Bruni Mancini, a world-famous author of gay romance novels, unexpectedly finds himself on a quiet beach somewhere near Stockholm. As always, his devoted bodyguard, Meili Zhou, is by his side.
But what brought him here this time?
At thirty-five, Bruni is rich, talented, and adored by millions of readers—but utterly exhausted by love itself. He’s written countless stories about passion and devotion, yet his own heart remains untouched.
Then, out of the dunes, appears a breathtakingly beautiful young man. Bruni and Meili suddenly realize they’ve wandered onto a nudist beach. Captivated by the stranger’s beauty, Bruni throws caution to the wind, follows him into the nearby forest, and steals a kiss beneath the whispering pines. But moments later, the jaded author is overcome by his own confusion and flees—leaving the stunned stranger alone among the shadows.
Back in Stockholm, Bruni faces another dilemma: his dying father’s final wish. He must marry the daughter of the family’s close friends. Reluctantly, he agrees to meet his “intended bride.”
What he never expects is to see him again—the mysterious man from the beach of Böda. The very same man he kissed only hours ago… who now turns out to be his bride’s brother.
A story of coincidence, desire, and the fragile search for truth behind every love story.
Protagonists:
Bruni Mancini — 35 years old, bestselling author of gay romance novels.
Holmi Björnson — 25 years old, brother of Bruni’s bride.
Warning: This book contains scenes for readers aged 18 and over. If you are under this age, please leave this page.
The Jaded Author
Chapter 1
A split second before I saw him for the first time, the heavy clouds in the sky parted and generously allowed a few rays of sunlight to slip through their cottony flanks. In this part of the world, sunshine in summer is a rare treasure. Warmth itself visits only on “special occasions.” That’s why, on days like this, the locals rush to the beach to stretch out under the fleeting gift of light. Late August—summer had already packed its suitcases, ready to depart for Australia, leaving greedy cold to reclaim the Swedish coast.
He emerged from behind the dunes… A young, striking man, no older than twenty-four, I’d guess. The warm sand shifted under his bare feet, glowing with a golden hue stolen from the sun itself. Though I’m getting ahead of myself—this man stole far more from the sun than its color. At that very moment, he was like a sunbeam himself. His athletic body radiated strength and health; his muscles were firm yet not grotesquely overbuilt. He was as supple as a young stag, not yet weighed down with the bulk and slowness that often comes with maturity. Every last ab was perfectly in place, and I would have gladly admired them—if only my gaze hadn’t been caught by his “special state,” completely unshielded by even a scrap of clothing.
The sight rooted me to the spot.
“I think, sir, we’ve wandered onto a nudist beach by accident. We should turn back,” came a calm voice beside me.
“Back?” I muttered, barely able to move my tongue. “Are you joking, Meili? Can’t you see him? Or have you gone blind, and I’m the only one who sees?”
Meili Zhou—my bodyguard. I brought her with me from China. My Beijing publisher had hired her for my protection. After two years abroad with her shadowing my every step, I’d grown too used to her presence to let her go. Besides, it was convenient. People assumed we were lovers and never guessed her real role. For someone like me, in my position, that illusion was more than useful. Even more convenient, she happened to be a thirty-year-old Amazon who stood nearly two meters tall—and who was interested only in women. Let’s just say, we understood each other. She did her job without moral lectures, and I trusted her.
“I see him,” Meili replied curtly, stepping up beside me.
I knew, with absolute certainty, that she wasn’t just seeing the man who had captured my attention, but the entire beach. That trained, razor-sharp gaze of a professional bodyguard swept over every possible threat, every passerby who might come too close.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t tear my eyes off the man. He wasn’t alone. A young woman with an hourglass figure bounced out of the dunes in front of him. Her sun-kissed body was barely covered by a red bikini. The shameless creature twirled and posed in front of him, while he, clearly struggling against his body’s natural responses, tried—at her request, I assumed—to take pictures of her with his phone.
“Sir, this isn’t safe,” Meili warned me in a low voice.
“Why? You think I might die from the pleasure of looking at him?”
“No, sir.” She bowed her head slightly and explained with patience, “You could end up in a scandal. It’s trendy these days to film passersby reacting to nude models. That kind of content sells well.”
“You mean, my jaw dropping to the ground could go viral?”
“You are a public figure. And don’t forget why we’re here.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
I mumbled something else in reply—I can’t even recall what. Women can be cruel. Did that girl not see what state her companion was in? How could she treat such a rare jewel this way?
The young man truly stunned me. I can only imagine how ridiculous I looked from the outside: a tanned, broad-shouldered man nearly six-foot-three, shirtless under an open pair of shorts, standing there beside a towering Chinese woman, gawking with all my might. If some clever soul was filming from the dunes, they’d just scored perfect material for their blog.
