“Four hundred years, my family lived here. He practically stole it from me.”

Alexander turned around and sought out the man who had spoken so loudly. “Lucius, I thought I heard you whining,” he shouted, giving the man, Lucius af Kraft, a sardonic look. “I tried to ignore you, but Christ, you’re loud.”

“De la Grip? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know I had to tell you when I was coming here. I own the place, after all. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Lucius wobbled. “My boss forced the entire department to come, otherwise I never would’ve set foot here.” He pointed at Alexander with his drink. “You took all this from me. My family won’t talk to me anymore. It’s all your fault. You cheated me out of my inheritance.”

It had been a crazy-ass poker night, if memory served him right. The stakes had been ridiculously high. They had all been drunk, and in the end only he and Lucius were left at the table. Alexander had waited patiently all evening, and then finally it happened: He had an exceptional hand. A straight flush. Hearts. He could still remember the symmetrical beauty of it, one of the best hands he’d ever had, well worth the wait.

“I warned you. I told you to quit. Your friends warned you.” It was true. He had given the guy fair warning, much more than he deserved. But Lucius had offered his heirloom castle as security, and Alexander had drunkenly accepted.

Lucius snorted. “You didn’t have to fucking go through with it.”

Of course he didn’t. He could’ve backed down the next morning, when Lucius fell apart.

But no, it was a matter of principle. And he had always liked this place. “No. You lost. I won.”

“Alexander?” Isobel’s questioning voice interrupted them.

“Aha, and what do we have here?” Lucius’s unsteady gaze panned up Isobel’s green dress, lingering on her bare flesh.

Alexander hesitated, didn’t want to sully Isobel somehow, didn’t want her to have to deal with Lucius. But she got in there first, of course. She wasn’t a woman who needed a man to introduce her.

“Isobel Sørensen,” she said politely, and held out her hand.

“Hi. And what do you do, sweetheart? You don’t look like one of Alexander’s usual girls.” His eyes were still roaming across her body, eventually stopping at her breasts again. A growling sound was building up inside Alexander. He took a warning step forward.

Isobel still seemed completely unfazed. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to talk about aid work.”

Lucius made a dismissive noise.

“Charity?”

“We don’t use that word. It’s aid, or humanitarian work.”

Lucius scoffed. “In developing countries, right? That stuff’s completely pointless. The world’s already overpopulated. It would be better to let natural selection do its thing. It’d be better for everyone.”

“Not exactly for everyone, surely?” she replied calmly.

“Didn’t the state pay for your education? Shouldn’t you be working in Sweden? We need Swedish doctors at home. Let their own doctors take care of them.”

“Yes, of course, it would be fantastic if the world worked like that,” she replied.

Isobel still looked utterly composed, but Alexander had had enough. “First off, don’t talk about things you know nothing about. It just makes you look like an even bigger dickhead than you already are. Second, don’t insult a person who is better than you in every way. And third, get the fuck away from her,” he said with barely controlled rage.

Lucius simply took another gulp of his drink and gave Alexander a nasty look. They had partied at Stureplan in the past. But Lucius was an asshole without an ounce of honor in his body. Whenever Lucius invited young, party-crazy girls out for drinks, he expected sex in return. And he turned aggressive when he didn’t get it.

If Alexander had seen the guest list, he would have crossed out his name.

“All I mean is that we can’t keep contributing to overpopulation,” he said.

“You really are stupid. And wrong, too. All the research shows that people choose to have fewer children if there’s a greater chance they’ll survive. They’re just like us in those countries. And they deserve medical care.”

Isobel cast him a glance from the side.

“What?” asked Alexander, still fuming. Christ, he was mad.

“I was just thinking that I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I still don’t know why Swedish doctors are supposed to care about a load of blacks. Aren’t there poor people you can help at home?” Lucius interrupted. He was like dog shit on the bottom of your shoe, impossible to get rid of.

“That’s enough,” Alexander said sharply.

“Alexander, it’s fine,” said Isobel. “There’s no point getting angry. Stuff like this happens all the time.”

But her words didn’t calm him; he felt even angrier to realize that Lucius’s opinions were commonplace to Isobel. And maybe part of him was uncomfortable remembering that it wasn’t so long since he’d held similar thoughts himself, that he had been one of the countless people to whom Isobel was forced to defend her decisions.

