“Doctor Sørensen,” Alexander greeted Isobel. He couldn’t stop grinning, or keep himself from doing that uncool thing he despised when other men did it: He ate Isobel up with his eyes; no, he devoured her. She was magnificent. Her shimmering dress, her swirling hair, her bold jewelry: thick, exotic, erotic loops around her wrists.

Regal like a queen.

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. Fragrant, luscious curves made his head spin.

“I’m so glad you changed your mind. You look completely amazing,” he murmured into her hair. She was taller than most people around them, and Alexander had never been so primitively pleased with his own height. Other men had better watch out. Today, this woman was his.

She hugged him back, her arms creeping around his back until he felt the warmth of her body against every inch of him. He caught the scent of something that, for once, wasn’t antiseptic. All this softness was quickly demolishing his ability to think intelligently. This thing between them, it was becoming less and less like attraction and more like obsession. He kept hold of her, and thought that he needed to speed up the pace of his seduction, get her into bed soon, otherwise he would probably go crazy. He couldn’t explain it any other way. Until the last moment, he hadn’t been sure whether she would turn up. He’d been worried she would cancel on him, and now it was clear how much of a difference her being here would make. How pleasurable everything felt when she was in his arms, how gray the prospect of enduring the day without her had been. And then a not-so-discreet clearing of the throat reminded Alexander that they weren’t alone. Regaining control he reluctantly pulled himself away from Isobel’s embrace and turned to Natalia. She flashed him an amused, big-sister smile.

“Hello, sister of mine,” he drawled. “I wish I could say you look fantastic too, but did you know there’s puke on your shoulder?”

She snorted. “Wait ’til you have kids and you’ll see how easy it is. You’re happy so long as your clothes are the right way out.”

While Natalia fished for a wet wipe, Alexander shook hands with David. His brother-in-law had Molly in his arms but managed to look like a finance magnate all the same. Natalia rubbed at the stain as her eyes flitted between Alexander and Isobel with unconcealed curiosity.

“Stop it,” he snapped at her.

“I’m not doing anything,” she replied, but her eyes flashed unrepentantly.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m just happy you brought Isobel. I like her.”

“She’s mine,” he said firmly. “Go get your own friends.”

“So you’re together?”

He hated that—how some women started to map out the future the moment a man and woman exchanged more than a couple of words. Natalia had never understood the appeal of loose relationships.

“Stop assuming things. And stop staring,” he ordered. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the bridal couple?”

“They are fine—we’ll join them in church. Åsa is doing this her own way. I’m intelligent enough to have absolutely no opinions on anything lest there be casualties.”

A dark car approached over the cobblestones. A security guard moved one of the barriers, and it pulled up.

“It’s Mom,” said Natalia.

The car door opened. Eugene stepped from the backseat, turned around, and helped Ebba out. The car pulled away, and Natalia waved to them. Their mother gave Natalia a quick hug and then nodded to David, not completely without friendliness. Molly had fallen asleep in David’s arms, and Ebba carefully stroked her granddaughter on the cheek before turning to Alexander.

He pulled himself together. It was just a matter of keeping up appearances.

“Mom, this is Isobel Sørensen. Isobel, this is my mother, Ebba.”

Isobel pulled her shawl up onto her shoulders, smiled a professional smile, held out her hand, and shook Ebba’s. “Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, Isobel.” Alexander couldn’t remember ever having heard his mother sound like that. Almost kind.

“Your mother wouldn’t be Blanche Sørensen, would she? If so, I’ve met her. We were on a committee together once. A wonderful woman.” Ebba smiled warmly.

Eugene came over and gave Isobel a big hug and noisy kisses on the cheek. “How nice to see you again. You look fantastic. As always.”

“Right, you already know one another,” said Natalia. Her eyes were, if possible, even more mischievous when she glanced at Alexander.

Eugene smiled enthusiastically. “We met in Skåne last weekend. Isobel came down to tell us all about foreign aid. Alexander came along too. We had a wonderful time.”

Natalia gave Alexander yet another lingering look. “Fascinating.”

Alexander gave her a warning shake of his head. It was one thing that he had trouble making sense of his feelings for Isobel but something completely different that his big sister was getting all kinds of ideas.

“Is Mom dying?” he asked instead, once his mother and Eugene had left to talk to an old acquaintance.

“No more than anyone else, as far as I know. Why?”

Alexander studied his mother from a distance.

“Because she’s acting like a normal person. She hugged you. Are you sure? Brain tumor, maybe?”

“If you came home more often rather than partying yourself to death on every continent, you’d see that she’s really making an effort.”

