Page 40 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

I fix her with my gaze, my patience growing thin.

She’s an accomplice to my dad and a willing participant in my forced engagement.

There’ll be no sympathy coming from me. “My life beyond the fulfillment of my obligations is none of your fucking business. So kindly take your nosy presence elsewhere.”

Her expression is one of pure shock as she processes what I just told her. I can hear her take a sharp breath, the sound of her hurt cutting through the silence. But I remain just as stoic, my expression hiding everything. “You may leave now.”

Her face registers a mix of hurt and anger. She puffs in displeasure before finally leaving the room, the door closing a bit harder than necessary.

I heave a sigh of relief, but unease lingers.

The last thing I need is her gossiping to Nina about my whereabouts.

For now, though, I focus on finding that perfect book, hoping it will buy me some time and keep Astrid satisfied.

The library feels oppressive, the walls closing in as I search, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me.

I need to find something soon, or the facade I've been maintaining will start to crumble.

Each book here holds a piece of history, but I need something exceptional.

My eyes scan the shelves until they land on a particular title: “The Age of Innocence” by Edith Wharton.

The dust jacket, an off-white with a delicate illustration of a young woman, makes it stand out even more amid the darker tomes.

I gently pull the book from the shelf, the aged paper scent mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood.

The cover feels solid and slightly worn, a testament to its age and the many hands that have held it over the years.

The simplicity of the design, with its plain front and elegant spine, speaks volumes about the era it came from.

Intrigued, I open the book, carefully turning the yellowed pages.

My heart skips a beat as I notice the author’s signature on the title page.

It’s an original copy, signed by Edith Wharton herself.

This find is beyond rare—it’s a treasure.

A first edition signed by the author, over 100 years old, carries a value that transcends its physical form.

A wave of relief washes over me. This book, with its historical significance and personal touch, is the perfect gift for Astrid.

She shares a love for oddities and rare items, and this will undoubtedly impress her.

More importantly, it buys me some much-needed time.

I close the book gently, a small smile of satisfaction playing on my lips. With the book securely in hand, I leave the library, the sense of relief and accomplishment lingering.

As I step into the hallway, I spot a housekeeper passing by, her hands free and ready to help.

“Excuse me,” I call out, my voice firm but polite. She stops and turns, a look of mild surprise on her face.

“Yes, sir?”

“I need some wrapping paper for this book,” I say, holding up "The Age of Innocence." “It needs to be wrapped beautifully and neatly. Can you take care of that for me?”

She nods, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the old, valuable book. “Of course, sir. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Thank you,” I say, handing the book over carefully. “Make sure it looks perfect.”

She nods again, more resolutely this time, and hurries off to fulfill the task. I watch her go. A small part of me is anxious about letting the book out of my sight, but I trust the staff here to handle it with care.

Satisfied, I head back upstairs to my bedroom to get ready. The grand staircase feels longer than usual, the garlands and twinkling lights doing little to lift my mood. I can hear the soft hum of Christmas music playing from the parlor, the festive atmosphere clashing with the turmoil inside me.

In my room, I take a moment to collect myself. The golden mask and tuxedo my father mentioned are laid out on the bed, meticulously prepared. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the evening ahead. I can’t afford any missteps tonight.

“Nina always has a driver taking her around. Why can’t we have someone to drive us there and back?” Mum asks as she realizes there’s no one but my dad to drive us to the party, her tone a mix of frustration and concern. “You might be too drunk to drive on our return.”

“Eleanor, please, I'll be just fine,” Dad insists, his voice firm as he slides into the driver’s seat. “It’s a short drive. There’s no need to bother a poor man on New Year’s Eve.”

I know him too well—he’d rather save on the cost of paying a driver, no matter the occasion. His desire to minimize costs overrides her concerns. I find myself in the backseat, gift in hand, waiting for us to get going.

Mum lets out a huff but finally sits elegantly in the passenger seat, a beautiful gown peeking out from beneath her fur coat.

Her mask rests delicately in her lap, and she clutches the invitation tightly in her hand.

Dad, dressed in a tuxedo, drives us off the estate and onto the winding roads with a determined look.

