of him and his siblings—her own children. But all the same, she was only human.

  He gave her a light pat on the hand.

  “We’ll order, Mom.”

  He smiled at Natalia, who blinked violently several times.

  Thanks, she mimed.

  And it did actually feel as if another weight had lifted from him.

  Chapter 53

  Leisurely Isobel went around and cleaned up after them in Eugene’s opulent apartment. She drifted from room to room, straightening tablecloths, remembering things they had done, blushing a bit before moving on. Every now and then, her cell phone would buzz and she would read yet another message from Alexander, pausing and grinning.

  It was probably a good thing he’d had to leave, that they both had a moment to catch their breath. Not that it stopped her from aching for the next time they would meet. With a quick glance she made sure nothing embarrassing had been left behind in the bedroom or under the couches.

  In the kitchen she put the last glass back in the cabinet, checked she had packed all of the . . . ehrm . . . equipment in the bag, wrapped the flowers in their cellophane, and went down to the cab she had called.

  At home she searched for the biggest vase she owned—an heirloom from her grandmother—and put the orchids on the kitchen table. As she admired the exquisite bouquet she tried to remember the last time a man, a lover, had given her flowers, but had to give up.

  She had only just changed into her sweatpants when Alexander sent another one of his messages. Just a red heart this time, and she felt her own heart swell. Ah, but this was too ridiculous. It was like being sixteen and head over heels in love. Aside from the fact that she’d never had such strong feelings for anyone when she was sixteen. Or ever.

  She sat down at the computer. She was behind with everything, needed to get into some kind of serious working mind-set.

  Isobel managed to work effectively for a few hours before she began to yawn. She brewed some coffee, took a quick shower, and sat back down at the computer.

  Another text, the twentieth or so of the day, asking: How soon can I see you?

  It probably wasn’t a very smart idea to let Alexander take up so much of her working time. But God, she longed for him.

  Need to work. Later, okay?

  Sipping her coffee, she opened a medical site to look for a particular study, clicked on a link to a newspaper article, clicked on another interesting link, and suddenly found herself on the couch, surfing the net for anything related to Alexander De la Grip. Out of self-preservation she avoided things she had already read about him—didn’t want to read old gossip—and found an article about Romeo Rozzi’s career instead, which she read with great interest. Then she moved on to another Web site and saw pictures of one of Romeo’s restaurants, activated another link, ended up on a famous rooftop terrace in New York, studying the beautiful people’s faces, and caught sight of . . .

  She frowned and then couldn’t help it. She knew the wise thing was to leave the page, but instead she looked closer, against all better judgment.

  Yup, it was Alexander, looking very drunk. With two young women in his lap. An arm around one of them, a hand on the other’s thigh. She read the caption. “Playboy billionaire plays fast and loose with gorgeous blondes.” There wasn’t much difference between this picture and every other she’d seen. Aside from one thing. She had to check her calendar just to be sure. Double-check against her Skype account.

  Yeah.

  This was taken on Alexander’s latest New York trip. The same day they’d started to Skype, as a matter of fact, when he had sworn to her that he hadn’t slept with that girl with the strange name or with anyone else. She had believed him then and she still believed him. This stupid photo didn’t have to mean a thing. But still. It did. A little anyway. She clicked down the site but now she just couldn’t stop herself, so she started Googling him seriously, reading everything that popped up. Years and years of escapades came on her screen. Pictures of Alexander and famous women. Notorious women. Actresses, pop stars, and heiresses. Parties, premieres, and one scandal after the other. And everywhere Alexander—grinning, drinking, partying, actually looking quite happy, in a sort of debauched way. Occasionally she thought she spotted an almost desolate look on his face, but maybe it was just her imagination.

  It wasn’t that she was jealous, not too much anyway. She knew this was who he was, had no illusions about his past. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t so concerned with the pictures online as she’d thought she would be; they didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. But another thing had been nagging her, in a dark corner of her mind. Something that had been lying there, in wait. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to examine too closely. But now it came to the surface. All the stuff he’d told her, the revelations about his mother’s infidelity and the abuse he’d suffered as a young teenager; how much damage had it caused? Everything she knew about the human psyche, everything she’d read and experienced told her it would be difficult for someone with that kind of background to really have a deep, emotional relationship with a woman. But that didn’t matter, right? Because she didn’t want a relationship with Alexander.

