All In

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “Although I am going to Båstad,” she pointed out, taking another sip of her drink. “J-O ordered me to. But I’ll mostly be mingling with Danes, so it will be work.” She glanced at Åsa. “Are you even listening to me?”

  Åsa didn’t respond. She was definitely looking for someone or something, and Natalia glanced around for a seat. For a person who loathed any form of physical exertion, Åsa was surprisingly able to stand upright in stiletto heels drinking alcohol for hours on end. But Natalia wasn’t used to it.

  “My feet hurt,” she complained.

  “Hmm,” Åsa said. She nodded toward a table with a facial expression that Natalia couldn’t interpret. “Some people have tables,” she said sarcastically. “Maybe you’d like to sit there?”

  Natalia looked to see what Åsa was staring at, and when the crowd parted for a moment she saw a table in the corner, with a white tablecloth and shiny glasses: like an oasis amid the noise. The table was surrounded by beautiful young women flipping their hair and batting their eyelashes at the two men who were seated at it. One of them, an enormous man with a shaved, tan head, gold jewelry, and a shiny silk shirt, as if straight out of a gangster movie, was staring at Åsa, who was now openly staring back. Neither of them looked away, and Natalia had the strange sense that some kind of wordless communication was taking place between them in the midst of the crowded bar. The other man at the table—attractive, dark-haired, and exactly the same height with the same broad shoulders, oozing self-confidence—was David Hammar.

  David met Natalia’s astonished eyes. She nodded, and he nodded back, and it was as if neither of them could look away, their eyes locked. He might have had some idea that Natalia would show up here. If he were being one hundred percent honest, then maybe—maybe—he had even been mulling over that very possibility. Stockholm’s nightlife for the very rich was fairly limited. The golden triangle that comprised the capital city’s financial district during the day was the same small arena for nightlife. There weren’t that many exclusive bars, and if a woman like Natalia De la Grip were going to go out after a concert at Café Opera, this was where she would end up.

  She was dressed in gold. Her glossy hair was up, and the nape of her neck bare and slender and without jewelry. She stood up straight, poised like a ballerina, and there was something about the lighting in the crowded bar that made her shine.

  It took a minute before David noticed the other woman standing next to Natalia, eyeing Michel through narrowed, suspicious eyes. He should have seen her right away, strange that he hadn’t. She was in a class all her own, the most beautiful woman in the room, voluptuous and almost surreally sensual.

  “Åsa Bjelke,” he said, knowing exactly who she was. One of Investum’s attorneys and a close friend of Natalia De la Grip. The fact was that David knew almost more about Åsa than Natalia. The press loved to wallow in the details of Åsa’s dramatic background, and she was referred to as the Poor Little Rich Girl in the worst of the tabloids. Born with both a silver and a gold spoon in her mouth, she’d gone to all the right schools, was often mentioned as a potential bride for the prince—in the papers anyway, not in real life as far as he knew. And then: the tragedy that had dominated so many of the headlines for weeks.

  “She seems to know who you are,” David said, looking at Michel, who sat stiff and motionless, and added dryly, “and vice versa. Do you know each other?”

  “Yes,” Michel said.

  “You never mentioned that.”

  But Stockholm was such a small world, of course Åsa and Michel knew each other. They were both lawyers. David had spotted a stressed-looking Peter De la Grip just yesterday afternoon at Östermalmshall. Peter had walked right by him, his hands full of shopping bags. David could have reached his hand out and touched him.

  “There’s nothing to say,” Michel said, still just as tersely. “We studied together. A few courses. Law school. I can’t really say that I know her. But we . . .” He paused, took a drink of his mineral water and made a show of not looking in Åsa’s direction.

  David studied the two women. He looked at Michel and then at Åsa again. He had an almost dead-on ability to read people’s moods, which was a major asset in his line of work. He didn’t even bat an eye now. There was something Michel wasn’t telling him. Michel sat there with his water, suddenly more like a sulky teenager than a world-class financial attorney.

  David looked at the women again. Or, to be honest, he mostly looked at Natalia.

  “I suppose we could go over to them,” he surprised himself by saying. He stood up before he had time to reconsider what he already knew was a bad decision and before Michel could oppose it. He could walk over to a woman he was acquainted with without it meaning anything more, he told himself. He could walk over to her and say hello and be polite for two seconds, even though she was a De la Grip. Michel reluctantly rose with him.

  “Is that really a good idea?” asked Michel. He ran a hand over his shaved head.

  “All ideas are good,” said David. He had decided. Because this was about politeness, nothing else. “Come on.”

  Michel muttered something behind him, and David saw Åsa’s face take on a wary expression as they approached.

  “Hi,” said David as they stepped over to the bar. Natalia blinked with her long eyelashes. She moved forward ever so slightly, and for a fleeting second, David was close to leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. But she just held out her hand, so he took it and shook it instead.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he repeated, holding her hand a moment longer than he needed to. He smelled that scent of something old-fashioned and spicy, a timeless, sensual scent, which he already recognized as hers.

  Natalia pulled her hand back. David introduced Michel and saw her slender hand enclosed by Michel’s ring-encrusted fist.