“Meili, follow me,” I ordered, surrendering for the first time in my life to a sudden surge of feeling.
Perhaps it was the sun, warming me with its gentle farewell heat, that made me reckless enough to act. I was never a modest man, but ambushing strangers was not usually one of my habits. The girl in the red bikini spotted us and quickly changed her plan—dragging the young man by the hand back toward the dunes. Had she realized? If someone really was filming, she might have feared exposure. Yet the way he followed seemed half-hearted. Again and again, he glanced back at Meili and me, as if he wanted to stop, even break free.
We caught up to them in the dunes. Though Boda Beach wasn’t crowded, there were still enough scattered visitors around to interfere if they wished—and to spoil my plan. A plan that was simple. Very simple.
“Meili, neutralize the woman and the cameraman. Gently this time, not the way you usually do,” I ordered in Chinese, my voice like an icebreaker cutting through frozen seas, while I strode toward the beautiful stranger.
“Who are you?” the mischievous girl in the bikini demanded. She and the young man turned to face us, caught in flight.
In a blink, Meili lunged at the girl, flipped her clean over her shoulder, and dragged her aside. I kept moving forward, closing in on the man.
The cameraman was real—somewhere behind me I caught the muffled “oof” of a grown man just before Meili knocked him out cold. I had no doubt the recording would be destroyed, and that both pesky bloggers would wake up later, comfortably arranged on the sand beneath a pine. An hour from now, at the earliest.
What struck me most was that the young man I approached didn’t even ask who I was or what I wanted. Shorter than me, unbearably sweet, impossibly alluring in his unguarded state. His body betrayed him, broadcasting forbidden thoughts for the world to see. That unhidden, undeniable tension pulled me toward him like a magnet. Even here, even now, he somehow stood so the fading rays that slipped through the tops of the tall pines wrapped him in light and warmth.
Despite the commotion, his arousal hadn’t diminished—not even with the woman gone. I wanted nothing more than to lean in and press my lips to his. I had never done anything like that before. Never. It had to be a sunstroke of the heart. And a powerful one.
I took the final step closer. So close that his dangerously tempting desire brushed against the fabric of my blue shorts. I didn’t kiss him—my hand moved faster than my lips. With all the care in the world, my fingers rested against his straining need, while his wide eyes locked onto mine.
Logic whispered he should resist. The girl had roused him, so surely he was of the “ordinary, conventional” kind. A straight man. But resistance never came. At my touch, his lashes fluttered, the blue of his eyes darkened, and his lips parted, releasing a breath as hot as the air between us.
I lost my mind. I had written oceans of books about love, but in my own life I had never found it—never that reckless, real, unapologetic dream. Life had always been dull routine. People behave as if they’ve been granted endless lives; they never dare, never leap, never give themselves to passion. I’d filled my novels with fearless lovers, but had never met such love myself. Until now. Until this moment, when I wanted to move mountains just to touch someone. To taste his lips, his skin.
Without pushback, I continued stroking the trembling cherub fate had tossed into my hands. He seemed entirely unconcerned that I was a man—an intruder, shamelessly taking liberties. He yielded to my touch, even tilting his graceful head, baring his swanlike neck for my eager mouth. He smelled of men’s cologne and hot sea-salted sand. Enough to unhinge me completely.
I pulled my hand back only moments before crossing the final line. In truth, I had gone further than the girl ever had. She had only teased him; I had driven him to the edge of real, physical torment. Suddenly, I sobered. Reality snapped me awake. This wasn’t one of my books—this was flesh and blood, a real person with real feelings. Perhaps he hadn’t resisted because he feared the brute looming over him. And I had been only too glad to exploit that.
“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping back. “I misread you. Forgive me.”
The young man, dazed and unsteady, looked at me with something unreadable. Fear? Or perhaps… pleasure? Who could tell? Either way, I would not push further.
“Meili! We’re leaving.”
She caught up with me on the beach. Behind us—nothing. No threats, no shouts, no police.
“You didn’t overdo it back there, did you?” I asked Meili, quickening my pace.
I was afraid. Afraid… afraid to look back and give in to desire. No. The sooner I walked away, the better for everyone. I’d lost my mind. Overworked. Written myself dry. Grown weary… of this thing called love.
“They’re both conscious,” Meili reported evenly. “I only frightened them. The recording is gone. I photographed their IDs and threatened them with the police.”
“Better. At least we can avoid criminal charges this time.”
She didn’t appreciate the joke.
“Without criminal charges? Sir, with that man you just—”
“Nothing,” I cut in. “I kissed him, that’s all. He never even told me no. Just…”
I faltered as I opened the door of the rental car I’d taken for my two weeks in Sweden.
“Just?”
“Just—I never asked his permission.”
