Alexander had done plenty of things in his life he wasn’t proud of. Far too many. But he had never hurt a woman physically.

He was not a man who hurt women.

Didn’t want to be.

Only the worst of the worst went for women. And he had never been one to intimidate. Never been turned on by being aggressive or dominant. Never.

Right?

He swung his feet up onto the desk in his newly furnished office. Stared at the empty walls. A memory of what had happened between him and Isobel flashed by. It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked what they had done. He remembered how he had pounded into her soft, yielding body, selfish and oblivious to anything else.

It was that he had. Had been turned on by her whimpering, by his own power.

What the hell did that say about him?

He’d pushed her down against the bed, taken her like an animal. Had the best sex of his life.

He tipped the chair back and stared up at the ceiling.

The whole thing was so fucking … confusing? Scary?

His phone rang. Romeo. He had been dwelling on this for almost three days. Maybe it was time for someone else to have a say.

“You disappeared from New York,” Romeo greeted him. “Where are you?”

Alexander hadn’t told him about the latest troubles in Chad, had just acted on impulse and taken off without saying a word.

“Stockholm. Sorry I disappeared. How are you?”

“I spent the weekend with the family, so I’m a little worn out.”

Romeo was the youngest of five brothers. His parents were devout Catholics, his brothers burly, heterosexual firemen. Romeo usually came back from family gatherings with a haunted look on his face, his shoulders stooped.

“Oh, man.”

“Yeah. Did you know there’s a special circle of hell for sodomites?”

“If religious people spent a little more time being tolerant, they’d have less time to obsess about other people’s private lives.”

“I get to talk shit about my family, but you don’t, capisce?

“Sorry. I need to brainstorm something, alright?”

“Shoot, I have a little time before Satan comes to collect my soul.”

“Did you ever have kinky sex with any of your partners?”

“Define kinky.”

“Anything that isn’t vanilla.”

“You are aware I sleep with men, right? Nothing about that’s vanilla.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Are we talking whips and bondage?”

“Maybe. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why are you asking me? Haven’t you? No offense, but you’re the sluttiest person I ever met.”

“Yeah, don’t hold back.”

“I’m just surprised. I thought you’d done everything.”

“It’s never come up. Or maybe I wasn’t receptive. But most women aren’t as interested in being whipped or tied up when they have sex as you seem to think.”

“If you say so. I mean, I’ve never slept with a woman, so I have no idea.”

Alexander hadn’t had any idea either. So he had done what he always did when he wanted to understand something. He had studied the subject. All weekend he had read, all kinds of stuff, browsed chat rooms, read articles, followed discussion threads.

“So what exactly do you want to know? Because I’m guessing it’s not a theoretical discussion you’re after. We’re talking about your Isobel, aren’t we? The doctor?”

“She’s not my Isobel.”

Romeo was silent, as though he was thinking.

“This isn’t like you,” he eventually said. “You sound different. Worried. But that can’t be right. You’re never insecure when it comes to women. What happened?”

“She told me things. What she likes. In bed. And I freaked out.”

“How?”

“We had sex last weekend. Rough sex. And then I panicked and left.”

“Left?”

“Went home.”

“Aha. And what did she think about that?”

“We haven’t spoken since.”

“I don’t get it. Don’t you like this woman?”

“Yeah.”

“So it probably would’ve been better if you hadn’t run off.”

“Sounds about right. Fuck, man, I don’t know if I can deal with this.”

“It would be simpler if it was just sex?”

“Yeah.”

“But it isn’t?”

“No.”

He liked Isobel. More than liked. He had feelings for her. The air in his apartment was cool, but Alexander suddenly began to sweat.

“You straight guys, you always have to make things complicated.” The amusement in Romeo’s voice held a touch of schadenfreude.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not just straight people who make things complicated.”

“Maybe not, but listen, Alessandro, I’ve waited ten years for you to fall for someone. You can be a bit of a jerk when you talk about other people’s lives like it’s some kind of entertainment. If you like Isobel, I’m sure you’ll find a way to give her what she wants. Or are you opposed to kinkiness? If that’s the case, I’m gonna have to sit down. I can’t take any more surprises today.”

