“You know, I’ve never been here before either,” Isobel said as they slowly walked up to the pink palace that was the Swedish House of Nobility, or House of Knights. The palace lay at the outskirts of the oldest part of the Old Town. Across the glittering water was a view over the modern Stockholm, but here, in the velvety green symmetrical garden, it was like being transported back to the seventeenth century. When Isobel tilted her head, she saw golden statues at the rooftop. Huge pots of pink and white flowers wafted the scents of spring and summer. It was simply gorgeous.

“It has a rather dramatic history,” Alexander said as they walked up the wide stairs leading to the entrance.

“I bet it does.” Isobel could practically feel centuries of power struggle, murderous intrigue, and royal gossip surrounding her.

They entered a huge hall with marble columns and tall staircases. The hall was quickly filling up with the glamorous wedding guests. Heels were clicking, and jewelry sent sparkles in every direction. Discreet security guards flitted around the place, and every now and then the room would explode into laughter, the sound magnified by the high ceilings.

“The upper class excels at this kind of thing. No one can party like we can,” said Alexander as they continued through the rooms.

Isobel knew that only Swedish nobility had access to this house. Åsa Bjelke, whose ancient family crest occupied one of the most prominent places in the hall, had of course rented the entire building for her wedding dinner. Slowly they moved into the great hall. Alexander’s presence was tall and comforting, and every time she leaned into him, a shiver ran down her spine. The whole experience was magnificent.

“Oh my,” Isobel breathed. Enormous chandeliers hung from the richly decorated ceiling. Ancient golden furniture and silverware gleamed. It was like entering another era. A more wicked, sensual, and opulent time.

She gave Alexander a slow smile, and noticed how he reacted to it, was drawn to her as though she were a flame and he were … whatever might be drawn to flames. This was fun. She had never been much good at flirting, but with Alexander it was the same as when they danced: He was easy to follow and made her feel like she was skilled and sophisticated. Desirable.

His eyes swept over her. His hunger was flattering.

“Did I tell you your dress is … I don’t know what to say.”

She remembered Lollo’s instructions and pulled off the shawl, slowly, revealing her skin and décolletage. Without the shawl, the dress was a little too sexy for the occasion, but she didn’t see being appropriate as her role for the evening.

Alexander’s eyes widened in an extremely complimentary manner. It was possibly the most delicious foreplay she’d ever been part of.

Had she ever been as attracted to anyone as she was to Alexander? He was hot, of course, but there was more to it. His obvious interest in her was so flattering. Even if it was just a game on his part, a strategy to get her into bed—and she was cynical enough to realize that was probably the case, that he hadn’t fallen victim to love at first sight—his gaze, always following her, sometimes with a smile in his eyes, sometimes with a predatory hunger he didn’t bother to hide, his undivided attention and his absolute concentration on her … It was intoxicating.

Leila was right. She needed this. Plus, she was older now; it wouldn’t be like with Sebastien. In the past, she’d always been drawn to older men, and it didn’t take a high IQ to realize that they were all father figures. She wasn’t proud of this tendency, but that was just how it was. Her father had been strict, moral, and distant, and she was usually drawn to men like him. It was basic psychology. But she had never felt this kind of heat for anyone, not even Sebastien. He had been a young girl’s first infatuation, a projection of all that was possible, a fantasy.

But Alexander was just … Alexander.

The bridal couple entered the room, and the guests began to applaud. The toastmaster, a tall woman Isobel recognized as a news anchor, gave a toast to the newlyweds as the waitstaff brought out more champagne. Isobel sipped her glass, absurdly moved by the speech. She didn’t even know these two, but it was all so splendid. She caught Alexander’s amused eye and suddenly remembered something he’d said about love once. It was like religious fanaticism, he’d said, made people act like they were crazy. Maybe he was right.

Unexpectedly, she caught sight of a familiar face among the guests.

“Hi, Gina,” she called.

The young woman’s face lit up. “Doctor Sørensen,” she called back, pushing her way through the crowd with her tray ahead of her.

“Please, call me Isobel. How are you?”

“Stressed,” Gina replied, gesturing with her head toward the tray of glasses. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to stop and talk, but let me know if you need anything.

At dinner, Isobel found herself a few tables away from Alexander. Of course she had known they wouldn’t be seated together. She had always found this Swedish custom rather odd—that couples, with the exception of a newly engaged couple, were always seated far away from one another. As if they couldn’t have anything to talk about. Actually, the only time a married couple ever sat next to each other was at their own wedding. Alexander was close to the bridal couple, and she noticed his neighbor was a cute brunette. He politely held her chair out for her before sitting down himself. He said something to the woman on his other side, a heavily pregnant Swedish businesswoman Isobel had recently read about in a glossy magazine.

