Isobel knew something had happened at the bar, because Sebastien looked like he’d been punched in the gut, whereas Alexander simply sat down in his chair with an innocent look on his face. But Alexander was never innocent. Sebastien left the bar and approached the table with furious steps, and she assumed that whatever it was, it was about to escalate.

She had panicked when Sebastien turned up, and she sent a message to Alexander without thinking it through. But it felt unexpectedly good now, as though Sebastien really was as unimportant to her as she wanted him to be. A difficult and manipulative bastard, absolutely. But not the least bit important.

Isobel was so lost in her thoughts that she missed what was said between the two men. She heard terse phrases and then saw Sebastien place a heavy hand on Alexander’s shoulder.

Oops, that was probably a mistake.

Alexander had frozen in his seat, and it was like watching a golden panther prepare to strike. Sebastien said something in an angry, low voice, and Alexander leaped up. It all happened so quickly that she would’ve missed it if she’d blinked. Alexander’s fist shot out and Sebastien staggered backward. French phrases she didn’t often hear began to stream from Sebastien’s mouth. Alexander ignored him completely and grinned at her instead, as though he wanted praise. She shouldn’t appreciate the fact that he was fighting, but you had to give Alexander credit—he only went for men who really had it coming.

“Isobel, I …” he started, but an enormous security guard turned up behind him and put a huge arm around his neck.

“Out,” he bellowed.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he mimed over his shoulder, though he didn’t look especially apologetic. It actually sounded like he was whistling. She stifled a laugh when she recognized the tune: “La Marseillaise,” the French national anthem.

“That was interesting,” Sven said slowly once Alexander had been escorted out.

“You okay, Sebastien?” Christian asked as he picked up the chair that had been knocked over when Alexander leaped up.

“He’s a psychopath,” said Sebastien. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his jaw.

Isobel’s eyes moved between them. She got slowly to her feet, and then she did something she’d never done before. Something she had only ever seen in films. She took her beer, a full glass, and emptied it over Sebastien.

“Va te faire voir, s’il te plaît,” she said, sweeping her hair from her face. She ignored Sebastien’s spluttering and hissing. “Night,” she said to the others, who were staring open-mouthed at her, and left the restaurant.

Outside, she breathed in the cool night air.

“Hi, babe,” she heard, and when she looked to one side, she saw Alexander standing with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at her.

“You get thrown out too?” he asked.

“Nah, but I guess it was just a matter of time,” she said with a smile.

“What did you say to him?”

“Go to hell, please.”

Alexander burst into laughter.

She grinned. She really was drunk. It skewed her judgment, and for now she liked the feeling. She’d certainly regret it tomorrow, but the whole point was that she didn’t care about tomorrow. She opened her purse, took out her lip gloss, and touched up her makeup.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked, his eyes caressing her lips.

“Don’t know. My plan for tonight was to sleep with them. But I’ll have to reassess the situation.”

“Is that so? All of them, or just a couple?”

“All of them. Apart from Sven. He’s married. Actually, Christian’s married too, now that I think about it. And I’ve already slept with Øystein.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow.

“Not recently,” she explained.

“I’m glad, I have to say.”

“It wasn’t the best plan, I realize that,” she said as they started walking down Götgatan, toward Slussen and the Old Town. She giggled. He took her hand as they walked, held on tight.

“Øystein enjoyed stuff like feather sex.”

His grip tightened. “Feather sex?”

“Yeah, you know. You lie there and touch each other with a feather for hours, to get close to the other person.”

Alexander shook his head and his eyes watered with repressed laughter. He got such nice lines around his eyes when he laughed. It made him look more like a human and less like a perfect Grecian statue.

“I fell asleep in the middle of it. We broke up not long after that.”

“I can kind of understand that. And Sebastien? What did you have planned for him?”

His voice sounded breezy, but Isobel knew it was an important question, not least for herself.

“I don’t want anything to do with him. Nothing at all.”

“Was that why you sent me a message?”

“I knew you’d come.”

“How?”

Isobel stopped.

“Because just before I went out, I found out that the Medpax hospital in Chad had gotten a brand-new oxygen machine. A man who finds, buys, and manages to ship an oxygen machine to a pediatric hospital in Chad is someone you can rely on.”

“I can be nice sometimes,” he agreed.

“Yes, you can.”

He pulled her close.

“But I can also be an ass. Sorry I left you the other night. It was just too much to think about. That’s a crappy explanation, but I want to apologize anyway.”

“I regretted saying anything. I’ve missed you these past few days.”

“Not as much as I missed you.”

He laid a hand on her cheek and kissed her. She leaned in to him and breathed him in. “I could even put up with some feather sex with you,” she mumbled against his mouth.

He started to shake with laughter. “Shoot me if I ever suggest it. Should we go in here?”

They were outside the restaurant Gyldene Freden, a pale yellow building that had housed the same establishment for almost three hundred years. She nodded.

They got a table and Alexander ordered a bottle of champagne which Isobel suspected cost roughly a week’s pay. She decided she didn’t care.

“I want some cheese, too. Alcohol makes me hungry.”

“Cheese,” Alexander agreed.

In a dim corner of her mind, Isobel knew there were things she had done and would do tonight that she would regret tomorrow. Not least the fact she had drunk so much, she thought, as a waiter uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into tall glasses for them. But for now, it was still today, and today it was great to be giggly from champagne, to sit in a luxurious restaurant in the Old Town, to let herself be drawn to him again.

He reached for her hand over the table. “I thought a lot about what you said.”

“That I’m messed up?”

“Messed-up people are the best kind.”

“I see why you and Leila get on so well. She likes people who are messed up too.”

He stroked her palm, ran his thumb along the lines, raised it to his mouth, kissed it. “What we did. I want another chance with you. Can I?”

She blinked.

“Okay,” she said, wondering if this was one of the things she would regret tomorrow. That she had just said yes to more sex with Alexander.

Much later, they strolled home through the night. They walked through the whole of the Old Town, sauntered through the center and eventually made it down to Vasagatan. They stopped every ten meters or so to kiss, like teenagers without anywhere to go.

“Want to come up?” she asked outside her door.

But to her surprise he shook his head. “I’ll call you tomorrow. And see you the next day.”

“No,” she protested unhappily. “I want to see you tomorrow.”

“Mmm. Maybe you feel that way now. Can I ask—how is your tolerance to alcohol?”

“Pretty bad,” she admitted.

“I thought so. I’m so attracted to you, and I want to do things right this time. I’ve been drinking. And so have you, a lot.”

“I’m not sure I like this honorable side of you,” she complained.

“I’m not sure I do either.”

“So, speak tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call you.” He looked at his watch. “In ten hours.”

“And then we’ll meet?”

He leaned forward, one arm on the wall above her, towering over her, and grabbed her waist and kissed her. She kissed him back until he groaned into her mouth. He drew in a ragged breath.

“Then, honey, we’re going shopping, you and I. If we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right.” He tilted his head and gave her a smoldering look. “Now get through that door before I forget I’m an honorable person.”