Sliding behind the wheel, I pressed the button on the fob. The engine purred quietly to life. Yes, it had to have been sunstroke. That was the only explanation. This wasn’t why I’d come here, damn it. Time to get a grip. I had to marry. I’d promised them.
“Stockholm?” Meili buckled her seatbelt.
She already knew I could handle a car well enough. Once in Beijing, we’d had to flee a mob of fans chasing after me. Oh, I forgot to mention—I write books about men’s love. About love between men, and nothing else. Two years I’d lived in China, because that was where my work had found its most passionate audience. They adapted my novels into films, even into anime. While they filmed, I wandered from studio to studio with Meili, working, always working… until I was exhausted. So I ran. I ran here, of all places. To my parents. Craved silence. Imagine—at thirty-five, suddenly I felt compelled to visit them. I’d been living on my own for so long, but something pushed me homeward. And there I found my father ill. No surprise—he was seventy by then. Still, it hit me hard. I stayed a few days, and in a moment of carelessness, I promised him something nearly impossible.
“To Stockholm,” I said at last. “They’re waiting for us.”
“Five hours on the road. If it gets difficult, say the word—I’ll take the wheel.”
I winked at her.
“You’re a good one, Meili. I was stupid. I should’ve signed a deal with you. What do you say? Would you marry me for convenience? A couple of years, then divorce, we part ways?”
“For you. With a contract. For money,” she recited flatly, like a machine. “Yes.”
“Exactly. That’s what I mean. I should’ve thought of it earlier. Then I wouldn’t be driving to Stockholm to marry a woman who, though pleasant enough, is a stranger to me. Well…”
The car rolled forward.
“There are always upsides to be found,” I said.
“Right,” Zhou agreed, without a hint of a smile. “You’ll have children. If you can manage to sleep with a woman. I, for example, couldn’t be with a man, even for money. But you—you’re sure you can.”
“Well, once upon a time I could. And you say plenty of women are indifferent to sex anyway. So maybe once or twice I’ll manage, and the rest… we’ll figure it out.”
“Do you even believe yourself? You just—”
“Yes, I know. I know.” Shame washed over me. “Don’t remind me. Usually, I’m more restrained.”
“And so you chose now to lose control. Do you realize what would’ve happened if that video had gone public? Here, of all places. The family whose home you plan to stay in, whose daughter you plan to marry—they wouldn’t understand. My own family certainly wouldn’t.”
“Your family, Zhou, didn’t even accept you. Just because of your height. It was easier for you to leave with a client than stay in your own home.”
“Our ways are different. A girl must be beautiful, not strong.”
“And what—you’re to blame for being born tall? As if your parents had nothing to do with it?”
She sat stone-faced beside me. I knew her story. I wanted to help her, and I never pressed on the subject of her family. But now… her remark about my behavior had cut deeper than it should have. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was still the tremor in my veins, refusing to settle after meeting that blue-eyed cherub.
“All right. Forgive me, Zhou. I didn’t mean it. I lost my temper.”
“Accepted, sir.”
“Bruni. Just Bruni. When will you finally remember my name?”
“I remember your name, Mr. Mancini. I know your file by heart. Thirty-five years old. Height: one ninety-one. Brown eyes. Light blond hair. Single. Preference for same-sex partners. No steady relationship. Wake-up time: ten a.m. Thirty-minute run. Breakfast. Walk…”
“That’s enough,” I stopped her gently, steering through the turns. “I know my own file. Don’t scold me for sleeping late. In the end, I’ve earned the right. Not everyone gets to be a writer.”
“I wasn’t scolding.”
“Then don’t.”
I switched on the music, if only to keep us from driving in silence. Zhou was sparing with words—that was part of why I felt so comfortable with her. A rare woman. Perhaps, in another life, I might have been ready to marry someone like her. The kind I truly needed. But she would never bear children, and if I married at all, it would only be for an heir. For someone to leave my legacy to. And so, with her, marriage was out of the question.
We rolled into the city when Zhou said something uncharacteristically personal, her voice lower than usual.
“I hope, sir,” she murmured, “that you reconsider this foolishness.”
“You mean the marriage?”
“You will not be happy. And you will ruin a woman’s life. You will make children miserable in the attempt to please a dying father. Fathers go. Parents always go. And you will be left with grief, from which no good will come.”
“Hey, relax! You’re being dramatic.”
I tried to lighten the mood, but she only pulled a sour face.
“You would have been better off running away with that beautiful man from the beach. That would be true to you. That is who you are. Especially since you said he didn’t resist your kisses.”
“Nonsense! Absolute nonsense! What’s marriage to me? A trifle. I’ll meet the bride, charm her, give her a ring, then throw a grand feast in Paris. Everyone will be pleased—you’ll see. Besides, I need children. Probably. I’m supposed to become… a father? Or not?”
