Page 43 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

I exhale, relief washing over me. “Thank you,” I say softly, the weight of the moment slipping away. “I’m so happy just hearing your voice.”

“Let me know when you’re back home,” she replies, her voice like a soft embrace.

“Will do. Good night, princess.”

“Good night,” she echoes, and I can hear the smile in her words.

I end the call and sit back, feeling lighter than I have in a while. There’s still so much to navigate, but for now, knowing she’ll be there with me makes everything seem a little easier.

After taking a moment to compose myself, I head back inside to rejoin the party. The ambient noise hits me immediately: laughter, clinking glasses, and the distant hum of conversations. The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where the guests are still mingling.

Ludovic spots me almost immediately, his sharp gaze locking onto mine across the room.

He begins to make his way over with a confident stride, the crowd subtly parting as he approaches.

His presence is commanding, effortlessly drawing attention, a stark contrast to the anxious energy that hums beneath my skin.

“Johan, there you are,” he says smoothly, his voice rich and warm, yet carrying an undertone of authority. “How is Astrid?” His eyes soften with genuine concern, though his posture remains upright and powerful.

“She’s sleeping,” I reply, trying to steady my voice. “She threw up and wasn’t feeling well.”

Ludovic’s brow furrows slightly, a look of sympathetic understanding crossing his features.

“Poor thing,” he says, his voice lowering just a touch.

“Well, come over,” he adds, gesturing towards the cigar room, his tone shifting back to businesslike efficiency.

“I’d like to introduce you to a few of my friends from Cambridge. ”

There’s an undeniable charisma to Ludovic, something almost magnetic, and as much as I feel uneasy, I find myself falling in step beside him, knowing I can’t decline.

He leads me to the cigar room, where I see Dean Pembroke, Professor Anderson, and a few other familiar faces. The room is filled with a thick haze of cigar smoke, the rich scent mingling with the aroma of brandy.

“Oh, I just met them a few hours ago,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Good, that's fantastic,” Ludovic responds, clearly pleased. “Sit, Johan, sit.”

As I settle into an armchair, the leather creaking softly under my weight, Ludovic continues, “We were thinking of having dinner with the rest of the team before our departure. What’s your schedule like?”

I glance around the room, taking in the dark wood paneling and the heavy drapes. “Well, I'm going to go skiing with Conrad for a week before heading back, so any day after the tenth is a good idea,” I lie, hoping it sounds plausible. The excuse of going away skiing just popped into my head.

“Oh, you're going away?” Ludovic asks, raising an eyebrow, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

I nod, trying to appear casual. “Just for a week. I miss the Alps.”

“The Alps are really something,” he agrees, puffing on his cigar thoughtfully.

The glow of the cigar’s ember reflects in his eyes, making his gaze even more intense.

“I do think you should take your fiancée with you.

She hasn't seen you this whole winter break, and then you'll be going to Oman for a long time. The poor girl has been missing you.”

“Well, it's Conrad who's arranging the whole thing. I think it's a boys’ trip,” I explain, hoping it sounds convincing.

Ludovic continues to observe me closely, his eyes sharp. The silence stretches, filled only by the murmur of other conversations and the occasional clink of glasses.

“But I'll ask him,” I add, trying to appease him.

“Good. Shall we have dinner on the thirteenth evening, then?” Ludovic asks, looking around at the others.

Dean Pembroke and Professor Anderson nod in agreement, their expressions neutral but attentive.

“That sounds perfect,” I say, forcing a smile. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Excellent,” Ludovic says, leaning back in his chair. “It's important to keep the team spirit strong, especially before such an important expedition.”

I nod, but my mind is elsewhere, running through the logistics of my fabricated trip. All I hope is that Ludovic won't pressure me any longer to bring his daughter along. Because my destination isn’t the Alps; it's Hannah's bed.

As the conversation shifts to more mundane topics, I take a moment to relax, letting the cigar smoke and the rich aroma of brandy envelop me.

Despite the immediate relief, the tension in my chest doesn't fully dissipate. The night isn’t over, and I know I need to remain vigilant.

For now, I've managed to navigate this encounter, but the challenges ahead are still daunting.

On the drive back home, I sit in the back seat, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. Finally, I’ll be back in my bedroom alone, without Astrid’s clinging presence. The car hums softly as it speeds through the night.

Mum starts talking, her voice filled with lingering excitement from the evening. “Wasn't that a lovely party? We should invite the Goschens over for dinner tomorrow night. It’d be wonderful to continue the celebration.”

Hearing this, I can’t stay silent. “Mum, they just finished throwing a huge party; give them some rest. They’re gonna have a huge hangover tomorrow.”

My dad, ever the pragmatist, chimes in. “They are also your future in-laws, Johan. It's normal for your mom to want to spend time with them. What about lunch on Sunday instead?”

My frustration flares. “Well, I won't be there, then,” I interpose, my voice edged with irritation.

My dad nearly gets into an accident, slowing the car almost to a halt.

The screech of brakes and honking horns from cars behind us pierce the night, causing my heart to thunder.

He turns, his face contorted with anger, looking at me over his shoulder.

“You aren't going anywhere! Your little escapades with that Dutch girl are over.”

“What's over is your shitty attitude,” I snap back, unable to contain my anger.

His eyes flash dangerously. “There's only two weeks left before your departure to Oman. Two weeks. Can’t you spend some time with your damn fiancée?”

“I just did tonight,” I retort, my irritation growing.

“Her dad told me she was in bed by 12:30! She barely saw you,” he shouts.

I puff out a frustrated breath, feeling cornered, but Dad proceeds, “Conrad covered for you the first week. We covered the second. Now it's time to man up and face your future.” Pressing my lips together, I shake my head but stay silent, knowing that arguing further will only make things worse. Seeing my resistance, he continues, “Did you see all the people who were present tonight? Dean Pembroke was there, your own head of department, Sir Gregory from the council; I even saw a few MPs and ambassadors. Don’t you see how bright your future looks like?”

Tired of his incessant pressure, I finally snap. “Maybe you should start thinking about selling the estate and paying Ludovic the debt you owe him ‘cause I’m leaving tomorrow.”

My dad’s face turns a dangerous shade of red. “Oh, you aren’t. You are going to call Astrid tomorrow, ask her how she’s doing, and ask her if she wants to spend the week with you.”

I puff instantly at his words. “Or else what?”

Dad glares at me through the rearview mirror. “Or else I swear to God, I'll make sure Ludovic and Astrid know everything about your double life.”

His threat chills me to the bone. I swallow hard, a surge of hate freezing my veins. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He locks eyes with me, his gaze menacing and unyielding. “Try me.”