High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “I came several times,” Ambra said. She was usually just happy if it happened once. Half, even.

  “Ugh, I don’t want to know,” Jill said, holding up the dress to Ambra.

  “But you talk about that kind of thing constantly. You don’t have any boundaries.”

  “When it’s about me, yes. Keep your multiple orgasms to yourself.”

  Ambra glanced around to check no one was eavesdropping. “Do you come from the sex itself?”

  “You mean the old in and out? Nah.”

  “Is that normal? To come without any hands, I mean?”

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because I had to show him. He seemed to think that’s how it is.”

  “His last girl probably made him think that. Some do. Ruin things for everyone else.”

  “You mean she faked it?” She had to say that the thought of Ellinor faking an orgasm perked her up enormously.

  “I’ve done it so many times. Gets them to stop fumbling. But he’s still with her, right? Ambra, you can’t be hoping this is going to turn into anything if he is.”

  “But he seems interested. And I’m not hoping anything,” she lied.

  Jill seemed skeptical, but she changed the subject. “What about this? It would be better if you had breasts, but it should work.” Jill waved the dress encouragingly.

  Ambra automatically started to shake her head at the slinky blue dress—it looked expensive and a little slutty, not her style at all—when Jill said, in a low voice, “And before you say no, if you don’t try this one, I’ll film you, upload it to my Insta, say you’re my sister, and tag everyone at Aftonbladet.”

  Ambra snatched the dress from her.

  “Then we’ll buy some shoes.”

  Ambra groaned.

  Jill followed her toward the changing room. “And jewelry. And a coat. I saw one from Dior that would suit you. If you don’t eat for a few days.”

  “I’m not buying a coat. And I refuse to starve myself. Coats should be roomy.”

  “Refuse all you like. But you can’t wear a leather jacket or that ugly winter coat on top of an evening dress. Even poor people don’t want that kind of thing. We’re buying you a coat.” Jill cocked her head, the way she always did when she wanted to manipulate someone and get her own way. “Let me do this for you. I forgot your birthday and I’m ashamed of that, so let me overcompensate.”

  “I’d prefer you be ashamed,” Ambra said, still annoyed about her birthday. But she knew the discussion was over. She didn’t have the energy to argue with Jill, not when her sister was in this kind of mood. Plus, her head was full of Tom Lexington.

  Tom, Tom, Tom.

  It was official, she’d fallen for him, she thought as she went into the changing room, undressed, and carefully pulled on the blue dress.

  “And underwear. We need underwear. Are you still in there?” she heard Jill shout from the other side of the door.

  “I’m here,” Ambra said. The room was big and luxurious, with a little couch, several hooks, and gentle lighting. She could stay here. Rest.

  Jill banged on the door. “Ambra?”

  “Yeah yeah yeah.” She struggled with the shoulder straps, adjusted the neckline. Jill was probably right, she would need different underwear with this.

  She turned around in front of the mirror and studied herself from various angles. She didn’t actually hate this dress.

  “Try these shoes.” Jill opened the door, studied her, and then held out a pair of shoes. Slim, high heels, pointed toes.

  “I won’t be able to walk in those,” Ambra said, but she took them anyway. They were the right size and were neither old-fashioned nor stupidly young. They were elegant, modern, and edgy.

  It sounded as if they were whispering: wear us, wear us. Jesus, they were incredible. If she practiced every day and spent most of the party standing still, maybe it could work?

  “Which hairdresser do you go to?” Jill had opened the door and stuck her head around the edge.

  “Why?” Ambra looked in the mirror. She was pale and had dark circles beneath her eyes, but her hair looked normal. There was nothing wrong with her hair.

  “So I know who to avoid. Doesn’t matter. Ludvig can book you in with mine.”

