Alexander’s fingers toyed with the polished knife by his plate. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the air in the restaurant was difficult to breathe.

Ridiculous.

He reached for the vodka on the rocks, which had just been brought to the table. All his instincts told him to charm his way out of this, not to let Isobel in. But new needs had arisen. He wanted to be honest with Isobel. And not just using those same empty words he’d used on what had to be hundreds of women.

I want to be honest with you.

I’m not playing any games, not with you.

Stupid clichés he had uttered countless times. Phrases that meant nothing other than that he wanted to get laid and afterward move on without being accused of breaking any promises.

No. He wanted to be honest for real, and no one was more surprised than he.

But that didn’t mean it was easy. On the contrary. Christ, it was hard. Almost so hard he wished he’d stayed in New York and gone on with his empty, semi-alcoholic, basically uncomplicated life.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, trying for breezy but sounding suspiciously choked up to his own ears. “It’s really nothing in comparison with what you’ve seen. No torture. No hardship.”

He fell silent. How had this happened? It was just meant to be about sex, this whole thing with Isobel Sørensen, conscience of the world. When did it stop being “just” anything? Though in truth, he did know. Isobel wasn’t simply another face in a long line of women. No, he was actually starting to envisage she was the woman. And the ironic thing was that he would never deserve her, not in the long run, and not if he told her everything.

“Tell me anyway. And start from the beginning.”

He nodded, suspecting that whatever Isobel asked of him, he would do. Even if it meant that he would share secrets he had sworn to keep buried forever. “You have to understand that I know I’ve won all of life’s lotteries,” he began. “White, Western male; rich, born in a safe, wealthy, secure country. I know I’ve won one of the biggest prizes possible, by pure luck. I knew that before you and I started … before we started to hang out.”

He fell silent, didn’t even know what he should call whatever he and Isobel were doing. Were they dating? Were they a couple? Did she even want him for anything other than sex? “Though obviously I’ve become more and more aware of it. Of how lucky I’ve been.”

“But?”

“My childhood was strange. The more I think back to it, the weirder I think it was.”

“In what way?”

Alexander ran his finger along the edge of the vodka glass. He hadn’t really articulated this aloud before. “The contrast between the material excess and the emotional distance, for example,” he said thoughtfully. “Our father was hardly ever home. I think he only wanted a family so he had something to show off. He was never interested in us kids as people. Not in Mom, either. So when he was home, the atmosphere was pretty repressive. Everyone would be on tiptoes around him, and there were constant undercurrents in the air.” He stopped. Did she really want to hear this?

But she nodded. Encouragingly. “What kind of currents?”

“A lot of anger. Disappointment, resentment, and disapproval. And a load of other stuff I didn’t understand back then, but that I realize now must’ve been partly linked to my mother’s constant infidelity.” He stared down at the clear liquid in his glass. Being home had been almost unbearable at times. Gustaf De la Grip was a harsh man. Publicly he was respected and praised; privately he was used to getting his way, demanding and dictatorial. He never tolerated contradiction. His word was the law, both in boardrooms and at the dinner table. You never knew when his fist would lash out, when you would get hit over the head or sent away without food.

Peter had been beaten and ridiculed the most. It was as if his oldest son irritated Gustaf to no end, and there were times during their childhood when Peter had looked like a scared stray dog, always cowering from kicks and blows. But Alexander had gotten his share of beatings too. Being slapped, pinched, pulled, and hit hurt and was horribly humiliating. But the worst had been watching his brother take a beating. He still remembered how he stood there, tears steaming as Peter cried while trying not to, their father, cold, merciless, telling them to shut up, not to be disgusting babies. Peter’s frightened eyes. The humiliation they shared but never ever talked about, too ashamed.

To this day he couldn’t even begin to fathom how a grown man could hurt a child. His own flesh and blood. How could you beat someone so much smaller, someone so totally dependent on you? Someone you should protect. Alexander realized he’d been quiet for a long time. He tried to shake off the stifling mood. Isobel was watching him with sympathetic gray eyes, and he continued.