“Hmm,” he replied skeptically. He had always been a firm believer in the idea that people never changed.

The church bells started to ring. It was time.

“Shall we go in?” he asked Isobel, and held out an arm to her. She linked her hand through the crook of his arm. There were people everywhere, and Isobel wound up pressed against him. The warmth and the weight of her silk-clad breast against his jacket sleeve made him pull her even closer toward him. So far, this wedding was really promising.

There were security guards at the church doors. The press was turned away and the guests checked off. Alexander caught sight of Tom Lexington. Of course Hammar Capital’s security chief was there, taking care of everything. Tom was dressed in a dark suit and tie, but if the intention had been for him to blend into the crowd, it hadn’t worked. He looked like exactly what he was: a man used to violence and being in total control.

“So this is where you are when you aren’t kidnapping people?” Alexander cheerfully greeted him as he and Isobel reached the door. Last time he’d met Tom Lexington had been when Natalia and David got married. Alexander had been marinating himself in vodka when Tom had arrived in a helicopter to haul his ass back to Stockholm and the ceremony. Not Alexander’s most dignified moment.

Tom gave him a dark look. A beige wire ran down one side of his neck. “Yeah, well, always nice to be at a wedding where the guests come voluntarily for a change,” he replied drily.

Once they were inside, Alexander waited as Isobel and his mother, now with Molly in her arms, sat down on the bench before he sat down next to Isobel. Natalia was matron of honor and David the best man, so they would be walking to the altar behind the bride and groom.

The church filled up. Not least with Michel Chamoun’s many relatives. Adults, children, and grandparents took their places, and the guests’ murmur rose to the ceiling.

“Isn’t that your brother?” asked Isobel.

Alexander saw Peter approaching, alone. He slowed down, saw them sitting there, and allowed his gaze to wander over them all before he turned and sat at one side of the church.

“Isn’t he going to sit here?” Isobel asked.

“He does what he wants.”

This time, she gave him a searching look.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound blunt. We don’t really get on. It’s complicated.”

“Okay,” she said softly. She let her gaze wander, looked at five-hundred-year-old gilded statues. “Can you believe I’ve never been in this church before?” She pulled her shawl tight again, and the movement caused one of her legs to graze his. He looked down, saw how her silk-clad thigh rested against his own. He wanted to reach down and place a hand on that leg, high up on her thigh, spread out his palm, caress the smoothness beneath it, bend down and kiss her mouth. He knew the kisses they had exchanged inside and out, remembered how she tasted, what she sounded like when she got excited. Did she think about it too? Did the fact she had changed her mind and come to the wedding—that she’d even gone to see Lollo and borrowed that stunning dress—mean she wanted more of him? And if so, when?

He hadn’t even heard the music start, just saw everyone get to their feet. He quickly did the same, and just had time to smooth his suit before the bridal couple came down the aisle. They were a striking pair, walking side by side, Åsa Bjelke in white and her husband-to-be, Michel Chamoun. Natalia and David walked behind them.

Next to Alexander, Isobel sighed and Ebba dabbed at her eyes. Åsa did look beautiful. Her white-blond hair was fastened in a simple, low chignon. With a long white veil, a slim, snow-white dress, and a completely white bouquet, she looked almost virginal. Alexander couldn’t help but find that amusing, considering all of her former, rather infamous escapades. But she looked happy, so maybe this really was what she wanted. To promise loyalty to one person for the rest of her life. He winked at her as she passed. Her turquoise eyes twinkled, a smile played over her lips, and with that, the couple had passed.

“She’s the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” Isobel whispered. Alexander rolled his eyes. There was something about women and weddings he would never understand.

The bridal couple made their way to the pastor, Natalia and David stood on either side, and the guests sat back down. The ceremony was in Swedish, English, and French. Alexander half-listened, his gaze wandering across the room. When he heard a stifled sniff from his left, he couldn’t help but smile. He himself wasn’t particularly moved—this whole business with God and vows wasn’t his thing, but he had been to enough weddings to know two things: Women always cried, and they never had any tissues with them. He pulled out a small packet from his pocket, took Isobel’s hand, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Bonus points to Alexander, he thought with satisfaction.

For over three weeks now, he had been chasing her. He couldn’t remember the last time it had taken him this long to get a woman into bed, and he was starting to get impatient.

Isobel wiped her nose and rested her hands in her lap. Alexander reached out and took one of them. He had planned only on touching it, maybe raising it to his mouth and kissing it gently, whispering something clever and humorous, but she clasped it tightly and they sat there, hand in hand. He looked straight ahead. He should find this corny and lame. And maybe he did.

But if that was the case, why didn’t he let go?