Page 7 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

Johan

Everyone at the table, especially my parents, seems genuinely elated about the arrangement.

They frequently exchange smiles and nods, their conversations filled with enthusiastic plans and congratulations.

It’s clear they're all quite happy about the engagement, reveling in the merging of two influential families. Except for me. As I sit here, I can’t shake the feeling of being a clown, performing for the amusement of an audience, my true emotions masked behind a facade of dutiful smiles.

Amid the laughter and the clinking of glasses, a thought creeps into my mind, casting a shadow over the glittering table settings.

How many men and women throughout history have found themselves in a similar position, married out of duty and not love?

How did they manage to go through with it, day after day?

The thought of such a life—committing to someone without the bond of genuine affection, living each day as a mere performance—makes me shiver.

It feels like a betrayal not just to one's own desires but to one’s very soul.

While the others continue to chat animatedly, Nina suddenly leans forward, cutting through the buzz of conversation. “So, when are we thinking of setting a date for the wedding?” she asks, her voice eager.

Astrid lights up at the question, “I’m thinking next September would be ideal. We could even consider a destination wedding,” she says, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she starts outlining potential locales and themes.

As she dives into the details, my mind drifts to Hannah. The weight of this engagement presses uncomfortably against my chest, reminding me of the charade I'm trapped in. How am I going to get out of this without causing too much damage?

My mom, noticing my discomfort, quickly jumps in. "Well, there’s plenty of time to figure out a date for the wedding.” Her tone is gentle, trying to give me some space from the immediate pressure.

But Nina pushes on. “It’d be best to have a date fixed soon. We could announce it at the engagement party.” Her assertive comment makes it clear that she expects progress.

To my surprise, Astrid nods, agreeing with my mom. “Eleanor is right. The party needs to focus on celebrating our engagement, nothing else. Otherwise, they will all want to be invited to the wedding, and God knows if we want everyone there.”

As soon as dinner concludes, I excuse myself and step outside for some air.

The restaurant's back terrace is dimly lit, the only light coming from ornate lamps that cast long shadows on the flagstones.

The cool night air is a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the dining room.

Leaning against the stone railing, I take deep breaths, trying to dispel the tightness in my chest, my mind racing with conflicting emotions and plans.

The terrace door creaks open, and Ludovic steps out, his presence imposing even in the dim light.

He's a tall man with a commanding aura, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that seems to accentuate his robust frame.

He spots me and gives a slight nod as he approaches, the click of his shoes on the stone sounding deliberate and measured.

“Mind if I join you for a smoke?” he asks, his voice deep and slightly rough, already pulling a silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket.

“Not at all,” I reply, even though the idea of a cigarette doesn't appeal to me. I watch as he expertly flicks open the case and offers it to me. I decline with a shake of my head, and he shrugs, selecting one for himself.

The soft glow of his lighter briefly illuminates his face as he lights his cigarette, casting shadows that flicker across his sharp features. He takes a deep drag, then exhales slowly, the smoke swirling up into the cool night air.

“I remember feeling just as you do now when I got engaged,” Ludovic starts, his gaze fixed on the glowing tip of his cigarette. “All these expectations, the weight of family legacies on your shoulders—it can be overwhelming.”

I nod, unsure how much to reveal, my guard still up despite his apparent openness. “It's a lot to take in,” I admit, keeping my voice neutral.

“You know, marriage doesn’t have to be a death sentence,” he adds, his tone casual but carrying a weight that suggests deeper layers of meaning.

“I’ve been married to Nina for almost forty years.

When I was your age, twenty-six, the thought of staying with her for the rest of my life was… frightening.”

I listen, my back slightly stiffening as he shares his personal reflections. The parallels between his past fears and my current predicament aren’t lost on me, and a part of me tightens defensively.

Ludovic seems to sense my tension and offers a wry smile. “It’s a lifelong commitment, but… having an affair on the side isn’t the end of the world either. I wouldn’t make a fuss over it.” His statement is blunt, the smoke from his cigarette mingling with the night air as he speaks.