  “This is my friend Åsa Bjelke,” she said. David held out his hand, and a steady, professional handshake reminded him that this silver-clad bombshell with the tipsy eyes was considered to be a very talented corporate attorney.

  “We just came from the performance at Café Opera,” Natalia said. “Thank you again for the tickets.” She was smiling, and something about her eyes made her seem a little inebriated as well. But she looked happy, not drunk, just a little less controlled, a little freer.

  The bar was crowded and noisy; someone pushed their way up to the bar and the inevitable happened: they brushed against each other. That scent wafted over to him again; he was captivated by her golden eyes, and even though he had just meant to say hello, he didn’t want to go yet. Natalia was taller than he remembered. She was so delicate that you assumed she was petite, but in high heels, she was quite tall. She stood straight, without fidgeting with anything, without fussing with her hair or her clothes, and without chattering away. Normally those boarding-school manners annoyed the hell out of David, but he decided to take a little break from his knee-jerk hatred of the upper class. He smiled, and her eyes twinkled at him.

  Åsa raised her glass, drank, and glared over the edge of the glass.

  “Michel says you knew each other in law school,” David said to her politely.

  “Yes, but that must have been over ten years ago,” she replied coolly. She gave Michel a quick, hard look. David wondered if this had to do with that same old, tired racism one found among upper-class Swedes. Michel, with his dark skin and foreign background, had suffered his share of prejudice. Åsa Bjelke twisted her mouth into a wicked, but downright sexy smile. “Is he still the same old bore?”

  Natalia looked shocked, but David laughed. The woman was drunk, but her grudge against Michel didn’t seem to be based on his ethnicity or race. She seemed to not like Michel on a much more personal level, and that made David curious. He hadn’t met many women who didn’t like Michel.

  “More or less,” he replied, because Michel could be a little dull.

  “Luckily no one can accuse you of being boring,” Michel said sarcastically, which was comp
letely unlike him. “As I recall, you used to really enjoy yourself back then.”

  Åsa thrust her chin up in the air, but David was able to read that the comment had stung. That was about as far from Michel’s usual behavior as you could get.

  “Michel . . . ,” he said in a warning tone.

  “So lovely to have seen you,” Åsa interrupted him acidly. “Pardon me.” She left them with angry, clicking footsteps. Natalia watched her go with a look of concern.

  “I’m sorry,” Michel said gruffly and then he too left.

  “Do you know what that was all about?” David asked. “Or am I imagining it?”

  “No.” She didn’t have a chance to say any more before someone bumped into her from behind and she again was quickly pushed into David. He reached out with his hand on her upper arm. She blinked, and suddenly David’s thoughts about Michel and Åsa were far, far away. Those two were grown-ups, they would work it out—or not work it out; that was up to them. He looked at his hand resting on her upper arm, and then he looked at her. Her lips were glossy, a little sparkly. A smile played at the corner of her mouth, and David caught himself smiling back, looking deep into her eyes, and stroking her arm with a finger.

  She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. He continued to run his finger over her arm, and they looked at each other, not smiling, not flirting, but more questioning. And then she pulled her arm back with an apologetic smile. “They’re coming now,” she said, and for a moment David had no idea what she was talking about.

  “I’m going to head home,” he heard Åsa say. And he was glad to be snapped out of it, that strange moment when he was actually dangerously close to flirting with the daughter and sister of the two men he hated most in the world. With the only woman in the whole world he had every reason to keep away from.

  “Yeah,” Natalia said with a nod. She started to gather her things, the way women always did when they were about to leave.

  “Where’s Michel?” David asked.

  Åsa shrugged. “Maybe he’s calling his mother?” she snorted, but despite her scornful tone, David had to agree. Michel did call his mother a lot. He suppressed a disloyal laugh and spotted Michel pushing his way through the crowd of toasting drinkers. It was really crowded in here now, and the normally agile Michel wasn’t being particularly careful.

  “We should probably be going,” Natalia said apologetically, but David heard the ambivalence in her voice, sensed that she would really prefer to stay. And, strangely, so did he.

  “Or why not stay for a little bit?” he said. “I’d love to hear more about the concert. Have another drink? Champagne?”

  She was on the verge of allowing herself to be convinced, it appeared, and David had already summoned the bartender. A glass of champagne together, what difference would that make?

  And then Michel raised his voice behind him. David didn’t hear what he said, it wasn’t anything particular, but the words were said in a hard tone, and a look of concern flickered through Natalia’s eyes.

  “We’d better call it a night,” she said. “Åsa has to get home.” David nodded. He didn’t know what was going on between Michel and the beautiful but inebriated blonde, but it sounded as if an argument was about to break out.

  “Come, Michel,” he said. “It’s time to go. You’ve had enough and it’s late.”

  “I haven’t had anything to drink,” Michel said.

  “I wasn’t talking about alcohol,” David said. And then in a quieter voice, “Pull yourself together, man.”

  “Same here,” said Natalia with a discreet nod toward her girlfriend. “Åsa?”

  Åsa nodded. She swayed a little but seemed to recover. She avoided looking at Michel, and he turned the other way.