“It’s my opinion,” Lucius continued with the stubbornness of a true drunk. “We live in a democracy, don’t we? I can say what I want.”

“Not when your opinions are so idiotic. In fact, I think you should leave now.”

“You can go if it bothers you.”

“You’re misunderstanding me, Lucius, but you’ve always been slow. I want you to leave this house. Take your things and get the hell out of here.”

“Are you kidding? We’re in the middle of nowhere. And you of all people can’t pretend you actually care. I know you, you’re completely devoid of morals. I don’t know why you’re showing off.” Lucius glanced at Isobel. “Though I’m guessing it’s the doctor you’re interested in. I get that.” His eyes were on her cleavage. “You know, babe, we’ve chased women together before. He normally gets tired pretty quickly. I wouldn’t mind letting you give me some first aid, if you know what I mean.”

“Leave, now.” Alexander was surprised he had managed to sound so calm considering the bubbling rage he felt.

“I was invited. My boss goes hunting with Eugene. You can’t kick me out.”

“Alexander, it’s not worth getting into an argument over this. If I got offended every time someone was ignorant, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.” She gave him an urgent look. “Don’t let him ruin the evening.”

Alexander pulled himself together. Isobel was right, of course. It was better to let it pass, to be civil.

“It’s people like you who are ruining this country,” said Lucius. His eyes were unfocused.

Alexander shook his head and placed a hand on Isobel’s arm. “Come on,” he said quietly. He just wanted to get her away from this creep.

“I don’t mean you,” Lucius hissed viciously. “No, I mean this politically correct left-wing cunt here.”

Alexander didn’t even think. He just acted. Swung around. Clenched fist, contact, thud, and then Lucius was on the floor, groaning and with a bleeding nose. His glass had broken; the contents spread quickly across the floor.

A few guests turned to stare at the commotion.

Alexander shook his hand. It was throbbing like hell. Good.

Isobel was standing with her arms crossed. She looked completely unfazed as she cocked her head. “What were you thinking, Alexander? That violence would get him to stop being a racist idiot? Or did you think that maybe he would change his mind about Swedish aid policy once you’d floored him?”

“Didn’t you hear what he said? I can’t let someone talk to you like that. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Upset?”

Lucius swore. He was still on the floor, defeated.

“Yeah, you know, by getting in a fight.”

Isobel gave him an amused look and calmly studied the heavy blood flow Lucius was awkwardly trying to stop with a tissue. “Last time I was in the field with MSF, I got caught up in a gang fight. It ended with four dead and many injured,” she said slowly, almost thoughtfully. “A Congolese nurse and I did what we could, and then they started to fight again. We were practically wading in blood at the end.” She studied Lucius. “One drunk partygoer is about as pulse-raising as over-the-counter cough medicine.”

She caught Alexander’s hand as someone else helped Lucius back onto his feet. One of the wait staff was sweeping up the pieces of glass, and the commotion had already blown over.

She inspected his hand. “Your knuckles are grazed. You fight hard.”

“Are you planning on bandaging me up? Now that I’ve fought for your honor?”

“Even ignoring the fact we don’t live in the nineteenth century, I’m not so keen on people fighting for my honor.” Her voice was stern, but there was a smile in her eyes. He felt like hitting anyone who ever said anything disrespectful to her again.

“Watch out for him,” Lucius said hoarsely as he brushed himself down. “He’s a player. Toys with women and then gets bored, fast. Don’t think you’re special.” He waved a hand at Isobel.

Alexander caught Eugene’s eye, and his uncle, already on the way over to them, nodded. Lucius would be thrown out. Alexander turned away with disgust. The adrenaline was still rushing through his body. He couldn’t explain it; he had never done anything like that before. Hadn’t punched someone just because he was rude to a woman.

“Wading in blood. You’re cool, Doctor Sørensen, have I told you that?” He held out an arm and she took it. “Hungry?”

She gingerly laid her hand at his arm. “Very. I’m a simple woman. I don’t like it when people fight. But if you feed me, I’m yours for eternity.”

He laughed, feeling the euphoria that always followed a rush of adrenaline. “To the buffet, then,” he said.

* * *

After they ate, Alexander suggested they head outside. The ballroom was warm and overcrowded, and he selfishly wanted Isobel to himself. He grabbed a bowl of strawberries, a bottle and two glasses, and steered her out, away from the parlors. They passed groups of smokers outside but managed to get past them without being stopped. They sat down in one of the sofa groups; Alexander moved one so that its back was to the castle and they could look out at the lake. The night was still light, but the staff had started to kindle fires in large, wide barrels with steel baskets around them.