“Peter and Natalia, my brother and sister, did everything they could to get our dad to acknowledge them. But in my entire life I’ve never heard him say a kind word to any of us. I never even tried to win his approval.”

At least his father hadn’t beaten Natalia. If he had, Alexander probably would have killed him.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I just wanted him not to see me.”

“You mentioned your mother being unfaithful?”

Jesus. He had just blurted that out. He had never talked about it with Natalia and Peter, not with anyone. No one even knew what he’d seen, the things he’d heard. Ebba had an enormous need for male confirmation. She was a vain woman and maybe—maybe—he shouldn’t blame her so much. Being married to Gustaf had to be a trial.

But how many whispered calls had he overheard as a child? How many times had she disappeared, leaving him all alone? “Mommy is going out for a while. Be a good boy, Alexander. Don’t cry. Don’t tell anyone.”

“She was a typical upper-class housewife. I sometimes think it would have been better for her if she had something to do. Her mood was so volatile. She could be loving and happy one minute and then suddenly lash out, furious. Or turn ice-cold. You never knew when it would happen or what you’d done.”

Today he realized it must have had at least something to do with her love affairs. Her mood must have been affected by whether she was being satisfyingly courted or had just been rejected. But when he was younger, he had been convinced it was his fault that Mommy was unhappy. That he somehow was bad, that he was lacking.

“But you and Natalia were close. Could you at least rely on one another?”

He smiled. “Yeah, we made a club. She took care of me.”

Their entire childhood Natalia had been there for him, stable and strong. Had he been there for her? Or did he simply take her for granted?

“The messed-up thing is that Dad detested how close I was to Natalia. He used to mock me for it, said I shouldn’t spend all my time with girls. Once, when I was five or six, I think, it was just the two of us and him. It was the weekend, I don’t remember where Mom and Peter were, but Nat and I were alone with Dad. He got mad with me for some reason, and he punished me by taking her out and leaving me at home. I think they went to Skansen Zoo. Natalia always loved animals, and she was so happy he wanted to spend time with her. But I was alone all day and evening. I never said anything, I didn’t want to ruin things for her.” Alexander took an unsteady breath. It sounded so stupid when he articulated it, but he’d been so afraid, he could still feel that awful fear. He hadn’t known when—if—they would come home.

Isobel reached out and took his hand. “That sounds cruel.”

Well, that was his father in one word. Cruel.

Alexander withdrew his hand and waved to the waiter for yet another drink. “Natalia isn’t his biological daughter, did you know that?”

She nodded. “I read it in the paper last year.”

Yeah. It had been quite a scandal when the truth came out.

“I still love her just as much, though.”

“And what about Peter, how did he take it?”

“As much as it pains me to say anything good about him, his attitude toward her hasn’t changed at all.”

From out of nowhere, he felt a wave of gratitude toward Peter. Alexander had been sure Peter would abandon Natalia when the sordid truth came out, but as far as he knew, his big brother had stood by her. Not that it even slightly atoned for everything else Peter had done.

His second vodka arrived, but he let it stand on the table.

“But there is more?” Isobel said.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

He scratched his chin, knew he was stalling. But how did you even begin to explain? “I have always liked girls,” he started. “Not just in a sexual way, at least not always. I was small and shy as a child, and I liked playing with them, but my father hated it. That was why he dragged me out into the woods to murder animals. To be more manly, get some guy friends. But as I got older, girls started to like me in a different way. And that’s not a boast, Isobel, just a fact.”

“I believe you,” she said with a warm smile.

“It was confusing for me, in the beginning. The way they suddenly looked at me, whispered, tittered, said things I didn’t understand.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven, twelve, maybe.”

“Still a child.”