  Ambra opened her mouth to protest, but she closed it again when she saw the mood Jill was in. Instead, she ran her hand over the shimmering blue fabric. She didn’t dare look at the price tag. Would Tom like her in this? Would his eyes glitter dangerously when he saw her in the underwear Jill had handed into the changing room as a suggestion? Ambra took the bra and panties and studied them. Pale gray silk. A little lace. Tom was surely a man who liked lace.

  She hung them up and stepped out of the changing room, still wearing the dress.

  “Admit it, you think this is fun,” Jill said.

  “Though it feels wasted on me.”

  Jill held up two necklaces and squinted between them. “What do you mean?”

  Ambra nodded toward her reflection. “As you’re always pointing out, I’m not exactly a model,” she said; all she could see was her lack of breasts and her soft stomach muscles.

  “You’re shit hot,” Jill said, sounding unfocused. She put down the necklaces and picked up a pair of glittering earrings instead. They looked like snowflakes.

  Ambra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  Jill looked at her in amazement. “Are you serious now? You really think you’re ugly? I thought we were just joking.”

  Ambra shrugged. She knew she shouldn’t let Jill’s comments bother her, regardless of whether they were serious or not. But Jill had been incredibly gorgeous since she was just fourteen. Hanging out with her, becoming invisible whenever Jill turned up, that kind of thing left its mark. It wasn’t something she usually thought about, wasn’t something she was proud of.

  “Do you know how often I get negative comments about my appearance?” Jill asked.

  Ambra gave her perfect sister a skeptical look. “Weren’t you voted Sweden’s sexiest woman a few years ago?”

  “You’ve read what they write on my Insta? I’m too fat, too dark, too fake, too made up. And that’s with me blocking the worst of them, the people who think I should kill myself for being too fat and too ugly.”

  “Ugh, I know, it’s awful.” It was so depressing. As though Jill had to be put in her place just because she was a woman and dared to be seen. “But do you let it affect you? Really, I mean?” she asked. Jill often boasted that things like that just bounced off her.

  “Sometimes.”

  “I know it’s hard work,” she said, thinking that Jill didn’t really understand what it was like for mere mortals. Plus, Jill never really took a position on anything, never had important opinions on anything. Everything was superficial.

  “Ambra, you’re so beautiful. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see what I see? A beautiful woman with perfect skin, great hair, fantastic eyes, and a completely normal woman’s body.”

  Ambra squirmed uncomfortably. “Jill, you always get attention when we’re out, but I’m invisible. You can’t compare us. There are so many times we’ve been out and people have come up to you, said you’re beautiful, given you compliments.”

  “People check you out too. Men.”

  Jill was about to put down the snowflake earrings, but Ambra grabbed them. They reminded her of Kiruna, of Tom, of the snowmobiles. “No, they don’t,” she replied.

  Jill nodded firmly. “Yeah. They look, you just don’t see them. You’re so busy being prickly, angry, pretending you don’t care about anything.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Either way, you’re really cute, and we’re finally getting somewhere here. You taking those earrings? Good, then we just need to choose a bag to match. Something glittery.”

  * * *

  When Ambra got home, she unpacked the various bags and boxes. Jill had paid the astronomical sum without even blinking, with a flashy credit card A
mbra had only ever seen pictures of before. It was difficult, but Ambra decided to let herself be treated for once in her life, without immediately offering something in return.

  Once was nothing.

  She looked down at her treasures. Expensive costume jewelry in flat boxes, an evening bag; a glittery, unbelievably expensive clutch, still in its luxurious canvas pouch. The pale evening coat from Dior, which she would probably never wear again; the silk underwear, the dress and shoes.

  Embarrassingly enough, she felt a lump in her throat. She had never received so many presents before, and she was clearly more superficial than she thought. What she felt for these things was pure love.

  It could be fun to dress up after all. She ran her fingers over the thin, rustling tissue paper sticking up from an extravagant, glossy bag bearing the Prada logo.

  Maybe even a lot of fun.