I said the words, but I didn’t believe them myself. Run away with the dream boy from the beach? Yes… that would have been… No. It wouldn’t. It never will. It’s time I settled down. Time I thought of more than just myself, chasing after a phantom that doesn’t exist.
Chapter 2
Meili and I arrived at the Björnsons’ house a little late for dinner. Nothing had changed here. This was the house where my mother grew up. Hrut Björnson, the head of the family, once had every chance of becoming my father. But fate turned out differently, and today I’m very glad it did.
My mother was born in Sweden. When she was five, her parents—my grandparents—died. Family friends took her in and raised her. She lived in this very house until she came of age, and then left as an exchange student to Italy. In Rome, she met my father. She actually fled from him back to Sweden already pregnant with me. Romantic story, isn’t it? He loved her, she loved him. But she never intended it to last long and ran back home, only to realize she was carrying me.
My father, a successful gynecologist, rushed after her to Stockholm. After long persuasion, he finally took her back to Rome, where they married. They’ve lived happily ever since. The only one who disappoints them is me. When I was ten, my father was invited to work in a private clinic in Latvia. We moved and ended up stuck in the Baltics. My parents still live there. In Riga, I got my degree, became a Master, taught at the university, and turned into a writer after a failed love affair at twenty-five. I’ve never liked telling people about myself, let alone remembering the past.
But this story isn’t about me. It’s about the Björnsons. To my mother, Uncle Hrut is like a brother, even though they aren’t related by blood. He’s sixty-five now, happily married, with a son and a daughter. Erika, his daughter, is already thirty. For years, our families have dreamed of marrying us off. According to my mother, Erika has been hopelessly in love with me for ages. I’ve always lied to my parents, saying I couldn’t marry because I hadn’t found “the one.” The truth, of course, lies elsewhere… That’s why I’ve never agreed to this marriage. And yet, recently I gave in. That’s why I came to Stockholm, to spend a couple of weeks at the Björnsons’ home. I’m supposed to get to know Erika better, befriend her, maybe even marry her. Almost sounds like a song. A cheerful one, if it weren’t so sad.
I agreed to this little adventure only after deciding nothing would stop me from divorcing Erika in a couple of years, if it came to that. After all, isn’t that what marriage is for these days? Just a formality…
We arrived late. Meili immediately darted to pull the suitcases out of the trunk of the rental car. No matter how many times I tried to explain to her that carrying heavy things is a man’s job, it never stuck. I shoved the Chinese woman—without heels, she was almost my height—gently aside and grabbed the luggage myself. Only one bag wouldn’t fit in my hands, and that one my assistant triumphantly snatched up with a smug little snort in my direction.
“I’ll get back at you later,” I teased without malice.
“Uh-huh. If you find the time, sir.”
She nodded toward the two-story house. On the porch stood a tall bald man in linen trousers and a shirt, the buttons straining at his round belly.
“Uncle Hrut!” I broke into a smile.
I remembered him only from photographs and my mother’s stories. But I’d bet good money that in this family they know everything about me—and more. I was already starting to regret my noble decision, along with the naïve hope of enjoying a quiet family holiday. Being under the Björnsons’ watchful eyes twenty-four seven might prove far less idyllic than I imagined.
“Bruni, my boy! We’ve been waiting for you! Dinner’s gone cold. If you hadn’t fussed over that car and let Erika pick you up, you’d already be home.”
Climbing the steps, I walked straight into my uncle’s embrace.
He suddenly noticed my companion.
“And you…” He squinted one brown eye and pointed at her with his finger. “I know you. Helga mentioned you on the phone… What was it again? Such a beautiful name…”
“Meili Zhou, sir,” the Chinese woman bowed her head politely.
“Yes! That’s it! Meili! Meili is the given name, and Zhou the family name. Did I get that right?”
“You did, sir.”
“Good. I’ll remember it.”
My uncle slapped me several times on the back.
“Welcome, son. Drop the bags right here and straight to the table. You can sort things out later—you’re home now. And what’s the first thing you do at home? That’s right—eat!”
Uncle’s raspy, smoke-roughened laughter filled the entryway. He followed us inside and shut the door. I didn’t argue. I really did leave the luggage right there on the threshold and headed in the direction he’d pointed. The road to this house had been long, and I was starving. I’m no Zhou—patience in all circumstances was never my strong suit. Food meant food!
I clapped my hands together and rubbed them with a grin.
“So, you say it’s dinner time?” I winked at him.
“Perfect timing, Bruni! Perfect!”
We crossed the hall, Meili following right at my heels. She knew perfectly well what I thought of her habit of standing directly behind me, even in the homes of my closest family. Always on guard, waiting for trouble. It had taken me real effort to strike a deal with my stubborn bodyguard: I would decide in which house she could sit at the table beside me, and in which she had to stand watch behind my chair. We even had a secret signal for it. And Meili always understood.