He wanted to believe Romeo. That it was nothing strange. But still …

“But doing something like that to a woman …”

“Yeah, it’s gotta be complicated, feelings-wise. But do you mean you’d do it against her will?”

“Are you crazy? Never.”

“So that’s what I mean. This is something she wants. That’s what you’ve gotta sort out in your head.”

If Alexander was really honest with himself, there was a dark part of him that was turned on by the thought of a submissive Isobel who let him do what he wanted with her. But what if he made a mistake—went too far and hurt her? What if he lost control? The fear was almost paralyzing.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can trust your intuition. And your … let’s say wide experience of women. Alex, you’re one of the best guys I’ve ever met. You know that, right?”

Alexander laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t laugh it off. I’ve met plenty of bad people. You aren’t one of them. If there was anyone I’d trust with my life, it’s you.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone’s life in his hands.

“But Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t get kinky with me. To me you’ve gotta be nice.”

“Go to hell.”

By dinner, Alexander had made up his mind. With one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, he sent a text to Isobel.

Hey, sorry I disappeared. Be great to hear from you. Busy?

He waited.

And waited.

Not his greatest skill.

He drummed his fingers. Sent another message.

Are you okay?

Two in a row was fine. More than that was pathetic.

Right? He’d never wondered about stuff like that before. He normally just initiated contact, and either got a reply or didn’t. For the most part, he got the response he wanted. Sometimes he didn’t. Then he just moved on. Without giving it a second thought.

But now …

He waited.

And waited.

Shit.

He had deserted Isobel after she’d told him her deepest secret. He had slept with her right after she came home from a war zone. He hadn’t said a word afterward, just disappeared as if she were some kind of meaningless trophy.

She must be furious. And justifiably so. He was an ass, a …

His cell phone buzzed.

Message from her. He held his breath. Read.

All vital signs normal. You?

He breathed out, a long sigh of relief that could stretch all the way to her, wherever she was. If she was willing to communicate with him, maybe she didn’t hate him. Even though she’d replied using cool clinical medical jargon. He quickly replied:

Be great to see you.

God, he was longing for her.

No reply.

Silence.

He paced restlessly around the apartment. Was just about to let his dignity go to hell and give her a call when her answer arrived with a bleep.

Want to see you too.

He had never sweated so much waiting for a message. He would need to take a shower after this. He asked:

Tonight?

Her answer was immediate this time.

Sorry. Going out.

What the hell? He wanted to see her now. And he didn’t want her to go out. Who was she going out with anyway? Why hadn’t he stayed with her? But even though this whole jealousy thing was new to Alexander, he wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know he had absolutely nothing to do with where Isobel went, or with whom. He wrote:

Okay, talk tomorrow?

She sent a thumbs-up in reply. That was all. Still, an emoji was more than he deserved.

He looked at the screen. Scrolled through their old messages. Hoped, against his better judgment, that she would text something more. When his phone buzzed, the noise went through him like a shock, but it was just a picture from Åsa. She and Michel were on their honeymoon in Mauritius, looking annoyingly happy. He closed the picture and opened his computer instead. He buried himself in his work for a while, read through a couple of business plans his accountant in New York had sent over, wrote down his response in an e-mail, and then moved on to the darker side of the Internet. For those who wanted to delve into the world of kink, the Internet was a cornucopia.

At ten, his phone buzzed again. He finished the article on ten beginner’s tips for tying up your partner before he glanced at the screen.

We’re at the Beefeater Inn. Götgatsbacken. Can you come?

Alexander read the message from Isobel again, worried that he’d misunderstood her. As if he could. There was nothing he wanted more than to go to her. Wherever she was. And whatever the hell the Beefeater Inn was.

He pulled on a jacket, texted her he was on his way, and climbed into a cab within five minutes.

He glanced around the bar. It was a typical street corner dive, not one he’d been to before, not one he would’ve chosen.

The place smelled of stale beer and fries. Dusty plastic plants in the corners and green faux leather on the wall-mounted benches.

“Over here,” Isobel called. She waved from a corner table deeper inside the bar.

When he got to the table, she smiled broadly.

