Page 48 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

I lean back on the bed, closing my eyes and letting the tension of the past night melt away as I think of Hannah.

The thought of her in red lace fills my mind, giving me a momentary escape from the turmoil of the past night.

I can almost see her, the delicate fabric clinging to her curves, her smile lighting up the room.

"You're amazing," I whisper, lost in the fantasy.

"You're the amazing one," she counters, her voice soft and affectionate.

We talk for a while longer, sharing little details about our day and our plans for St. Moritz. Each word feels like a lifeline, pulling me away from the chaos and into a world where things are simpler and happier.

Eventually, we say our goodbyes, promising to talk again soon.

I put my phone down and stretch out on the bed, feeling more relaxed than I have in hours.

The guest room is quiet, the kind of quiet that promises a few more precious hours of sleep.

I pull the covers over myself, letting my thoughts drift back to Hannah and Arthur and the promise of a week away from all this madness.

As I drift off to sleep, I hold onto that image of Hannah in the red lace set, knowing that soon, it won't just be a fantasy.

“Are you sure she’s alright?” Mum asks for the second time today as we finish our dinner. Astrid is still blissfully asleep in bed. She spent the whole day upstairs, only waking to eat a quick lunch that the housekeeper brought to her bedside on a tray.

“Mum, she’s going to be fine,” I say, trying to sound reassuring but feeling the weight of the lie. “She just drank too much and threw up all night.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Mum murmurs, her face softening with sympathy. She reaches for her glass of water, taking a small sip, her worry still evident in the way she holds herself.

“I told you we should have done a Sunday lunch,” Dad chimes in, shaking his head slightly. His tone is a mix of regret and mild frustration. “Eleanor, shouldn’t you go and bring her something?”

Mum looks thoughtful for a moment before turning to me. “I think it’s best you go and check on her, Johan. See if she wants to eat.”

I nod and stand up, pushing my chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. “Alright, I’ll check on her,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. As I head upstairs, I can feel their eyes on my back, the pressure of their expectations weighing heavily on me.

I open the door to my bedroom quietly. Astrid is still sleeping soundly, her breathing even and deep. The room is dim, the curtains drawn to keep the light out. I watch her for a moment, making sure she’s truly asleep before heading back downstairs.

Satisfied that she’s still out cold, I make my way to the library.

The quiet sanctuary offers a brief respite.

I immerse myself in a book about Ubar, the Lost City of Arabia, and review the latest expedition report.

The hours slip by as I lose myself in the text, the tension slowly easing from my shoulders.

When I finally glance at the clock, I realize it’s time to turn in for the night. I head back to the bedroom, opening the door to find Astrid awake, her phone glowing in the dim light as she texts someone. Her face is still pale, and her movements are slow and deliberate.

“Hey, are you okay? You slept all day,” I say, feigning concern. I walk over to her side of the bed, my steps measured and careful.

Astrid looks up at me, her eyes tired and slightly glazed. “I'm feeling better, but I'm too weak to even stand up,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She sinks back against the pillows, her body limp.

“I understand. Do you want to eat something?” I ask, trying to maintain the concerned facade. I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning in slightly to show attentiveness.

She shakes her head weakly. “No, I barely touched the food the maid brought me for lunch.”

“Have you been drinking water at least?” I ask, continuing my act. I reach out and gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, trying to seem caring.

“Yes, I have. Tomorrow I should feel better,” she says, closing her eyes briefly, exhaustion written all over her face.

“Good.” I nod, smiling at her, and pin a soft kiss on her head, feeling a sense of relief knowing she’s too weak for any intimacy tonight.

One day down, six more to go.

Satisfied, I settle into bed beside her, grateful for the reprieve and the promise of another day to execute my plan.

As I lie there, I listen to her breathing, steady and slow.

My mind drifts to thoughts of Hannah and Arthur, and the promise of a week away from all this madness.

The weight of my actions sits heavily on my chest, but for now, I focus on the goal ahead, letting the quiet of the night soothe my frayed nerves.

Mum’s brow is furrowed with concern, her eyes darting between me and the empty seat where Astrid should be. “Johan, how come she’s still upstairs?”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “She was still sleeping when I woke up. It takes time for the body to recover,” I explain, spearing a piece of chicken with my fork and bringing it to my mouth.

We’re eating lunch, the room filled with the clinking of silverware and the muted hum of conversation. Dad glances at his watch, his expression thoughtful. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “Weren’t you both supposed to head to Paris this evening?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not going to force her to travel if she isn’t okay,” I reply, trying to sound as reasonable as possible while taking a sip of water.

“Of course not. She is not well. We should call a doctor,” Mum says, standing up abruptly, her worry transforming into determination as she reaches for her glass of water, her hand trembling slightly.

“Mum, she’s just hungover after two nights of constant drinking. Give her a break,” I counter, keeping my tone firm but calm, meeting her gaze steadily.

Mum’s shoulders relax slightly, but her frown remains. “I just worry.” She sits back down and takes a small, hesitant bite of her salad.

“Johan is right, honey. She does need rest,” Dad interjects, his voice soothing as he places a reassuring hand on Mum’s arm. “Let’s see how she feels tomorrow, and if she continues feeling bad, we will call the doctor.”

I nod, hiding a smile as I push a piece of broccoli around my plate.

After lunch, I retreat to the library, sinking into one of the large, comfortable chairs. I immerse myself in my book about Ubar, the quiet of the room a welcome respite.

My phone buzzes, and I see it’s Ludovic calling. I just hope he isn’t calling because of his daughter’s situation. “Mr. Goschen, what a surprise. How are you doing?” I answer, keeping my voice low, leaning back in the chair and resting my feet on a nearby ottoman.

“Doing well, thanks,” he says hurriedly. “I know you’re busy this week, but I just wanted to let you know that the excavations at the site of Shisr have started today with a local team in place. They’re preparing the base camp for the team.”

“That’s great news,” I say, feeling a spark of excitement as I run a hand through my hair. “Thanks for the update.”

“You’re most welcome. You’ll enjoy your accommodation. The tents will have electricity and AC. They should be ready by when we arrive.”

After the call, I refocus on my reading, losing myself in the ancient mysteries of the desert until it’s time for dinner. The hours slip by, my mind briefly freed from the worries of the day.

We gather in the dining room, the atmosphere a bit more subdued than usual. I pull out my chair and sit down, glancing around at the familiar faces. Mum arrives after Dad and me, her face a mask of concern.

“I went to check on Astrid,” she says as she sits down, her movements slow and deliberate. “She was just lying down, not asleep but just relaxing. She tried to stand up but was too weak to walk due to the amount of time she vomited. I’m going to bring her some food upstairs and will be right back.”

“Thanks, Mum,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with genuine appreciation as I cut into my steak, the knife scraping softly against the plate.

Dad nods in agreement, his eyes following Mum as she leaves the room. I take another bite, chewing slowly, my mind elsewhere. As Mum heads upstairs with a tray of food, I sit quietly, counting the days until St. Moritz.

Two days down, five more to go.

The thought of being away from all this, in the serene beauty of the Swiss Alps, fills me with a sense of anticipation and relief.

Dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and the clinking of cutlery.

I excuse myself as soon as it’s decently possible and head back to the library, seeking the solace of my book once more.

The ancient tales of Ubar and the mysteries of Shisr are a welcome distraction from the web of lies and manipulation I’ve woven around Astrid and myself.

My phone buzzes with a message from Hannah, and I smile as I read it: Thinking of you. Can’t wait for St. Moritz.

“Same here,” I text back. “Counting the days.”