Two days after the fiasco at Gina’s house, everything was grayer than ever in Peter’s life.

He hadn’t heard from her since the catastrophe.

It was over.

If he was so inclined, he might have drunk himself stupid, he thought as he studied the people streaming past him on Norrmalmstorg. It was five p.m. and everyone was headed home. To their families, friends, to pick up the kids from day care, he assumed. Bankers passed by, then a couple of well-known venture capitalists, and a bank manager hurried across the cobblestones. He saw a newly appointed press spokeswoman and two speech writers. They were all half-running, seemed to be in a rush somewhere. Things moved so quickly in this world. Young, hungry talents were always snapping at the heels of the elite. In a few years half these people would be gone, and the other half would have climbed even higher up the ladder.

He knew he should get up from the bench and go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Just the thought of standing and then walking back to his empty apartment felt impossible. He was a shell. A dead, self-pitying shell. And he only had himself to blame.

It had been a stupid impulse to buy Amir those soccer things.

He rubbed his face, ashamed.

Alexander was the drunk in the family. Natalia the sensitive financial genius. He was the dutiful one. The one who did nothing rash, the one who followed the rules. Those few times he hadn’t, it had ended in disaster. Just as it had Tuesday. He had left the office early, filled the car with new things, and then driven out to Tensta with a feeling of joy buzzing through his entire body.

And it had all gone so well at first.

Until Gina came home.

He really did understand what had upset her, he thought with shame. It had been rash and badly thought through. He should have checked with her first, listened to what she thought Amir needed. But he had never been good with words, and he knew how much Amir meant to her. So he had done it for Gina’s sake. To try to show his feelings.

Christ, how could he have been so stupid?

It had backfired and now he had lost her, the person he cared so much about.

He looked away from the sun. It was getting warmer, people were dressed in short sleeves, but he was frozen beneath his skin, in his bones. He knew he didn’t just “care about” Gina. It was much more than that.

Peter looked up and allowed his gaze to sweep aimlessly over the bustling square. Five more minutes and then he would have to pull himself together, he decided wearily. He continued to watch people, and when the crowd suddenly dispersed, he caught sight of Alexander walking toward him over Hamngatan. Peter peered at Alexander, his carefree, popular, brilliant little brother: tall, square-shouldered, and well-dressed among taxi cabs, buses, and harried big city dwellers. Alexander always looked as if he had just stepped out of a luxury aftershave ad. Peter felt a perverse satisfaction at not being seen, at being able to study his brother in secret, but of course it didn’t last. Alexander caught sight of him just as he was about to pass by. His step shortened, and he seemed to hesitate, as though he would rather pretend he hadn’t seen Peter, but then he turned and headed for the bench.

“Why’re you sitting here looking so gloomy?” he greeted him.

“I’m not gloomy. What are you doing here?”

Alexander nodded toward Smålandsgatan. “My foundation is over there. I’m headed there. I came from home,” he added.

Right, Alexander had an apartment in Stockholm these days.

Alexander studied him more closely. “How are things? You look awful.”

“Well, thank you.”

Alexander sat down on the bench next to him.

Peter sighed. Company was the last thing he wanted.

They said nothing. Watched the passersby.

Alexander swung a foot up onto his knee. “Natalia is worried about you. God knows why, but she is. Could you call her?”

Peter gave a humorless laugh. “You’re hardly the one to give relationship advice.”

“It wasn’t advice. It was a request. You can be civil and call her, can’t you?”

“I know you don’t give a damn about me. You don’t have to pretend you do.”

“I’m not pretending. Respectfully, I don’t give a damn about you. But Natalia does, and I happen to like Natalia. So call her.”

They sat in silence again.

“I saw Mom yesterday,” Alexander continued.

“Lunch? I couldn’t make it.” He hadn’t been able to bring himself to meet them. He had barely managed to drag himself from bed.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“I thought you said you didn’t care?”

Alexander ran his hand through his perfectly ruffled hair before he spread an arm along the backrest. During the few minutes Alexander had been there, at least five women had turned around to stare at him.

“Doesn’t it get old?”

Peter remembered all the times Alexander, with his devastatingly good looks, his smile, and his force-of-nature charm, had swept in and helped himself. How many girls had he been interested in, only for them to fall for Alexander? No one could compete with his brother, not least him, a depressed, divorced loser.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“What’s the deal with you and Gina, by the way?”

“Why are you asking that?” he snapped, the pain of hearing her name almost too much.

“Just a question. I saw you talking to her at the christening and then at the wedding.”

“There’s nothing going on.” Not anymore.

“You aren’t bothering her, are you?”

He froze. “Bothering?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, though he knew exactly what Alexander meant. “Maybe you’d care to explain?”

“Christ, Peter. I just don’t get how you could do it. How can you live with yourself?”

Peter closed his eyes. So, it was time. He and Alexander hadn’t talked about the rape of Carolina Hammar, not once. Of all the things that had happened since last summer, that was one of the things that tormented him the most. The fact that Alexander knew, that he hated him as a result, but that he had never said anything.

“I don’t get it either. Maybe I can explain it somehow, but I can never excuse it. I regret it in a way I can hardly describe. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said myself. Nothing you can accuse me of that I haven’t already accused myself of a thousand times.”

“But how? Why? You just don’t do that.”

