Page 45 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

Johan

“Thank you so much for postponing your boys’ trip to the Alps for me,” Astrid says over the phone. Her voice is bubbly, filled with excitement. “I’m so excited to spend the week with you.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, though?” I ask again, just in case she’s still too hungover to come. “You didn’t seem well last night.”

“Don’t worry,” she says almost instantly. “I spent all morning in bed, drinking water and taking medicine. I’m more than ready to see you tonight.”

I roll my eyes, playing along. “Great, happy to hear.”

“So, where are we spending the week?” Her question is a not-so-subtle way to remind me that she doesn’t want to spend the whole week at my parents’. Great, I have nothing planned.

I take a deep breath, forcing a smile into my voice. “Well, I was thinking after dinner, we could spend the evening here, and then after tomorrow, we could go to Paris by train.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and then she squeals with delight. “Oh my gosh, that sounds wonderful! I’ll get my bags ready. See you later!”

After she hangs up, I stare at the phone, feeling a mix of relief and determination.

I have no intention of taking her to Paris.

If everything goes according to plan, Astrid will be too sick to travel.

Since yesterday evening, I've been researching what to give her so she’ll be bedridden with food poisoning all week.

The idea of her being confined to bed, unable to do anything but rest, sets my plan into motion.

By the eighth, she’ll be back home at her parents, and I’ll be in St. Moritz with Conrad, a few other mates, and Hannah.

The first thing I have to do, though, is call Conrad, who still has no idea about the trip to St. Moritz itself.

I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dial Conrad’s number, hoping that he’ll agree to my plan.

The familiar ring echoes in my ear, and then his cheerful voice breaks through. “Hey, man!” His tone is bright, almost infectious. “What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, I begin cautiously. “Doing good, thanks. How was the party last night?” Even I can hear the forced casualness in my own voice.

“It was great. Olivia had a blast. She’s still talking about it.” His words are laced with amusement, and I can almost see his grin.

“Glad to hear it. How’s she doing?” My attempt at small talk feels awkward but necessary.

“She’s good. She slept over but left a few minutes ago. She’s got a trip scheduled with her friends. You know how it is.” His voice carries a hint of weariness, the same one I feel.

“Yeah, I hear you.” I pause, swallowing hard. “Speaking of trips, I’ve got this idea. How about a week in St. Moritz as a farewell before I go to Oman? Just the boys, from the 8th to the 13th?”

Silence. I imagine Conrad’s brow furrowing, the gears turning in his head. “That sounds great, but Olivia invited me to spend the week with her parents in Paris.”

My heart sinks. I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as frustration bubbles up. “I really need this trip, Conrad,” I murmur, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I told Astrid’s dad that you were organizing a boys’ trip to St. Moritz. I need to get away from her.”

A heavy sigh drifts through the phone. “I’m tired of covering for your sorry ass, Johan. But since you’re leaving for Oman, I’ll make an effort.”

Relief floods through me, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Thanks, man. I owe you one. Can you invite a few more mates? Make it seem like it’s a boys’ thing only.”

Another pause. I can almost hear the skepticism in his silence. “And I suppose Hannah is a boy too?”

I chuckle, a genuine laugh that lightens the mood. “You’re my best friend. Help me out on this.”

“You don’t deserve me.” His tone’s mockingly stern, but there's an underlying warmth.

“I know,” I reply, the smile now fully formed on my face. “Thanks, man.”

As I hang up, I feel a strange mix of anticipation and dread. The plan is risky, but it’s the only way to escape that evil bitch.

Thanks to the research I did after my phone call with Hannah, I remember reading about natural substances that can cause food poisoning-like symptoms. Castor oil, in high doses, can induce severe diarrhea and vomiting, effectively mimicking food poisoning without being easily traceable.

While I can’t put it on her food since I’m not the one preparing it, it should be doable to put it on her drink.

Deciding to give it a shot, I drive to a pharmacy far from home to avoid suspicion. After purchasing a bottle of castor oil, I make sure no one I know sees me.

Once I get back home, I mentally prepare myself for the evening, constantly reminding myself to act natural and calm. After everything Astrid has done, including forcing me into this engagement, it’s time for some payback. Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold.

The Goschens arrive at our estate promptly at seven, their Maybach pulling up the long gravel driveway as the evening darkness settles in.