  Natalia followed closely behind David’s and Michel’s broad backs as they cut a path through the crowd. The noise was almost deafening, and even though she was concerned that the evening had taken such a sour turn, she was eager for some fresh air. Once they were out on the street, Åsa gave her a quick hug, the briefest of nods to the two men, and sat down in one of the taxis that was waiting outside the bar. Natalia helped shut the door and watched the cab drive away toward Östermalm.

  She bit her lip, feeling David’s presence behind her. Something had happened between them in the bar, she just didn’t know what. “Åsa and I don’t live in the same direction,” she explained. “I live over there.” She pointed in her direction, feeling like an idiot. What did they care where she lived?

  Michel Chamoun stood glowering next to David, his brow furrowed. He didn’t say anything, and Natalia thought he looked a little scary with his bulging arm muscles, his black suede jacket, and his shaved head. She glanced at David. They were big men. If they hadn’t been so well dressed in designer jeans and attractive jackets and if they hadn’t had that definitive air of financial men, they could just as easily have been bodyguards or mafiosos.

  There was no denying that it was a somewhat uncomfortable situation. Standing at the bar, David had smiled and flirted, and for a second or two she had thought he was about to kiss her. But now he seemed so unyielding, she wondered if she’d just imagined it. But no, she and David had clicked in there. And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was because she was more dressed up than she had been for ages, but she didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to part from David, not yet.

  “You go ahead,” David suddenly said to Michel. It sounded like an order, and he wasn’t smiling.

  “But . . . ,” said Michel and nodded at Natalia.

  She squirmed. Clearly Michel didn’t think it was a good idea to leave them alone.

  David nodded encouragingly at the taxi, looked at Michel, and said, “Go.”

  Michel said a very stiff good-bye to Natalia and climbed into the cab, and then she and David were left alone on the sidewalk. He still wasn’t smiling, just looking at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret. It was a warm evening, but she was wearing a thin dress, and suddenly she felt unsure and incredibly aware of how insubstantial her dress was and how little she actually knew about David Hammar.

  “I suppose I should probably be heading home too,” she said.

  “Would you like me to hail you a cab?” he asked tersely, almost impersonally, and she wondered if she’d just imagined everything back in the bar. The situation was making her uncomfortable.

  “I’m fully capable of waving over a cab on my own,” she replied, suddenly irritated. She hadn’t asked him for anything. He could take his weird mood swings and go to . . .

  He gave her a long look. “I wasn’t questioning your capabilities,” he said calmly.

  “Sorry,” she said. Maybe he was just being considerate. “I didn’t mean to sound snappy. It was just so strange.” She looked him right in the eye and said honestly, “All of it.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “It’s such a nice evening. I think I’m going to go for a little walk,” she said.

  “I’ll join you.”

  Natalia started walking; he matched her speed, and they walked next to each other in silence. She was still confused. And she did not like being confused. She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets and was walking along with his brow furrowed. A purely feminine part of her couldn’t help but wonder what he would be like as a lover. She was only human, and even if she never admitted it, not even to Åsa—especially not to Åsa—she hadn’t been with anyone since Jonas. Not because of morality, just because she was pathetically awkward when it came to flirting and dating. She hadn’t slept with anyone in over a year. She almost giggled at how shocked Åsa would be if she found out.

  “Sarah Harvey was really wonderful,” she said once the silence began to become absurd. She glanced over at David’s serious face.

  “I’m glad,” he said and smiled quickly. “I have to admit I’ve never heard her.”

  “I really appreciate the tickets,” she said, and they both s
lowed down at the same time. They stopped. In her high heels she came almost up to his face. She looked into his eyes. She blinked slowly. There it was again—that electric charge.

  David smiled and raised his hand, as if to caress her. She was just on the verge of closing her eyes to lean in toward him when he said, “It was lovely to see you.” And she realized that he wasn’t about to stroke her cheek at all. He was saying good night.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a little step back. She exhaled and tried not to let the disappointment she felt show in her voice. If she’d been someone else, she would have plucked up her courage and asked him if he wanted to come back to her place. That’s what people did, right? It wasn’t so weird. David was single as far as she knew. She was an independent, free woman. She even had condoms somewhere in one of the drawers in her bedroom. She should be able to do that. Ask if he wanted to come back to her place for a drink.

  But a taxi pulled into view, her fragile courage lapsed, and she waved it over.

  David opened the door for her. Natalia slid in, felt the cool seat through the thin fabric of her dress. He was still standing there, leaning over the door. She looked up at him, determined to be cool.

  David looked as if he were about to say something, but then seemed to change his mind.

  “Good night,” she said, forcing herself to smile. It didn’t matter that much. It wasn’t like something had happened.

  “Natalia?” he said quickly, just as he was about to close the car door.

  She felt a shiver down her spine, because her name sounded like a caress in his mouth. “Yes?”

  “If you’re free tomorrow, I’d love to see you. Can I call you?”

  She couldn’t think what to say, just nodded mutely.

  He nodded too, as if he’d made a decision. The door closed before they had a chance to say anything else. With a soft hum, the taxi drove her the last little way through the summer night. She smiled the whole way home, and she was still smiling when she closed her eyes and went to sleep.