“No,” he agreed. How could he explain it to Alexander when he still couldn’t understand it himself? He had liked Caro. They had talked, often. She had been kind to him and he was attracted to her, in a relatively innocent way. But things had gone wrong that night. There had been a huge amount of peer pressure, and he had given in. “I’m not placing the blame anywhere else. My friends and I had been drinking, and we got each other excited. One thing led to another, and then when it was done it was too late to undo it.” He had been drawn in, been too weak to refuse. He didn’t excuse himself, didn’t place the blame anywhere else, but he was trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.

“It was eighteen years ago. Carolina and I have talked. She’s forgiven me, moved on. I voted against Dad and for her brother. I don’t know what else I can do. When do you think I’ll have atoned?”

“I don’t know.”

Peter knew he had changed since last summer, that he was someone else now. And yet people still saw him as the person he had been. It was a paralyzing feeling. To know you had improved, had tried, but were still seen as who you had been before. Scum.

“I get that you feel … betrayed?”

Alexander just shook his head. “Betrayed. Shocked. Repulsed. Take your pick. And the fact that Mom and Dad knew all along. It’s too much. Don’t you realize how it’s affected our family all these years?”

“Yeah. But you know I thought Carolina was dead. I’ve lived half my life in the belief that I killed a woman. I’m not saying I’ve atoned for what I did, but I wouldn’t wish that feeling on my worst enemy.”

Alexander smiled ironically. “Not even me, you mean?”

“You aren’t my enemy, Alex. You’re my brother. I let you down, I know that. But …” His last words were stifled. He wanted to say he loved Alex, but such words were never spoken in their family. No one had ever said it to him, and he had never said it himself, not even to his ex-wife.

Alexander’s jaw clenched.

“Do you still speak to Dad?” he eventually asked.

Peter shook his head. “He doesn’t talk to me anymore. I don’t give a damn.”

“And Mom?”

“We speak occasionally. I mean, she’s so loyal to Dad, but I think she’s actually a little tired of him. She’s getting old, maybe she’s reassessed her priorities.”

“She’s good with Molly,” said Alexander.

Peter smiled. “Yeah, who would have thought that?”

“I thought you liked Mom.”

“Believe it or not, I do like her. I can see that she has lots of faults. But she’s my mother, and I don’t have the right to judge her.”

“Do you ever hear from Louise?”

Peter shook his head.

“Do you miss her?”

Peter thought about it. “Not even a little bit. That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“Nah, Louise wasn’t a good person. Even you didn’t deserve to be married to her.”

“Thanks, I think.”

This must be the longest conversation they’d had in many, many years. He had been so jealous of Alexander for so long—his entire life, actually. It was a terrible feeling, jealousy; it completely devoured you. And it was shameful. But that was gone now, Peter saw. He had gotten over it when he met Gina.

“Jesus, I still can’t believe you raped a girl. I feel like I should hit you.”

“I feel like I should hit myself, so I understand. Want to? Would it feel better?”

Alexander sighed. “No.”

He took out his cell, looked at it with a concerned expression, as though he was waiting for something that never came.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve been checking your cell constantly.”

“Sorry. I just thought I’d get a message. It’s nothing.”

“Alexander?”

“Yeah?”

Peter wanted to say that he would never hurt a woman again. That he would rather die than raise a hand to anyone, but he was interrupted by: “Peter?”

And his entire world stopped.

Gina.

“Hi,” she said, and the hair all over Peter’s body stood on end. He got up, his eyes not leaving her for a millisecond.

Gina Gina Gina.

“Hi there,” Alexander said with a smile, also getting to his feet. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” she replied, nodding her head toward Peter’s office, without looking at Alexander. She looked only at Peter. “Or did. It was temporary. I’m here to pick up my things.” Her voice was breathless, as if she had trouble concentrating on her words.

Peter looked at her.

She looked at Peter.

Alexander said something else, but Peter didn’t hear what. He just continued to look at Gina, trying to drink in her features. Would this be the last time he saw her? Did she hate him? Was there anything he could do?

“Are you going to the office?” she asked quietly.

“No. I was headed home. I just ended up sitting here.”

“Don’t you have the car today?”

He shook his head. Hadn’t even bothered to pretend he had anywhere else to go after work.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said.

“He really does look pretty lousy,” said Alexander.

“Though I feel better now that you’re here,” Peter said, ignoring Alexander. His heart was pounding so hard he could hardly breathe.

Gina bit her lip. She cast a glance at Alexander.

Peter did the same.

Alexander looked at them both, suspicious.

“Why do I get the feeling you want me to leave?”

“You were on your way to the foundation, weren’t you?” said Peter. Go, he urged silently.

Alexander shook his head. “Would that be fine with you, Gina?”

“What?” she asked, as her eyes flitted across Peter’s face. Dark, worried, darling eyes.

“That I leave?”

Gina nodded so eagerly that Peter almost laughed. Never before had a woman wanted Alexander to leave and Peter to stay.

Alexander gave Peter another look, rolled his eyes, and put on his sunglasses. And then he held out his hand.

“Good luck.”

Peter looked at it before he took it and shook it, long and hard.

“Thanks,” he said, serious.

“Bye,” said Alexander, and he loped away.

And Gina, God bless her, she didn’t watch him go.

“We need to talk,” she said.