“I’m really sorry about what happened before,” he said.

“It wasn’t your fault. It happens more and more often, unfortunately. I try not to let it get to me—it takes too much energy.”

“I can’t believe you managed to stay so calm.”

“You get used to it,” she said.

He looked at her, still wondering what she had seen before, when she looked so frightened, but instead of asking he raised a hand and pushed her hair back behind an ear. She blinked slowly, and turned her face to him so that the sun painted her skin golden pink. He leaned forward and gave her a light kiss on the lips. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and remained like that, their lips softly pressed together. A thrill went through him as the chaste kiss set him on fire.

But when Isobel broke the kiss, her eyes were serious.

“Alexander, I need to know. Do you have a girlfriend? Here or in New York? I’m sorry, but I just feel like I need to ask before this goes any further. I don’t want to snoop, and I shouldn’t read gossip, but …”

He shook his head. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“But there have been so many women; surely it’s not all just gossip.”

“No, not all of it. But I’m one hundred percent single at the time being. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this.”

He brushed his mouth against hers once more, nibbled at her lower lip before moving on, grazing her ear. Her ears were so beautiful, delicate, sensitive, and fragrant. He breathed in. God, he loved that scent. Fragrant skin and a whiff of something that could have been antibacterial wash. It was oddly erotic.

“I’m single too,” she mumbled.

He gently bit her earlobe. “I know,” he whispered. “I asked Leila.”

She pulled away and frowned. “For a psychologist, Leila talks a lot.”

“Maybe.” He kissed her chin and then her mouth, just gentle kisses; there was no rush. “Though I’m pretty good at getting secrets out of people.”

“It’s no secret that I’m single,” she murmured into his mouth.

“Do you have other secrets then?”

She bit her lip and he leaned forward, reached for a strawberry, pulled off the stalk, and handed it to her. He watched her closely as she bit into the dark red berry. The juice colored her lips, and he wanted to lean forward and lick it from her freckled mouth.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said, swallowing the strawberry.

“Judging by your serious look, my spontaneous reaction would be to say no,” he said. He would much rather eat strawberries and kiss, drink champagne and look at the stars.

“The money you gave Medpax, that hundred thousand.” She worried her lip, and then seemed to steel herself. “Where is it from? Is it clean money?”

Alexander gave her a long look. Her hair fell around her face, glowed in the evening sunlight.

“Are you asking if I’m a criminal?” he asked slowly. “If I’m using Medpax to launder money? Aside from the fact I’m pretty certain it’s impossible, just how low is your impression of me, exactly?”

She swallowed, though she didn’t shy away. “Most people wouldn’t just give away a hundred thousand kronor on a whim.”

He sighed. He should have known this was coming. “You’re right, and you deserve an explanation,” he said after a while. He went on somewhat reluctantly. “I come from a wealthy family, as I’m sure you know.” She nodded, but he was sure she had no idea how much of an understatement that was. The De la Grip family had utterly dominated the Swedish business world until last fall. They had always been rich, even though that wasn’t something you ever talked about, and they were still wealthy. The fact that his father had lost control of Investum had been a huge blow in terms of prestige, but it was hardly as if Hammar Capital had killed them; on the contrary—economically, little had changed.

“So you live on your parents’ money?”

Alexander shook his head and tried to remember whether he had ever talked about this with a woman. It was his American life they were talking about now, and that life was utterly his own. Not a De la Grip thing, not an inheritance. His and his alone. And he had never allowed a woman in.

“The fact is, my beautiful Isobel,” he mumbled, his index finger tracing the freckles up her arm, “if it can stay between the two us—I have a reputation as a playboy to maintain, after all. I’m good at earning money.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he knew that Isobel would never be satisfied with such a vague answer.

“What does that mean?” she urged.

“I’ve got an inherited fortune and I could live well off it here in Sweden. But the fact is that I earned most of my money myself.”

He fell silent. It made no difference how far he distanced himself from his background, how much he spent time with people who boasted about their success, it was in his very bones. You didn’t talk about yourself and your income. But he didn’t want Isobel to doubt him. The attraction between them had knocked him off balance.