  Or did she?

  She got up from the computer. Washed her face. Walked around restlessly. Was
she overanalyzing this? Probably. But it didn’t change the fact that she had some serious decisions to make. Oh, she could just go with the flow, enjoy the ride, and all the other bullshit people said when they were trying to fool themselves into making stupid decisions. But that wasn’t her. She wanted, no needed, someone stable. Dependable. She was old enough to know herself. Could Alexander be all that? Because she didn’t believe in trying to change people. In her opinion people pretty much were who they were, period. And Alex was a player. It didn’t diminish her feelings for him. She had fallen for an amoral billionaire playboy. That was a fact. But she had to stay sober about this. Had to rely on smart Isobel, not sex-crazed Isobel. It would be a scary prospect to start committing to Alexander. She had to be brutally honest and ask herself if she was anything more to him than another victory in a long line of conquests. She mulled it over. Yes, she really did think she was more, if her instincts were to be trusted.

  Her cell phone buzzed. It was him. Her silly heart started to flutter. Oh, but she had totally fallen.

  Want to meet tonight? I’ll make dinner. Satisfy all your appetites.

  Isobel read the message. And then again. Could hear his deep voice in the words, feel his touch, sense his laughter. Even through a short text she was drawn into his remarkable force field, remembering their wild lovemaking but also the closeness she felt to him. Damn, this was so dangerous.

  And then something else struck her, made her freeze. Had she really talked with him about not going into the field anymore? That was madness. How could she even think about that, much less say it aloud? People like her, doctors like her, professionals like her, simply didn’t do that. She was a person who, more than anything else, wanted to help others. She needed to be of use to the world, had felt like that as long as she could remember. That meant she simply couldn’t indulge in every shallow whim that happened to strike her. Definitely couldn’t let sex and infatuation guide her actions. Surely she was more sensible than that.

  She spent a long time looking at the display, reading the letters.

  Be logical, Isobel. Be smart.

  Slowly she tapped in her reply: Maybe not today.

  Stared at it for a long time, wondering whether she should add anything else before sending it.

  But what else was there to add, really? This had gone much too far already, was leading her astray, making her choose the wrong path. Hurriedly she pressed send, then switched the phone to silent and returned to her work.

  When everything came crashing down around her, she always had her work. Though, right now, at this moment, she was uncertain whether it felt more like a blessing or a taunt. But she didn’t pick up the cell phone the entire evening. It had gone on long enough. She had to be wise. Even if it hurt like hell.

  Chapter 54

  Two days after the fiasco at Gina’s house, everything was grayer than ever in Peter’s life.

  He hadn’t heard from her since the catastrophe.

  It was over.

  If he was so inclined, he might have drunk himself stupid, he thought as he studied the people streaming past him on Norrmalm-storg. It was five p.m. and everyone was headed home. To their families, friends, to pick up the kids from day care, he assumed. Bankers passed by, then a couple of well-known venture capitalists, and a bank manager hurried across the cobblestones. He saw a newly appointed press spokeswoman and two speech writers. They were all half-running, seemed to be in a rush somewhere. Things moved so quickly in this world. Young, hungry talents were always snapping at the heels of the elite. In a few years half these people would be gone, and the other half would have climbed even higher up the ladder.

  He knew he should get up from the bench and go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Just the thought of standing and then walking back to his empty apartment felt impossible. He was a shell. A dead, self-pitying shell. And he only had himself to blame.

  It had been a stupid impulse to buy Amir those soccer things.

  He rubbed his face, ashamed.

  Alexander was the drunk in the family. Natalia the sensitive financial genius. He was the dutiful one. The one who did nothing rash, the one who followed the rules. Those few times he hadn’t, it had ended in disaster. Just as it had Tuesday. He had left the office early, filled the car with new things, and then driven out to Tensta with a feeling of joy buzzing through his entire body.

  And it had all gone so well at first.

  Until Gina came home.

  He really did understand what had upset her, he thought with shame. It had been rash and badly thought through. He should have checked with her first, listened to what she thought Amir needed. But he had never been good with words, and he knew how much Amir meant to her. So he had done it for Gina’s sake. To try to show his feelings.