The January chill permeates the air, a thin layer of frost covering the lawns and bare trees, their branches stark against the twilight sky.

My parents and I stand by the grand entrance, trying to keep our expression calm and welcoming while our breath forms misty clouds in the frigid air.

As they step out of the car, my parents wave in their direction, eager to greet our guests.

Nina and Ludovic are all smiles as they approach.

Mum steps forward, her arms wide open to embrace Nina first. “So glad you came,” she says, giving her a quick hug and two cheek kisses.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Nina replies.

Dad steps in, greeting his guests just as warmly. “It’s the least we could do after the amazing ball you hosted last night. It was truly spectacular.”

Nina beams. “Thank you, Joe. We’re so glad you could make it. The evening was perfect.”

Astrid steps forward, looking radiant in a chic evening dress, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She greets me with a quick peck on the mouth and a hug. “Thank you so much for arranging this dinner, love. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” I say, guiding them inside, grateful for the warmth of the house as we step through the door.

We move into the dining room, where the table is set to perfection. The staff moves efficiently, serving drinks and appetizers as the conversation flows easily among our families. The warmth from the fireplace adds a cozy ambiance, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside.

As we take our seats, Ludovic leans in close and murmurs discreetly, “Thanks for postponing your trip to take Astrid to Paris. It means a lot to us.”

“Of course,” I reply softly, nodding. “It’s no trouble at all.”

The dinner progresses slowly, each course more exquisite than the last. As we enjoy the main course, the conversation turns to my upcoming trip to Oman.

Dad gives a sip of his wine, his cheeks becoming flushed. “It’s going to be quite the adventure. Isn't it, son?”

“Yep, I'm quite excited. I can't wait to uncover the mysteries of Ubar,” I say, feeling a genuine spark of enthusiasm amidst my otherwise turbulent thoughts.

“Do you have everything you need for the trip? After all, it's quite hot in the desert,” Nina asks, her tone filled with motherly concern.

“Yes, I think I got everything I need,” I reassure her, smiling.

Ludovic then adds, “You'll see, Johan, the desert is an unforgiving place, but it hides the best treasures.” He takes another sip of his wine, savoring it before meeting my gaze with a more serious expression. “Also, you’ll need an assistant for the trip. I was thinking about your colleague Lukas. He showed quite a bit of interest when Professor Anderson mentioned the expedition to him.”

My eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of excitement mixed with trepidation coursing through me. “Oh, when did that happen?” I ask, leaning forward slightly.

“Just before the winter break,” Ludovic replies, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. “Prof Anderson told me about it yesterday at the party.” His tone is casual, but there’s an underlying urgency in his eyes that I don’t miss.

I nod, appreciating the insight. “Sure, I’ve worked with Lukas on previous projects, and we get along well,” I say, glancing around the table at the engaged faces of our families.

The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware fill the air, but our exchange feels isolated and intimate.

“If he can handle the heat, he’s more than welcome to join us. ”

The flickering flames in the fireplace add warmth to the room, enhancing the cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. Astrid’s laughter rings out occasionally, a sharp reminder of the facade I must maintain.

After dessert, we all move to the drawing room, a cozy space with a large fireplace on one side and a well-stocked bar on the other. My parents and the Goschens settle near the fireplace, sipping on glasses of port. I head to the bar, deciding to prepare a Mudslide for myself.

As I mix the drink, I sense Astrid approaching. She’s intrigued, as I had anticipated.

“What’s that you’re making?” she asks, peering over the bar.

“It’s a Mudslide,” I reply casually, glancing at her. “Would you like to try it? It’s with vodka, coffee liqueur, and Baileys.”

She takes a sip from my glass, and her eyes light up. “That’s delicious!”

“Should I do one for you too?” I ask, already knowing her answer.

“Yes!” Her face brightens up with anticipation.

Perfect , I think to myself. “Alright. Go mingle, I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

While Astrid returns to the fireplace, where everyone else is engrossed in conversation, I discreetly pour a generous amount of castor oil into the drink I’m preparing for her, mixing it well so it’s completely hidden.

Once ready, I hand her the cocktail, and we move a bit away from the group, raising our glasses.

“To Paris,” I say, clinking my glass against hers.