  Chapter 44

  Tom grabbed the car keys, locked his apartment, and went down to the front door. His car was parked on the street, and he had to scrape the ice and snow from the windows before he could leave. Aside from the fact that he missed his walks with Freja, it really did feel good to be home, he reflected as he climbed into the car. Ellinor sent him messages every day, both pictures and status updates. Today’s message had already arrived, but just before he started the car he received another: Are you going to the party on Friday, by the way?

  He replied: Yeah.

  That’s great!

  It did feel good. Tom started the engine and drove away. The fact was, he was looking forward to the party. To seeing David Hammar. Saying hi to Alexander and Isobel De la Grip, congratulating them properly, partly on their marriage, partly on adopting Marius.

  Tom suffered a bad conscience there. One of the recurring nightmares he tried to repress. Those dark eyes that had looked at him so trustingly.

  He’d first met Marius in Chad last summer. A street kid who approached him, wanted to give him information, information that represented a breakthrough in their search for Isobel.

  And then Tom treated him badly in return. Broke his trust by kidnapping him, a child. They had taken Marius into the desert and then locked him up in the Jeep so that he couldn’t squeal to anyone. If Isobel hadn’t brought the boy home with her once she was freed, Marius might have died on the streets in Chad. And that would have been a child’s life on Tom’s conscience.

  The anxiety tore at his chest, but he cast off those thoughts. He was getting better at fending off the attacks. Things had worked out in the end, he reminded himself. Isobel and Alexander loved Marius as if he were their own child, gave him all the security and care he had lacked before.

  Tom turned on the windshield wipers against the snow, changed gears, and switched on the radio to distract himself. He heard the music, vaguely recognized the song being played. It was Jill Lopez, wasn’t it? He relaxed, hummed along.

  Yesterday was the first time he had been to the gym in a long while, and it felt good to work out in some other way than chopping wood or shoveling snow, to feel a little more civilized.

  He hadn’t seen Ambra since they’d parted ways outside her office the day before last, but she had been in his thoughts almost nonstop. He’d had to stop himself from sending her a message every five minutes. They’d made love practically all night, but she started work stupidly early in the morning and had barely gotten any sleep, so he was worried he had exhausted her. Or rather, that they’d exhausted one another. She had plans with her sister yesterday evening, but she was free today, and he had been hoping to see her. But then she agreed to work an extra shift. The woman worked far too much. She must be completely drained.

  So what did he do now?

  Should he suggest something? If so, what? He didn’t want to seem pushy.

  When his cell phone rang, he answered via Bluetooth as he pulled out onto the highway.

  “Mattias here, how’re things?”

  “Good,” was all he said. He couldn’t quite work out where they stood with each other.

  “I wanted to check whether you’d changed your mind, whether you’re ready to come in and work for democracy with me.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Filippa liked you.”

  “We met for five minutes.”

  “But you’re so easy to like. And you should see the equipment they’ve given us. The budget I got approved. I think you . . .”

  “How did it go with Jill Lopez?” Tom interrupted.

  Long silence.

  Tom smirked. So, it was possible to shut Mattias up.

  “We met,” Mattias replied vaguely. “What about you? Anything between you and Ambra?”

  Tom thought about everything that had happened in Kiruna, the ice-skating on Saturday, the incredible sex, the intense messaging. “We’ve spoken a few times,” he replied equally vaguely.

  More silence.

  He knew he should hang up, not be drawn into Mattias’s conversation. But he still had some way to drive. And Mattias knew things, was much more experienced when it came to certain subjects. Tom sighed, really not comfortable with this conversation. But he didn’t have many other options. Unless he Googled the subject, which felt even more pathetic somehow. He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and said as formally as he could, “I was wondering whether I should get in touch with her or not.”

  Mattias was silent for so long that Tom had to ask whether he was still there.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m just trying to recover from the shock of you asking for dating advice. What exactly do you want to know?”