Her eyes seemed a little unfocused The table was covered in glasses and bottles and bowls of nuts. Isobel was sitting with four men. Three of them bearded and sturdy looking.

The fourth was Sebastien Pascal.

Isobel flashed him the same blinding smile again, but this time Alexander caught sight of something else behind it, as if she was holding up a façade. She introduced them.

“Sven and Christian are MSF doctors. We’ve worked together over the years. Øystein, here, is one of our logisticians, one of the best. We were in Liberia together.” She paused, a heartbeat. “And you’ve already met Sebastien.”

Her voice was neutral, but the unspoken words between them thundered in his ears.

Alexander shook hands with the men, one after another. Sebastien last. He took Sebastien’s hand firmly, much harder than he had when they’d first met in Skåne. If something broke, there were plenty of doctors here to look at it.

Alexander sat down in the only empty seat. He was opposite Isobel. Sebastien to his right. The other men were spread out, with Isobel in the center. Alexander had a hard time looking away from her—she was positively glowing. This was no dumped woman; she was a queen with her court. Three knights and a snake.

“Sebastien dropped in,” she said, apropos of nothing.

So. He was here as backup. That was fine with him.

A waitress came over to take more orders. Alexander asked for a bottle of lager, leaned back in his chair, and took it all in. Isobel pulled out her phone, tapped away at it, and he received a message.

He’s Christian’s friend. I had no idea he’d be here.

He looked at her across the table, happy that he got to be her knight in shining armor.

She hiccupped.

Are you drunk? he mouthed.

“Very,” she replied, and gave him a tipsy smile.

“Alexander, how do you know Isobel?” It was one of the bearded superheroes who spoke.

Alexander had forgotten their names; Isobel was all that mattered.

“He’s an international jet-setter. That’s how we met,” said Isobel.

No one seemed to notice how illogical her answer was. But when Alexander saw the number of bottles on the table, he wasn’t surprised. They all seemed acutely intoxicated.

“You know she’s a legend, right?”

Alexander’s eyes lingered on Isobel’s beautiful, laughing face. She was at ease no matter where she was, even here, on a Monday evening, in a dive bar.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, his gaze fixed on her gray eyes. “She’s one of the most impressive people I know.”

Their eyes met over the table, and he knew that she knew he was trying to ask for forgiveness.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me about the legend of Doctor Sørensen.”

“They’re exaggerating,” she said, waving her beer in the air.

“Come on, tell him about the time you bought all the medicine in Port-au-Prince.”

She shook her head.

“I’d love to hear.”

“Okay, okay, okay. It was after the earthquake. We were getting patients who’d been poisoned by something. It turned out they’d gotten drugs from a fly-by-night medical center. My coworker and I headed over there and realized they were prescribing cancer meds to everyone no matter what ailed them. We tried to buy it all, but they refused; I guess they realized they could get more for it elsewhere. So eventually I told them I knew Zlatan Ibrahimović and that I’d get his signature for them if they’d let me buy all the medicine.”

“They knew who Zlatan was?” Alexander asked with a smile. He loved how she looked—happy, carefree, mischievous. “I never realized he’s so famous.”

“Everyone knows who Zlatan is, no matter where you go. At least everyone outside of North America. He is the greatest soccer player, after all—every child in every third world country dreams of becoming Zlatan. In many countries he’s bigger than ABBA, Björn Borg, and Ikea combined. Anyway, we bought all the medicine they had, and then we spent a whole day breaking the vials.”

“Tell him what happened with Zlatan,” the logistician said, slapping his hand on the table and laughing.

“I managed to get in touch with his manager. He sent me two signed photos and I sent them on to Haiti.”

The bearded men hooted with laughter and toasted, their beer spilling onto the table.

“So this is what MSF doctors do when they go out? Tell tall tales?”

“Yeah. There was a doctor, when we were in the field, who got kidney stones. Do you know how painful they are?”

Alexander shook his head.

“They say it’s one of the most painful things you can experience, one hundred on a scale from one to a hundred. It hurts so much you literally can’t keep still. We had to take the doctor to the hospital, and they wanted to keep her in. But she refused to stay, didn’t want to take away space from other patients. And she also refused to stop work and head home, like any normal person would have done. So we got some painkillers, and everyone went to bed. She had instructions to wake us up when she needed the next injection. But instead she let everyone sleep, injected herself—which is pretty fucking hard-core—and then assisted with something like ten operations the next day.”