“I guess. Natalia’s friends came to our house, made a point of saying hello, giggling, blushing. I get it now, it was hormones, but back then it was pretty confusing.” He could still remember the odd feeling. Being ogled and subjected to scrutiny and not understanding it. “And then, the spring I turned thirteen, Åsa Bjelke moved in with us because her family was killed in a car crash. Her mother and my mom were best friends, and she is my sister’s best friend.”

“She is older than you?”

“Åsa’s six years older than me.”

“Already a woman then?”

“Yeah.”

He remembered that summer as if someone had etched it onto the inside of his skull. The strange thing was that he never actively thought back to it. Aside from when he saw his family, when they were all together. Then it all came back, and powerfully.

“No one could claim it wasn’t a dream situation for any teenage boy. One of the most beautiful women in the world had just moved in with us. But things got … complicated.”

“Did she seduce you?”

He shook his head. “No, she’s always been more like a big sister. I think we’re too alike. We flirted, sometimes a bit too much, nothing else. But with her friends, it was different. One of them was my first. She seduced me one evening. Not that it was difficult. She was nineteen, experienced, and beautiful. I think I lasted about ten seconds. She just laughed at me, like it was a fun game.” He glanced at Isobel. This version of how he’d lost his virginity was something he had kept to himself. The acute shame he’d felt that summer. The confusion and mixed feelings.

“Was it, for you? Fun?”

He lifted a shoulder, shrugged. “I can’t lie. It was exciting, to begin with. She said she would teach me things. And she did. She and her friends.”

“So there were more than just one?”

He hesitated before he said, “Yes. I was their pet project. I think I slept with ten girls that summer. They passed me among themselves. Talked about me, often in front of me. While we were doing it, it felt as if it was the only thing I wanted. And it was incredibly exciting. But afterward … I can’t explain it. They weren’t mean, not really, even though they teased me and bossed me about.”

“How?”

He shrugged.

“Tell me,” she urged.

“They called me their plaything, their sex doll. And they laughed at me, made fun of me when I didn’t understand what they were asking of me, that kind of thing. Not mean, really.”

She was frowning. “If you say so.” Her voice lacked conviction.

“And they taught me to be really good at sex, to think about their enjoyment, which obviously was a very useful education. But they decided everything, commanded and did as they pleased as if I were some kind of toy. And they punished me if I did something wrong,” he added.

“They did?”

“Yeah. The oldest made me drink alcohol, much more than a few sips, made me smoke her cigarettes, and then they called me a bad boy. As I said. It was a strange summer.”

He looked down. He rarely thought about it. Other than when he moved in those women’s circle. Whenever he spent too much time with them, it affected him. Threw him off balance. Made him feel … dirty. Could Isobel understand? Could anyone? He didn’t even understand it himself. On one hand, it had been a boy’s wet dream. But on the other hand, he had felt … used.

Isobel’s voice was kind when it cut through his thoughts. “You were so young, Alex. Did anyone know what was going on?”

“I don’t even think Åsa knew. I’ve never been much of a believer in talking about things.”

“You haven’t had anyone to listen. People always say that you should have said something. They think it’s shame that stops people from talking. But the fact is that people often don’t talk because the people around them are bad listeners.”

How he had wished that someone had seen what was going on. Stopped it. Told him he was too young, that there were too many of them, that he had the right to say no. That he wasn’t a sex toy to pass around. Christ.

“I see those women sometimes. Some of them are married now. A few have kids. But I’ve never talked about it with any one of them.” He could feel their looks, though, when they met, could imagine them laughing at him. “You’re the first to ever hear about it.”

“I thought I saw something last summer. You looked so haunted. Like you’d just visited hell.”

“I never thought of it like that. But that’s what it’s like when I see them all. Some kind of limbo. Last summer—it was just too much. I went straight back to New York and drank for a week.”

Isobel didn’t seem shocked, but then again she wasn’t someone who was easily shocked. “How does it feel now?” she asked, her voice steady and warm. God, he could get addicted to that voice.

“Like I said, I don’t usually think about it, even though I know it must have affected me.”