“And here’s the whole Björnson family!” Uncle suddenly popped out from behind us like a jack-in-the-box. “Meet them, left to right. My wife, Olivia Björnson.”
I gave a courteous nod to the slender, fair-haired woman who had just set a dish of meat in the center of the table. She wiped her hands on a cotton apron towel and nodded back.
“Welcome, Bruni. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“We rushed here as fast as we could!” I stretched my smile as wide as I could manage, because I had already caught sight of my so-called bride.
The young woman was the spitting image of my uncle. In his youth he had been dark-haired—and so was Erika. Short, plump, with a dull face. My God, why hadn’t she inherited her mother’s looks? Those blue eyes, that golden hair, that graceful frame. Features that, in their simple harmony, struck me as oddly familiar, as though I’d seen them somewhere before…
“And this is Erika!” Hrut boomed. “Our beautiful daughter! Our pride and joy! You know she’s been in love with you since childhood?”
He winked at me. Erika flushed crimson. And I—author of countless shameless romance novels that could make even the bawdiest pimp blush—had no idea where to put myself. Right then, of all times, Meili’s words came back to me: that I would make someone unhappy, ruin a life…
“A pleasure to meet you, Erika. I’m glad we finally have.”
My head said the right words, my lips virtuously kissed the hand she offered, but inside my skull rang a long, piercing tone—the alarm of pure chaos.
While I drifted in that daze, someone else joined the gathering. Off to the side, my uncle greeted him warmly. I heard the name but didn’t turn just yet, still wrestling with my conscience that demanded I kill this sham of a marriage in its cradle.
“Holmi, you came too? Come in, you’re just in time for dinner. As you see, we’ve got special guests tonight.”
“Good evening.”
The polite, almost inaudible greeting came in a mesmerizing baritone. And suddenly I was desperate to see the man those two words belonged to.
Still smiling, I turned my head.
How… how did Uncle say his name? In my mind, I had already called him a ray of sunshine. The last time we’d seen each other was about five hours ago, back at “Böda” beach.
“Bruni, meet our son—Holmi. He’s finishing his degree this year. We’ll celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday soon, and then send him off into his own life. Though he’s been living in a rented apartment for years now, we still think of him as our child. Stubborn at times, willful even—but still ours.”
“Good evening, Holmi.”
This time I had the good fortune to shake his hand as he offered it. I didn’t even have time to panic that he might reveal our earlier encounter. He looked me straight in the eye, open, honest—and those eyes were speaking to me. Damn it! The haze in my head hadn’t lifted. The moment I felt his hand in mine, heat flared through me all the way to the crown of my head. I forgot where I was. He was dressed now—yes, clothed—but I saw it and didn’t see it. The short-sleeved shirt clung too tightly to his shoulders and chest. I could have stood there staring at him, drooling onto the white tablecloth, if not for my loyal assistant.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, everyone. Mr. Mancini always insists I sit at the table with him, even though I’m only his bodyguard. But if you’d prefer otherwise, I’ll wait for him in the living room.”
Zhou rarely used that trick—playing on pity. Only in exceptional circumstances. And this was one of them. I broke off the handshake, while our hosts immediately began reassuring Meili that of course she wouldn’t be left out, that of course there would be a seat beside me.
A few minutes later, everyone had taken their places. So it happened that Meili sat on my right, and on my left… the hosts had seated Holmi. That way, I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him—acutely. To make matters worse, directly across from me sat Erika, her mother, and my uncle. And, as expected, their eyes never left me.
I knew exactly what my companion would have said about this coincidence—which really was nothing more than a coincidence. It’s a sign, sir. Karma responds instantly to your antics! Flirting with the son of the house! What will his parents think, when you came here to court their daughter?
The only way out was to turn it into a joke. Say I’d spotted a camera and decided to prank some video bloggers. So what if I went too far? Heatstroke! Yes, let’s call it sunstroke…
And then someone’s fingers brushed my left hand. That same mesmerizing baritone kissed my mind:
“Could you pass me a napkin, please?”
I’ve always had a vivid imagination. Never once complained about it. Sometimes, out of nowhere, I would amuse myself with sudden fantasies. And in the right mood, I could conjure up the wildest things in a heartbeat. I can only imagine my face just then: a big guy with a blank stare, reaching for the napkin holder and dropping it straight into the salad. If only they knew what my brain had just cooked up. He had only asked for a napkin, and already I had pictured myself wiping him down with a pair of them. How… and where…
“Don’t worry! It happens!” two very different women rushed to reassure me at once. “We’ll fix it right away. No trouble at all…”
“My employer always struggles with acclimatization,” Meili stepped in once more to cover for me.