“Shit.”

“And that’s not all. A couple of days later, she got a serious infection in a cut, self-treated it with antibiotics and stitched herself up. And then she got pneumonia. She still refused to go home. This was in Iraq. A refugee camp. She worked around the clock. I think she was coughing more than her patients at the end. Eventually, she stepped on a used needle. When that happens, it’s standard practice to take HIV medicine—it’s a preventative measure. But that treatment can make you very sick, and it did, of course. She had so many side effects she couldn’t even stand up.”

“What happened?”

“I had to go home,” Isobel muttered. “Under protest.”

They burst out laughing.

He looked at them.

“You’re all insane. That was you?”

“It was my first trip with MSF. I was terrified they’d think I was useless.”

“I told you, she’s a legend.”

“Isobel does everything better than anyone,” Sebastien said, and his mouth curled slightly. “Like a little machine. Oui?”

“She’s better than a machine, Sebastien,” one of the bearded men said, laughing, and Isobel smiled. But Alexander could see that Sebastien’s words had hurt her. Isobel, with her constant struggle to be good, always doing her best. And that asshole sat there and mocked her for it.

Alexander gave Sebastien a long look, came up with a thousand ways to strangle him.

Sebastien snorted and got to his feet.

“I’m going to see if they have any decent wine,” he said, and headed for the bar.

Alexander’s eyes followed the Frenchman. Watched him position himself at the bar. Alexander hesitated. Heard the others start to talk about yet another trip. Made up his mind. He got up and strolled nonchalantly over to the bar. He pushed his way through to where Sebastien was standing.

The Frenchman looked surprised, and Alexander gave him his best polite, harmless face, as though he was only there to order another beer and exchange a few manly, everyday platitudes. It was a basic poker tactic. Hide your intentions from your opponent while you looked for weaknesses, analyzed what kind of player was in front of you. Alexander had grown up with bullies and could spot one in an instant. The Frenchman was a classic specimen, a hyena who preyed only on the weak. Alexander could handle someone like him with one arm tied.

“So,” he said as jovially as he could.

“So?”

Alexander flashed his teeth, made himself tall and wide. He pressed Sebastien against the bar, as though the people behind had pushed him. He smiled. “You and Isobel were together?”

Watchfulness in Sebastien’s eyes. Not an experienced player, or not when he faced an equal anyway. “I don’t know what she said.”

“No?”

“I had an adult relationship with Isobel. That’s all.”

“She was your student.”

“She was over eighteen, and I was the course leader, hardly anything to cry about. She got no special treatment. Plus, she was the one who threw herself at me.”

Alexander took another step forward. Dropped the poker analogies and changed tack. He puffed out his chest, pushed against Sebastien, stared.

Sebastien’s eyes began to wander. “Look, I don’t know what lies she told you, but I don’t appreciate you threatening me like this.”

“I don’t give a damn what you appreciate. And I’m not threatening you.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I’m going to put this as plainly as I possibly can. So there’s no misunderstanding between us. What with the language barrier and all that, you know. If you so much as think anything that Isobel might not like, if you get to her, if you say a single fucking word that I interpret as insulting to her, I’m going to put a hand on your neck, and I’ll squeeze and squeeze until your eyes pop out.” He raised a hand and Sebastien jerked back. Alexander smirked. He put a hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder and patted him lightly. “See the difference? That was a threat.”

Alexander got his beer and took it back to the table. He gave Isobel a wide grin.

“What were you guys talking about?” she asked suspiciously.

“Don’t remember. Anatomy, maybe.”

Corny? Sure. Pointless? Probably. But what was he meant to do? After all, he was there as Isobel’s knight. And a knight had to stand up for his queen.

He sat back down. Looked at the two bearded men. They were cocky and arrogant, but if anyone had the right to think of themselves as cool, it was MSF doctors.

“The next round’s on me,” he said. “Now, tell me more about the legendary things you’ve done.”