“Maybe even more than you think?”

“The thing I struggle most with, it’s my feeling that …” He fell silent, didn’t know if he could even express this.

“Go on.”

“That women are only ever with me for what I have to offer them physically and financially.”

He waited for her to argue, to smooth it over. But nothing came. And so Alexander continued, for the first time putting into words the things that had plagued him for so long, had affected all his relationships with women. “They like the good bits, the fun parts. They like the sex. The surface. But no one is interested in the inside.”

In me as a person.

He almost expected Isobel to laugh, to disagree, to joke it away, but of course she didn’t. He hadn’t realized he had been carrying this raw pain, that it ran so deep. Had never realized how it hollowed him out. How he had longed to be seen. How afraid he’d been that he was his mother’s son to the core. That he would exist only if he slept with someone. He wiped his brow, noticed his hand was shaking.

Isobel leaned toward him. The candlelight danced in her gray eyes, making them look like diamonds and stars. She rested her hand on his, and Alexander felt, ridiculously enough, his throat tighten.

“Thanks for telling me,” she said quietly.

They sat in silence. All around them they could hear the clink of porcelain. Smell the aromas of food. Hear hushed conversations. Their food arrived, but he wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t touch hers, either.

He gave her a wry smile. If Isobel wasn’t hungry, she must have been shocked after all.

“I’m so sorry, Alex. What you described, it’s sexual abuse.”

“No,” he denied. “Nothing so serious as that.”

She cocked her head. “So you’re telling me that you were abandoned by your parents, left alone and scared, physically and sexually abused, but it wasn’t serious?”

“Not in comparison to what other people endure.”

“You can’t compare it. Oh, Alex, I wish I’d known before I started to talk about swapping roles. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it. It must be hard for you; I really understand if you don’t want to do it.”

He studied her. A strange euphoria was taking hold of him, as if he were a balloon eager to soar. As though the things he hadn’t realized were weighing him down had suddenly disappeared. Like a pressure, a constant, unwelcome feeling, had just gone up in smoke. And something else had taken its place. Mostly relief. But also happiness. Confidence. And trust. He felt a wide grin breaking free. He felt like a king. A person—a man who could do and choose whatever he wanted to.

“No, I want to try it,” he said, confidently.

“But after what you said …”

“No. As of today I’ve left that behind.” He had. And besides, he trusted Isobel. Completely. It was an incredible feeling.

“You have to promise me that you’ll say something if it feels wrong. It should only feel good. Can you promise me that?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if I go too far? I’m not experienced.” She smiled wryly. “And I’m rather strong.”

Alexander laughed and found himself again, left behind the confused teenager he’d been, and stepped back into the adult man he’d become.

He took Isobel’s hand and held it across the table. “You could never go too far with me, babe,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he said with a stifled laugh. “If I can ask for one thing, it’s that I’d rather not have a vibrator shoved anywhere.”

She nodded graciously, and Alexander thought it was probably just as well he’d given her at least that limitation. A new kind of excitement coursed through him. Had he really just agreed to it? For real?

He caught her gaze. Something had happened here tonight. A new closeness he had not experienced before. He raised her palm to his mouth, pressed his lips to her skin, breathing her in.

“So, how should we do this?” he asked quietly.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Her eyes glittered.

He kissed her hand again, murmured his words between kisses on her warm palm: “Do you want to come to my apartment?” He loved having her there; just the thought made him hot as hell.

“No, no. I’ll call and tell you where to go.”

He smiled at this bossy side of her. It was sexy.

“Fine,” he said.

“Now let’s eat.”

So they ate, talking about food and wine and films they had seen, not about sex. Alexander’s good mood had returned in full force. He was so happy to be here, with Isobel. To eat and laugh with her, flirt with her. To crave her. There was nothing hidden between them; she knew everything about him now. And he knew more about her than anyone else ever had. Tomorrow he was hers to do whatever she liked with.

It electrified his entire being.

He could hardly wait.