I might have thanked her, if not for the burning thoughts in my head.
“Our Erika is a wonderful hostess,” my uncle declared from somewhere down the table. “She’ll take good care of your gentleman. We’ll have a wedding, and who knows—maybe Holmi will propose to Kajsa too. So much joy in our home!”
“Yes…” I bleated, finally handing over a couple of napkins to my neighbor on the left. Since I passed them without the holder, his fingers naturally brushed mine.
“Thanks.”
That thanks came paired with his knee, pressing lightly against mine under the table.
Chapter 3
“Tell me, what did you do in Beijing?”
Over dinner, my uncle began what only seemed like a casual interrogation of his guests.
“Nothing special. I slept, ate, went for walks. I spent a lot of time at the publishing house, approving the artists’ work. Zhou often had to sit around bored.”
Hrut winked at my assistant.
“He’s a good client, isn’t he?”
The Chinese woman didn’t rise to the provocation. She’d been taught never to discuss her clients. In principle, never to discuss or voice an opinion about their habits—or anything else.
“But you do understand that Erika won’t be able to travel with you as much as you’re used to, right? She works for our family business, which, by the way, you’ll also be directly connected to once you become part of our family.”
My uncle’s remark sparked a strange chain of reactions from my side of the table. To my right, where Meili sat, I heard a disapproving grunt. To my left, where my fiancée’s brother sat, his knife slipped awkwardly against his plate, producing a sharp, grating sound that cut through everyone’s ears. A curious coincidence… or maybe not? After our encounter on the beach, this young man might have serious objections to me joining their family. Until then, I’d never confessed my inclinations to anyone close to me… I should probably expect a serious talk from this young man, one I’d rather not be left alone with. Not that he could beat me in a fistfight—he’s in a different weight class, and a different age group altogether. I meant something else.
“Uh… I understand.”
“Erika is my assistant. Without her I’m like without hands. Hopefully Holmi will come to his senses and become my assistant too. Now that he has an example and an older brother. By the way, have you already decided what you’ll do tomorrow? Monday’s a workday. Erika works from eight to five, so you’ll have free time, dear Bruni.”
“Really? You’re working tomorrow?”
I actually had to double-check with my fiancée. Honestly, I hadn’t expected it. After all, I make quite enough. One could even say I’m wealthy—and could afford to keep a harem if I wanted. My uncle owns a tiny cargo transport company; as far as I know, Erika works there as something like an accountant. The company is small, often drowning in debt. That’s another reason why my mother wants this marriage to happen. They need financial support. Once I’m in the family, I won’t be able to refuse. I’ll have to help my father-in-law’s business. And it won’t be a small amount. I don’t mind helping, and I don’t mind settling down somewhere to a degree—but not to this extent…
“I work five days a week. Papa promised to give me a shortened day on Friday,” my fiancée mumbled.
She had a good appetite. I noticed how eagerly she tucked into the food her mother had prepared. Her plump little hands worked the knife and fork quickly and skillfully. Maybe it was just nerves from meeting her fiancé—or maybe I was just searching for flaws, trying to talk myself into abandoning this whole scheme. Though, in truth, I didn’t need to talk myself into it. What I really needed was to find strong enough arguments for my father to decline the marriage. And to do so without offending my mother’s friends…
“Erika is a very good worker,” her father praised. “Responsible. Punctual. Pedantic.”
Olivia picked up his praise:
“And Erika is also an environmental activist. She’s part of one of Stockholm’s nature protection groups and constantly takes part in protests, goes on hikes, attends rallies, travels to schools, gives lectures to the younger generation.”
“That’s wonderful!” I forced out, suppressing a laugh.
In truth, I was laughing at myself. I’d dug such a deep pit for my own feet! She was also an environmental activist. Practically an angel…
“And how are things with the environment in China?” Hrut asked.
“Beijing, Papa, is considered one of the most polluted cities in China,” the activist’s voice chimed in. From her confident tone, you could tell she lived and breathed this subject. “Their main problem is the coal-burning power plants. They make up over seventy percent of all power stations, and it’s terrible. Cars, people, factories… there are just too many, and they don’t want to do anything about it. Activists—our colleagues—try to fight it, but nothing helps. Society simply ignores them.”
“What are you saying, my dear girl…”
“Many cities are covered daily by poisonous smog. It contains micro-particles that easily enter the body, and quite soon people develop health issues. It’s awful, Papa.”
“Ahem…”
That was me. A cough burst out of me. Seems that with all these impressions, I managed to choke on the water I’d used to wash down the somewhat dry meat. I coughed several more times, trying to clear my throat. No one around me reacted. Help came from the most unexpected direction—my left. My neighbor at the table patted my back with his palm, helping me to cough it out, while the rest remained absorbed in their discussion of environmental problems. Treacherous Zhou didn’t bother to intervene either. She would have done so only if I’d been dying right before her eyes. Not a moment sooner.