I hold the carefully wrapped gift for Astrid, feeling its weight as a tangible reminder of the evening’s expectations.

The drive is silent after that exchange, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of fabric as my mom adjusts her coat.

The rain from earlier has ceased, leaving the roads glistening under the streetlights.

The car’s heater hums softly, providing a stark contrast to the cold tension within the vehicle.

As we approach Goschen Hall, security greets us at the gates, their eyes sharp as they request the invitation. Mum hands it over, her fingers brushing against the crisp paper. After a brief inspection, they wave us through, the gates opening slowly.

“Well, they are taking this party quite seriously,” Mum remarks, her tone light but tinged with apprehension as she looks over at my dad.

We pull up to the entrance, where a valet promptly steps forward to take the car.

“Good evening, sir, madam,” he says, opening the door with a courteous nod.

The red carpet leads to the entrance, where champagne is being served on silver trays.

Despite the cold, the night is dry and clear.

A few guests linger outside, chatting and laughing as they wait to greet the hosts: Nina, Ludovic, and their daughter, Astrid.

Astrid stands out in a stunning silver gown and matching mask, her hair styled in an elegant chignon. As we approach, my family can’t stop praising the decorations and thanking the hosts for the invitation. The sycophantic flattery makes me roll my eyes, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Nina, darling, this is absolutely exquisite,” Mum says, her tone dripping with admiration. “The decorations are simply stunning. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Nina beams, clearly pleased. “Thank you, Eleanor. We’ve put in quite a bit of effort. I’m so glad you like it.”

My dad shakes Ludovic’s hand firmly. “Ludovic, this is impressive. The hall looks magnificent. Thank you for having us.”

Ludovic smiles warmly. “Always a pleasure to host such esteemed guests. We’re delighted you could join us.”

Astrid greets me with a bright smile, her lips grazing mine in a brief kiss.

“Is this for me?” she asks, noticing the gift in my hands.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Once everyone has arrived, I’ll meet you inside. Go have some champagne; Conrad is already there,” she says, turning back to greet the next guests.

Relieved that Astrid will be occupied for the next hour, I make my way inside. The hall is alive with festive music from a DJ, and waiters circulate with trays of champagne and amuse-bouche. The atmosphere is lively, but I feel out of place, scanning the room for familiar faces.

I spot Conrad at the bar, chatting with a woman I don’t recognize. Excusing myself from my parents, I head over. Conrad’s face lights up when he sees me, and we embrace.

“So good to see you!” Conrad exclaims, clapping me on the back.

“Glad to see you too,” I reply, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face for the first time that evening.

“Johan, this is Olivia,” Conrad says, introducing his companion. “She’s also doing a master’s degree in business.”

I shake her hand, asking a few polite questions about her studies.

Olivia answers graciously, her enthusiasm evident.

A photographer appears, snapping a picture of the three of us.

After the brief photo op, I place the gift on a table where others have been arranged, then head to the bar for a whiskey.

Conrad is engrossed in conversation with Olivia, so I take the opportunity to glance around, looking for anyone I know.

To my surprise, I spot Dean Henry Pembroke, along with Professor Anderson, the head of my department.

Sir Gregory, head of the council at Cambridge, is also here—a stark reminder of how closely Ludovic is tied to the influential figures at Cambridge.

My phone buzzes with a text from Hannah, asking if everything is going well. Deciding I need some fresh air, I slip outside to find a quiet spot and call her. The cold air is a welcome change from the bustling warmth inside, and I lean against the wall as the phone rings.

Hannah answers almost immediately. “Hello?”

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” I tell her, feeling a bit of the tension ease.

Hannah chuckles, and I can hear her footsteps as she moves around. “I’m so happy to hear yours, too,” she replies. “How’s the party?”

“Boring. But at least Astrid is busy standing at the door and playing the host with her family, so that’s good.”

We talk for a bit more, and I ask about her New Year’s Eve plans.

“Roxanne and Andries are hosting a party in their penthouse in Amsterdam. It’s fun, with a young crowd of college students, writers, and creative folks.”

“I miss you so much, Hannah. I hope to fly back to Amsterdam soon.”