  Tom looked straight ahead. Clenched his jaw. “Whether I should call Ambra after we . . . You know.”

  “I’ll take that as meaning you did more than just talk.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I see. And you like her?”

  He didn’t even need to think about it. “Yeah.”

  “Then it’s simple. If you want to get in touch, get in touch.”

  Tom indicated and turned off. That sounded logical, in and of itself. “I just don’t know what to say.” Jesus, he sounded like a teenager.

  “Tom, dating a woman is a process. You get to know one another. Think balance. If the last time you saw her was very intense, maybe you can do something more easygoing next time. Or vice versa.”

  Hmm. He hadn’t thought of it as dating, and he still had no idea whether that was what they were doing. But Mattias was right, he should call her. Maybe suggest a walk, or a coffee? Or should he send her something? Flowers? Though that might scare her. He managed to stop himself from asking Mattias. There were limits to how much he wanted to embarrass himself in front of his former friend. Or current friend. Ah, he didn’t know any longer.

  “I’ve gotta hang up now,” he said.

  “Talk later.”

  Tom hung up without another word. He was almost there. He turned off into the driveway and parked outside the garage of his childhood home.

  He stayed sitting in the car.

  This was the yellow house where he grew up. His sisters had left, one by one, built families of their own. Dad was long since dead.

  But Mom still lived there.

  Tom couldn’t remember when he was last here. He hadn’t expected to be so powerfully affected. He climbed out of the car and headed toward the door. The driveway was freshly cleared and sanded, a huge lantern hung from the roof, and there was a green wreath on the door. The house was newly painted, and everything looked neat and well tended. There were strings of electrical lights in the trees, as always this time of year. His mother wasn’t old, she wasn’t even sixty, and her well-kept home was partly a result of her being very handy, partly having a husband who could fix things. He should have gotten in touch, Tom thought as he walked the short distance to the door. Should have asked if she needed help with anything. He was good with his hands, and strong, and his own mother should feel that she could call him. But his mother didn’t like to ask for help, always wanted to handle th
ings on her own.

  They were similar in that respect, he realized. He rang the bell and the door opened, as though she had been waiting in the hallway.

  “Tom! Come in.”

  She moved to one side. He stepped in and gave her a pat on the arm, kissed her on the cheek. They weren’t particularly physical with one another, but he noticed that her eyes were glistening. She pulled her cardigan around her against the cold. He closed the door behind him.

  “It’s so good to see you. I’m so happy you could come.”

  He stamped the snow from his feet and started to unbutton his coat. “You aren’t working today?”

  “I’m marking papers for a colleague. I can do it from home.”

  “Do you have time then?”

  “I always have time for you. Come on in.”

  Tom hung up his coat and followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, a table into which he had once carved his initials, much to his parents’ anger. His mother took out some seeded crisp bread, low-fat cheese, and various vegetables. That was his mother to a T: healthy, no midweek excesses. When he took the coffee cup she held out to him, he noticed her hands had aged, developed tiny liver spots.

  “The girls are dying to see you. They wanted me to say hello from all of them.”

  “Thanks.”

  He was grateful she didn’t pry. He had never told her exactly what he did, always wanted to protect her, but not knowing could also be difficult. She looked older than he remembered. The shock when she’d found out that her son had died in Chad must have been awful. Of everything he had subjected her to, that was the worst. No parent should have to go through that. “How are you, Mom?”

  “I’m fine. A little tired. I’ve cut back on my hours at work, actually.”

  She always used to have so much energy. “Is that so?” She wasn’t sick, was she?

  She made a dismissive gesture and added some cheese and pepper to a piece of crisp bread. “I’m just so happy to see you. I know you’ve been angry with me.”

  He didn’t say anything. He probably had been.

  “You were so angry and disappointed that I divorced your father, that I met Charles, and I haven’t always handled that like I should. But I want you to know how important you are to me. That you’re here, that you came back. It’s a miracle.”