“Thank you,” I had to turn my head to my fiancée’s brother and thank him.
Holmi averted his eyes, not uttering a single word. Clear enough. He was angry with me. I’d have to try explaining myself to him after dinner. I’d have no choice. For now, I had to get my head back into place and focus on my future father-in-law, mother-in-law, and fiancée—however little I wanted to.
“Since you’re staying in our house, I think it would be proper to tell you about the way things are done here,” my uncle said, then gave a grunt as he tried to settle himself more comfortably on a stiff-backed chair that didn’t suit his stooped frame.
“Of course, Uncle Hrut.”
“Erika and I have breakfast at seven-thirty and then drive to work in our own cars. By eight in the morning, only Olivia remains at home. She takes care of the housework and prepares dinner for us, so you can go to her with any questions. We try to be home by seven in the evening, and then we all dine together here, at this very table. Olivia will give you a set of keys so you can come and go as you please.”
“Those are Holmi’s keys,” Olivia clarified. “He left them with us when he moved into his rented apartment. Holmi, how long are you planning on staying here?” she asked her son rather sternly, then quickly explained to me:
“You see, we weren’t expecting him. We had prepared his room for you. And suddenly, at the last moment, Holmi announces he’s coming! How could he?! Now it turns out, Bruni, that you’ll be staying in Holmi’s room, while Holmi and, uh…”
“Meili,” I prompted.
“…and Meili will stay in the guesthouse.”
“Wouldn’t it be more proper for Holmi to take back his own room, and for Meili and me to use the guesthouse, Aunt Olivia?”
“No!” my possible future mother-in-law flared up. “It’s better if you stay here in the big house. Closer to us. Nothing will happen to Holmi. He knows everything around here, he can do without for a few days. But for you… it will be better this way. More convenient.”
“Well… it just doesn’t feel right. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
Once again, I turned to look back at my neighbor across my shoulder. When our eyes met, the young man suddenly flushed and jerked his head away. Damn! Double the awkwardness.
“No, Aunt Olivia. I must insist. Zhou and I will stay in the guesthouse. I don’t want my introduction to your home to begin with awkward situations.”
“There’s nothing awkward about it!” my uncle banged his fist on the table. “We know what’s best. Holmi doesn’t mind if you use his room. Right, Holmi?”
“Yes,” the young man ground out after a long pause, as if through clenched teeth.
Damn it! This was bad. Really bad. And the most frustrating part was—I didn’t want to offend him. What did I care about his room… And yet, if I thought about it… the idea of spending the night in my beach acquaintance’s bed, on his sheets… too bad without him in it… My restless imagination once again tripped me up at the worst possible moment (as if it ever picked the right one), carrying my writer’s mind off into faraway romantic and thoroughly erotic places.
“Bruni…” my uncle’s voice cut in. “Are you with us? What are you smiling about? Remembering something? Or…”
It dawned on both of us at the same time that I was smiling while looking at Erika. Damn! Why couldn’t my gaze have landed on something else? The salad bowl, for example?
“Huh? No… It’s just fatigue. The road was long. And dinner was very filling. I’m dreaming of bed, though I’m ashamed to admit it.”
Olivia immediately rose from her chair:
“Of course! Poor Bruni! And you… uh… Meili. Erika will show you to your room, and I’ll take you, Meili.”
I placed my napkin on the table and was about to get up when my uncle stopped me with a remark:
“By the way, Holmi doesn’t seem to have plans for tomorrow. I’ll draw you a map—he can take you around to see the places from your mother’s youth. Let him show you around. And in the evening, when we’re back together, I’ll show you childhood photos of Helga and Erika. She was so adorable. Though really, she hasn’t changed.”
“Holmi, you’re driving, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Excellent, then that’s settled.”
“I do have a car of my own,” I reminded my uncle.
“Forget it! Holmi knows this city like the back of his hand. It’ll be better if he drives, and you can keep your eyes free to look around. You can’t see anything if you’re stuck watching the road.”
“Unless, of course, Holmi objects.”
The young man stayed in his seat, giving nothing away about how he felt regarding the assignment. Not that anyone else at the table seemed to care.
“Everything will be fine, Bruni. Tomorrow’s program is in Holmi’s hands.”
I ignored Zhou’s pointed cough. I could already guess what she was thinking—that I wouldn’t miss the chance to drag the guy into the bushes and have my way with him. What did she imagine about me?!
I wasn’t given a chance to say anything more to Holmi—Erika had already called me to follow her. I swore to myself I’d find a moment later to speak with him. If he was staying in the guesthouse with Zhou, I’d have a solid excuse to visit. The only question was whether he’d want to talk to me at all. Or would it be better to wait until tomorrow?
We climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the second floor. As it turned out, “someone” (obviously my fiancée’s brother) had already hauled my suitcases upstairs and left them in what used to be his room.
“There are three bedrooms up here and Papa’s study,” Erika explained.
The daughter of the house was no longer shy—her voice was calm, as though she were showing an elderly aunt around, not her future husband.
“That door is my parents’ room, this one is mine, and this one is Holmi’s. That’s where you’ll be staying.”
Her brown eyes flashed at me quickly and intensely. A thought shot through my mind like lightning: it might be wise to lock the door tonight…
She opened the door, and we stepped into a fairly spacious room. I wasn’t even surprised that I immediately liked it here. Really liked it. Holmi used to sleep in a wide double bed. I wondered… did he always sleep here alone? Four white pillows lay on a dark blue bedspread. The room wasn’t just perfectly clean; the air itself felt fresh. Clearly, it had been aired out for a long time before my arrival.
Two of the four walls were painted gray, almost black, while the other two were white. The shelves were full of books, and two skateboards leaned against them. In the corner near the window stood an empty easel.
“Your brother likes to paint?” I asked Erika, stepping around my own suitcases.
“Yes, he paints beautifully. Holmi wanted to apply to an art school, but Father insisted my little brother study logistics instead.”
“And did he?”
“Of course he obeyed. How could he not listen to Papa?”
I couldn’t resist brushing my fingers along the edge of the easel. That small touch reminded me of today’s meeting with Holmi at the beach. The tremor of his eyelids, his heavy breathing, and the fiery arousal that had so captivated me…
“Bruni?”
“Yes. I’m here—go on.”
“Go on with what?”
I stopped short. I’d almost asked her to keep talking about her brother. Worse still—I’d almost moaned it! Damn!!!
“I mean… Where should I put my things, for example?”
“Your things? Oh… Mama and I cleared a few shelves in his wardrobe for you and added some extra hangers. Do you mind that your things will be in the same closet as his clothes? I know you’re used to something different… I heard you lived in a very large house in China…”
“An apartment. No, it’s fine! I mean…” I cut myself off again. “I mean that, despite everything, I’m not so picky about my surroundings or my belongings. It’s all fine. The important thing is that Holmi doesn’t feel offended.”
“Holmi? Why would he?”
“Well… maybe he wouldn’t like some man moving into his personal room.”
“Some man? Don’t be silly! We’ve been waiting for you! Holmi will manage. He moved out long ago. Besides, he’s such a quiet one. I never could figure out what he’s thinking. In any case… soon the house will be remodeled, and this room won’t belong to him anymore. His things will go into storage. He doesn’t need them. He hardly ever comes home anyway.”
Apparently taking my silence as agreement, she opened the nearest door and flicked on the light switch:
“And here’s the bathroom and everything else. There’s also a sauna on the ground floor. The day after tomorrow is bath day. That’s the routine in our house.”
“Great. I’d love to take a shower and go to bed right now. And… tell me, my assistant—will she be comfortable…”
“She’s with Mama and Holmi. You can see the guesthouse from this window.”
She was right. From what was now my room, I could clearly see the small one-story building in the yard. I pulled the curtain aside, and the first person I noticed on the guesthouse porch was her brother. He was carrying Meili’s suitcase and an unfamiliar bag inside.
“They’ll be fine there,” Erika said, stepping up beside me. “It has two rooms and even a kitchen.”
“I still think…”
“They’ll be fine.”
I was so absorbed in watching the scene by the guesthouse that I didn’t notice my fiancée place her hand on my side, rise up on tiptoe, and press her lips to my unshaven cheek. At that very moment, my eyes locked with Holmi’s, as if he’d sensed my gaze and turned toward us. Behind him, Olivia appeared. She, too, saw us. And saw my look.
I bolted for safety. Not literally. Almost literally—I seized Erika by the waist and, turning my head sharply, caught her lips with mine. The young woman froze in surprise, but didn’t push me away. A moment later, her small hands wrapped around my neck, and she returned the kiss.
A kiss that made me feel nothing. Nothing but disappointment. Just disappointment. And at the same time, I’d cut off all retreat. Now her mother had seen that “something” was starting between us—and much to my assistant’s delight, I couldn’t cross that line anymore. I had chosen the side I would play on.
And how lucky I was that I didn’t see how her brother reacted to what I’d just done.
“Good night,” Erika whispered.
“Good night. Until tomorrow—I’ll be looking forward to it.”
I waved as she closed the door. The smile slipped from my face, and the first thing I did was walk over to the window and draw the curtains tightly shut. I forbid myself from looking out again. I’d apologize to him tomorrow. When I’d cooled down.
I only hoped that by then I really would have cooled down.
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