Isobel was between a young guy named Axel with a neat beard and a Gothenburg accent, and a man in his forties. He introduced himself as Christer and said he worked for a publishing house. He immediately began to compete with Axel for her attention.

“There’s no one more self-obsessed than male authors,” Christer said, taking a sip of a generously sized dry martini. “Except for female ones, of course,” he added. Isobel burst into laughter.

The three of them were soon drawn into an intense, lively conversation about books, the publishing world, and what Isobel could only describe as tall tales. They made her laugh so much she had a pain in her side before they even finished the starter. The toastmaster got back to her feet and introduced the evening’s first speaker: Natalia Hammar.

Natalia began by talking about how Åsa had lived with the De la Grips after her entire family had died in a car accident. Isobel hadn’t known about that, and she studied the elegant bride. Åsa looked like a Hollywood star sitting next to her hot gangsteresque husband. Who was she underneath? Natalia continued, talking about how Åsa had brought champagne to the maternity ward when little Molly was born and how she’d sworn never to do something so bourgeois as to get married, right up until the day she announced she was planning on having the biggest wedding Stockholm had seen since the crown princess got married.

The applause after the speech was deafening. Isobel saw Alexander get to his feet, head over to his sister, and plant a kiss in her hair.

As the main course was served, a waiter bent down to Isobel.

“One more vegetarian, right?” he asked.

She glanced over at Alexander.

He was listening to his neighbor, but it was as though he knew he was being watched, because he raised his head and over tables, clinking glasses and expensive flower arrangements, their eyes met. Everything around her fell silent, and she imagined she could hear his voice, feel his touch, read his thoughts.

Thanks, she mouthed.

He smiled and lowered his head in an ironic bow.

He was so considerate she didn’t know what to think. He insisted on maintaining that superficial façade, but when had she last been with a man who remembered small details like that? A man who loaned her crown jewels and gave her tissues and arranged food and gazed at her across the room? If it was a game, he was extremely good at it.

The next speaker was David Hammar.

Isobel had thought he seemed like a stern, impressive person, but the speech he gave was a hilarious account of Åsa and Michel’s love story, which had clearly begun many years earlier and then blossomed the previous summer via a huge number of text messages, arguments, and passion. By the end of his speech, people were slumped on their tables in fits of laughter.

The speeches continued and toasts were made, and by the time the main service was cleared away, her two neighbors were drunk and their joking was getting risqué.

She looked up and realized that Alexander was watching her again. She smiled at him before being drawn into another nonsensical conversation with Axel and Christer.

With dessert, Alexander stood up and made a speech to Åsa. He was drunk, but not too much. Isobel could see that his eyes were glazed over, but he seemed happy, and his speech was hysterically funny. He sat down to laughter and applause, and raised a glass in Isobel’s direction.

The next time she looked up, when the coffee was served, Alexander’s seat was empty. She blinked, wondered where he was. And then she heard his voice at her side, low and commanding, talking to her neighbor.

“Swap seats with me.”

“But …” Axel protested.

“No buts. Go. Now.”

Axel got slowly to his feet. Isobel flashed him an apologetic smile, and Alexander slipped into the chair next to her.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“It’s my firm belief that niceness doesn’t count for much with women.”

She shook her head. If there was one thing she had learned, it was this. “Actually, kindness is the important thing.”

“Is it? Why?”

“Without kindness, there’s no trust.”

“And is that so important?”

“You know it is.”

The wedding cake was brought in—a huge, white confection.

“They seem so in love,” Isobel said as Michel kissed Åsa for something like the hundredth time in a row before they started to cut the cake.

Alexander simply shook his head.

“Have you really never been in love?” she asked.

“Maybe once,” he replied.

She only had herself to blame. She had asked, and now she had to accept the slight pang of jealousy. Who had he loved? Who had been unique enough to be loved by Alexander?

“Who was she?” she asked.

He leaned forward and gave her a serious look. “I’ve completely forgotten. I must’ve repressed it. Too painful, you know?” He fell silent, a pained look on his face. She leaned forward, holding her breath.

“She was in my course at the School of Economics. She liked graphs, and I thought it was sexy. I was so in love, it hurt. Worst morning of my life.”

Isobel laughed loudly. Relieved.

He really was the epitome of a total player, the way he sat there, looking at her, a satisfied expression on his face. She smiled at him and blinked slowly, calculating. How hard could it be to seduce him tonight? He cocked his head. Watched her as though he were a hungry lion and she were a passing gazelle.

Not hard at all, she decided.