In a way, all people were unique. But Isobel was more unique than anyone else he had met, more of everything. At once strong and vulnerable. Cool and competent, but she also had that fragility he caught a glimpse of every once in a while. The uncertainty that carved deep furrows into her brow. And then her extraordinary beauty, of course. He was on the verge of being obsessed with her appearance; he could lie awake for hours, studying her in his mind, centimeter by centimeter. He wanted her, and if the price was honesty, then he could be honest.

“But how do you earn so much money? Surely not on poker?”

He shook his head. No, it was much more complicated than that. It was strange that he had never spoken to anyone about this. Not even Natalia or Eugene knew everything. Did they also think he was a criminal? He needed to think about that.

“It started with my friend, the one I told you about.”

“The chef? Romeo?”

“Yeah. We met ten years ago, in New York. I was on a summer break from the School of Economics in Stockholm and went over there to party. We met in a nightclub. Romeo had just won a competition, a reality show, on TV and was dreaming about starting his own restaurant.”

Alexander had been drunk and thought that taking some of his money and investing in a gay Italian chef sounded like the best idea in the world. “Shame you’re not Muslim,” he’d slurred. “It’d annoy my dad even more.” And so, still hungover, he had started the company Golden Griffin Business Growth to give Romeo the start-up capital he needed.

“I invested in that restaurant, and now we’ve got several, pretty much all over the world. Romeo’s a genius.” The only thing he regretted today was the ridiculous company name, but it had stuck.

“You mean it’s possible to get that rich just by owning a few restaurants?” Isobel sounded doubtful.

He shook his head. “Something else turned up one day, by chance. I met a guy who’d recorded a sound he thought was funny. He said he wanted to create ringtones for cell phones. My company gave money to him, too. It’s one of the most-downloaded ringtones ever now. And it just continued. I was one of the first people to invest in games for cell phones.”

Golden Griffin had started as a drunken joke, developed into a business, and become something that made him independent of his family.

“I can see problems and potential several steps ahead. It’s almost laid out like a map in front of me. It’s like poker in that respect.”

They had cross-fertilized one another, his card playing and his businesses. Both relied on having the patience to wait for the right moment, on daring to take risks but at the same time staying rational. Ten years ago, mobile and digital solutions had still been unfamiliar and difficult to understand, but Alexander had seen the potential immediately. His company had systematically invested in businesses—sometimes just two guys in a cellar—who developed various digital services, apps, and other solutions. When the cell phone market exploded, first in the West and then in the East, the money had really started to roll in. The Internet: the modern route to inconceivable wealth.

“The money I gave Medpax was lily white—you’ve got my word.”

Isobel looked so relieved that Alexander didn’t know whether to laugh or take offense. The idea that she had been wondering about this had never struck him.

“Shame on you, Isobel, for thinking so little of me,” he said. He raised his hand, placed it on her neck, and stroked her skin with his thumb. Her pulse pounded beneath his touch.

Alexander would never say it aloud, but in his experience the more beautiful a woman was, the less engaged she was in bed. It was as though beautiful women thought that just being there was enough. Not that he was complaining, but it was always more fun with a woman who wanted as much as he did. And he was willing to bet that Isobel, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, hid true passion beneath her cool surface. He would wager that she was getting wet as they kissed again. That she pushed against the fabric of her dress because the friction of it against her skin excited her. He suspected that the two of them together …

No, he didn’t want Isobel to have doubts about him, didn’t want any unnecessary hurdles between him and the woman he was planning to seduce most thoroughly.

“I’m immoral most of the time, but I’m definitely not a criminal,” he murmured before he brought his lips to her collarbone. He heard her rasping breaths, felt how she pressed herself against him, and he whispered, “Happy now?”

“Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly.

His mouth grazed hers once more. It was a simple kiss, just lips and breathing, no tongue, but he was in no rush. He loved this, the foreplay, the beginning. He let a hand cradle her face, vaguely aware that new sounds had filled the air and that part of her concentration had shifted away from him.

He leaned forward, but Isobel pulled back.

“Do you hear that?” she asked, a happy smile playing at her lips.

At first, he had no idea what she was talking about, but then he heard it too. Music.

“Don’t tell me that’s an orchestra?” she said.

“Just a small one. Tonight there is a ball at the castle. And I happen to own an actual ballroom. Want to go in?”

“Absolutely.”

He stood up and held out his hand. The seduction would have to wait. “Come on, then. I know for a fact that there’ll be at least one waltz.”