His casual mention of affairs jolts me, and I can't help but ask, “Why are you telling me this?” I probe, looking for his true intentions beneath the surface.

Ludovic’s gaze meets mine, steady and revealing a hint of sympathy—or is it camaraderie? “Because soon enough, I'll be your father-in-law, and I want you to feel comfortable telling me anything as if you were my own son.” He pauses, his voice softening. “The son I never had.”

The admission reveals a new depth to Ludovic’s character, introducing a complexity I hadn’t seen before. Curiosity piqued, I venture, “If I may ask, is there a reason why Astrid is your only child?”

His face shadows briefly, a flicker of old pain or perhaps regret crossing his features. “Nina found pregnancy awful— hated the labor and the whole postpartum ordeal. She said she’d only adopt after that, but I wasn't interested in being a father to anyone I hadn’t contributed to making.”

As the conversation draws to a close, Ludovic stubs out his cigarette and shifts the topic abruptly. “I need to stop by your department in a few days. Is Friday okay for you? I have a very interesting mission to propose to you.”

“Sure, I look forward to hearing about it,” I respond, keeping my voice even though my mind races with thoughts of Ubar, the mysterious city in Oman.

Ludovic claps me on the shoulder, a gesture of both solidarity and farewell, then heads back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the quiet night.

As I watch the time inch closer to 10 p.m., I prepare to make my escape back to my room, ready to call Hannah and share a moment of truth in a sea of pretense.

The night’s revelations linger heavily, shaping the contours of my thoughts and decisions.

After stepping back in from the terrace, I notice that everyone is already standing and making their way from the dinner table to the lounge area for a more relaxed continuation of the evening—the perfect opportunity to make an exit.

The group's movement provides the perfect cover for a discreet departure.

“Where are you going, son?” Dad asks upon seeing me.

“I have an early class to teach tomorrow,” I announce, hoping the excuse sounds plausible enough not to warrant further questioning. My dad, already halfway to the lounge with a brandy in hand, turns back toward me with a hopeful look.

“Oh, nonsense. Stay a little longer for a drink with us.” The warmth in his voice makes it harder to refuse.

I manage a polite but firm smile, feeling the weight of the evening pushing me towards the door. “I really should be getting back; I have a long day ahead,” I insist, signaling my resolve to leave.

As I gather my coat, Astrid sidles up to me, her eyes bright with a different kind of invitation.

“Could you give me a ride?” she asks, her voice tinged with a hopeful note.

With a resigned nod, I agree, knowing it’s a small concession I can manage.

Together, we head to my car, the quiet of the night settling around us as we leave the lively ambiance of the restaurant behind

We reach my car, parked under the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp.

The light flickers momentarily as I unlock the doors, casting brief shadows across the pavement.

Astrid slips into the passenger seat, her movements graceful and deliberate.

As I start the engine, the quiet hum of the car feels like a sanctuary after the night’s earlier intensity.

Fortunately, the drive to Astrid’s apartment is short, and we should get there in no time.

The city lights blur past us in a haze of amber and neon.

Amid the silent ride, Astrid turns towards me, her silhouette framed by the passing streetlights.

She attempts to lighten the atmosphere, her voice playful and flirtatious.

“Thanks for the ride, by the way. I wasn’t looking forward to sitting next to my dad and his cigar. ”

“You’re welcome,” I say simply.

A comfortable silence settles in, but Astrid speaks again. “It’s nice to have some quiet time, just the two of us.”

Despite her comment, I keep my eyes on the road, responding with non-committal hums and nods. Inside, I'm tense, the need for solitude and distance from Astrid growing with every mile. Despite her efforts to engage, I remain aloof, my responses brief and my focus fixed firmly on the road ahead.

We arrive at her building, its facade bathed in the soft, welcoming glow of the entrance lights.

I pull up to the curb, and as the car comes to a gentle stop, Astrid leans in closer.

Her hand brushes against mine on the gear shift, her touch deliberate.

“Why don’t you come up? You seem tense. Maybe I can relax you a bit,” she suggests, her voice low and coaxing, each word wrapped in a velvety lure.