  Christ, how could he have been so stupid?

  It had backfired and now he had lost her, the person he cared so much about.

  He looked away from the sun. It was getting warmer, people were dressed in short sleeves, but he was frozen beneath his skin, in his bones. He knew he didn’t just “care about” Gina. It was much more than that.

  Peter looked up and allowed his gaze to sweep aimlessly over the bustling square. Five more minutes and then he would have to pull himself together, he decided wearily. He continued to watch people, and when the crowd suddenly dispersed, he caught sight of Alexander walking toward him over Hamngatan. Peter peered at Alexander, his carefree, popular, brilliant little brother: tall, square-shouldered, and well-dressed among taxi cabs, buses, and harried big city dwellers. Alexander always looked as if he had just stepped out of a luxury aftershave ad. Peter felt a perverse satisfaction at not being seen, at being able to study his brother in secret, but of course it didn’t last. Alexander caught sight of him just as he was about to pass by. His step shortened, and he seemed to hesitate, as though he would rather pretend he hadn’t seen Peter, but then he turned and headed for the bench.

  “Why’re you sitting here looking so gloomy?” he greeted him.

  “I’m not gloomy. What are you doing here?”

  Alexander nodded toward Smålandsgatan. “My foundation is over there. I’m headed there. I came from home,” he added.

  Right, Alexander had an apartment in Stockholm these days.

  Alexander studied him more closely. “How are things? You look awful.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  Alexander sat down on the bench next to him.

  Peter sighed. Company was the last thing he wanted.

  They said nothing. Watched the passersby.

  Alexander swung a foot up onto his knee. “Natalia is worried about you. God knows why, but she is. Could you call her?”

  Peter gave a humorless laugh. “You’re hardly the one to give relationship advice.”

  “It wasn’t advice. It was a request. You can be civil and call her, can’t you?”

  “I know you don’t give a damn about me. You don’t have to pretend you do.”

  “I’m not pretending. Respectfully, I don’t give a damn about you. But Natalia does, and I happen to like Natalia. So call her.”

  They sat in silence again.

  “I saw Mom yesterday,” Alexander continued.

  “Lunch? I couldn’t make it.” He hadn’t been able to bring himself to meet them. He had barely managed to drag himself from bed.

  “Why? Did something happen?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t care?”

  Alexander ran his hand through his perfectly ruffled hair before he spread an arm along the backrest. During the few minutes Alexander had been there, at least five women had turned around to stare at him.

  “Doesn’t it get old?”

  Peter remembered all the times Alexander, with his devastatingly good looks, his smile, and his force-of-nature charm, had swept in and helped himself. How many girls had he been interested in, only for them to fall for Alexander? No one could compete with his brother, not least him, a depressed, divorced loser
.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “What’s the deal with you and Gina, by the way?”

  “Why are you asking that?” he snapped, the pain of hearing her name almost too much.

  “Just a question. I saw you talking to her at the christening and then at the wedding.”

  “There’s nothing going on.” Not anymore.

  “You aren’t bothering her, are you?”

  He froze. “Bothering?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, though he knew exactly what Alexander meant. “Maybe you’d care to explain?”

  “Christ, Peter. I just don’t get how you could do it. How can you live with yourself?”

  Peter closed his eyes. So, it was time. He and Alexander hadn’t talked about the rape of Carolina Hammar, not once. Of all the things that had happened since last summer, that was one of the things that tormented him the most. The fact that Alexander knew, that he hated him as a result, but that he had never said anything.

  “I don’t get it either. Maybe I can explain it somehow, but I can never excuse it. I regret it in a way I can hardly describe. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said myself. Nothing you can accuse me of that I haven’t already accused myself of a thousand times.”

  “But how? Why? You just don’t do that.”

  “No,” he agreed. How could he explain it to Alexander when he still couldn’t understand it himself? He had liked Caro. They had talked, often. She had been kind to him and he was attracted to her, in a relatively innocent way. But things had gone wrong that night. There had been a huge amount of peer pressure, and he had given in. “I’m not placing the blame anywhere else. My friends and I had been drinking, and we got each other excited. One thing led to another, and then when it was done it was too late to undo it.” He had been drawn in, been too weak to refuse. He didn’t excuse himself, didn’t place the blame anywhere else, but he was trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.