Page 46 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

“To Paris,” she echoes, taking a sip.

We settle on the couch, sitting beside each other, our faces close as we chat.

Astrid talks animatedly about our future and her plans for a September wedding in Lake Como.

I nod along, agreeing with whatever she says, my mind only half present in the conversation.

All I can focus on is her drinking the cocktail.

“It’s going to be perfect,” she says, smiling at me. “Just imagine, a beautiful wedding by the lake.”

“Yeah, it sounds amazing,” I respond, my eyes on her glass. She takes another long sip, almost finishing the Mudslide.

Time passes slowly, but eventually, I notice she’s drunk the entire cocktail. Relief washes over me, knowing the castor oil should start taking effect in a couple of hours.

We rejoin the group by the fireplace, the warm glow of the flames casting a cozy ambiance over the room. Astrid can hardly contain her excitement as she walks in.

“Everyone,” she announces with a wide grin, “Johan and I have finally agreed on a date for the wedding and the location!”

A collective gasp of surprise ripples through the group, and all eyes turn toward us, expressions of curiosity and anticipation etched on their faces.

“We’re planning for early September in Lake Como,” Astrid continues, her voice brimming with happiness. “Now all we have to do is contact the hotels and see which place has availability.”

Dad claps his hands, his eyes lighting up with admiration. “That’s wonderful news! Let’s open a bottle of Champagne to celebrate.”

With a flourish, he rises and heads to the kitchen, where he retrieves a chilled bottle of Champagne.

The room fills with the sound of the cork popping, a festive echo that heightens the celebratory mood.

He carefully pours the sparkling liquid into flutes brought by our butler, the bubbles rising energetically, and hands a glass to each person.

“To Astrid and Johan,” he toasts, lifting his glass high.

“To Astrid and Johan,” the group echoes in unison, the clinking of glasses creating a symphony of joy and celebration.

Everyone moves in closer to offer their congratulations. Nina rushes forward, enveloping her daughter in a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you!” she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine joy.

Mum, her face glowing with pride and happiness, steps forward to embrace Astrid as well. “Welcome to the family, dear,” she says warmly, her eyes misting with tears of joy. “I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter-in-law.”

I raise my glass and take a sip, the cool champagne bubbling on my tongue. Beneath my forced smile, a storm of emotions churns within me. I pray that the castor oil I added to Astrid’s drink earlier is enough to make her sick. All I can do now is wait, hoping my plan will unfold as intended.

An hour later, we bid farewell to Ludovic and Nina, who leave with warm hugs and well-wishes. Astrid is staying over, adding to the lingering festive atmosphere. Unfortunately, despite drinking the entire Mudslide, Astrid seems to feel just as fine, her energy undiminished.

After closing the front door behind us, Dad glances at Mum, then back to us, and says, “Well, it’s been a wonderful evening. Time for us to turn it in. Good night, everyone.”

Despite my disapproving gaze, he continues with a smile, “Enjoy the rest of your night, you two. Make yourselves at home.”

His words hang in the air as he gently nudges Mum. She looks at me with a knowing glance before they both head upstairs. Alone with Astrid, I try to buy some time.

“Hey, how about we watch a movie in the living room?” I suggest, attempting to sound casual. “It could be a nice way to wind down.”

But Astrid wraps her arms around me, her eyes full of longing. “Or we could just go to bed,” she murmurs softly, her breath warm against my ear.

Knowing there's nothing else I can do, I slowly lead her upstairs to my bedroom. My heart is pounding, and my mind races with thoughts of what I’ve done, wondering if it will take effect soon.

I try to keep my movements steady, but my hands are trembling slightly.

Once we get inside the bedroom, I fetch a towel for her from the linen closet, taking longer than necessary, trying to buy time.

“Here’s a towel for you to use tomorrow,” I say, my voice shaky. “Would you like to settle in first?”

Astrid smiles at me, her excitement palpable. “I’m already settled,” she says, moving closer, her eyes locking onto mine.

Before I can react, she’s on me, kissing me hard on the mouth. Her urgency leaves me breathless and more than a little nervous. I try to pull away gently, but she’s persistent.

“Help me undress,” she whispers between kisses.

My hands tremble as I reach for her dress, struggling with the zipper.

Each second feels like an eternity, my mind screaming for a reprieve, but I manage to slide it down.

She’s wearing a red lace set, incredibly sexy, but I feel nothing but anxiety.

She continues to kiss me, her hands skillfully unbuttoning my shirt and removing it.

I try to focus on my breathing, but it’s shallow and erratic.

Her fingers linger all the way down to my belt, unfastening it with practiced ease, and then she unzips my fly, pushing my pants down until they’re discarded. I stand there, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Noticing my lack of erection, she starts touching me down there, her fingers probing and stroking.

I shut my eyes tightly, struggling to respond.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts—what if the castor oil doesn’t work?

What if I have to have sex with her now but can’t get hard? I can’t stop the spiral of panic.

“You seem very stressed,” she whispers, her voice soft and soothing. “Lay down.”

She guides me to the bed, and I lay down, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me.

Astrid pushes my boxers aside, her intentions clear.

I keep my eyes shut, unable to watch, my mind racing.

I feel her mouth on me, and I try desperately to relax, to pretend it’s Hannah instead.

My hands clutch the sheets, knuckles white from the tension.

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the turmoil within me.

I grit my teeth, trying to suppress the flood of emotions.

I feel Astrid’s efforts intensify, her wet tongue caressing the sensitive skin, but my thoughts are elsewhere, tangled in a web of guilt, anger, hatred, and desire.

The night stretches on, an agonizing blend of physical sensation and mental anguish, as I cling to the fragile hope that my plan will somehow come to fruition.