Stockholm Diaries, Caroline

by Rebecca Hunter

  Caroline wanted to tell him that her trip was a career move, not just a vacation, but she decided it wasn’t worth correcting him. She had, in fact, explained that when they met at Veronica’s, but though he had heard the general idea of her plan, he clearly hadn’t listened very hard.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I really do appreciate that you did this for me.”

  “So I can confirm with the editor that you’re coming, right?” His eyes bore into her from across the table as he waited for her answer.

  Caroline swallowed.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I just need to think about it a little.”

  The anger was back on his face again, but it didn’t disappear as quickly this time. After a while he nodded.

  “Okay. Fine,” he said, looking out the window. “Just let me know soon. I’ll need to tell my boss and cancel your ticket right away if you’re not coming.”

  Caroline opened her mouth to apologize but then closed it again. The only thing she was sorry for was disappointing him, and this was a sentiment that irritated her the more she thought about it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the second time in two days, Caroline found herself pacing. This time, she was in her kitchen, waiting for the coffee to boil. On the table across from the stove, her laptop sat open, waiting for her. After two weeks here in Sweden, she had turned in the first of her interviews, the one with Veronica. The response to the series was overwhelmingly positive. It was the break she needed for this career change to work.

  I should be focusing on setting up the next interview, thought Caroline.

  Instead, her mind stubbornly returned to thoughts that had nothing to do with her career. Like the look on Niklas’s face when he stormed out of her door. Now, while she stood at the stove, waiting for her coffee to boil, Caroline’s thoughts skipped back to the night they had spent together. Her fingers tingled with the anticipation of his body as he stood over her, his mouth on hers, the ferocity lurking behind his slow kisses. His hands had found their way under her dress to explore her thighs and hips, pulling her closer.

  But what had surprised Caroline most was that fulfilling her desires with Niklas had left her wanting more. She had thought it would be the opposite. Over the years, she had had tastes of passing attractions. She had felt this kind of pull, the kind that could quickly evolve into infatuation: a hyper-awareness of every move, each half-glance in her direction, each casual gesture. But it didn’t take long to understand that initial attraction wasn’t enough. She knew how easily the lure of infatuation faded when the fantasy of the unknown dissipated. Nothing ever fit quite as well as she had imagined it.

  This was different. Something about Niklas seemed to fit with her in a way she hadn’t known was possible. She had assumed that acting on her fantasies would expose her interactions with Niklas for what they really were: her own imagination, nothing more. But instead of casting the harsh light of reality, her night with Niklas stoked something deeper inside of her, something that she was finding hard to ignore, though Caroline knew well that ignoring it was exactly what she should be doing.

  She had reminded herself more than once over the last two days how quickly professional athletes went through women, especially those with the kind of base, brutish sex appeal that Niklas had. It might as well be part of the job description. And, Caroline reminded herself once again, she was leaving soon, so any glimmer of hope that he, too, felt something more than intense sexual attraction after their night together ultimately didn’t matter. This couldn’t be more than temporary.

  Caroline let out a deep sigh. Her body might refuse to let the memory of Niklas’s touch go, but she could force her mind somewhere else, couldn’t she? The cursor flashed at the top of the empty screen in front of her. Veronica had sent her a few leads for her next interview, and all she had to do was send them a message. But after this article, Caroline was on her own. Unless she took the Spain job.

  True, Spain was an appealing stop as well, but Caroline had the feeling that going there with Ludvig would leave little room for her own work. Not for the kind of money Ludvig had alluded to. Even if she didn’t have her own time, Ludvig would want to spend his time with her; Caroline was almost sure that this was an unspoken part of the deal, a part that wouldn’t go away easily. And then there was Niklas. Already, on this first stop in Stockholm, she felt her own hesitation for the trip she had wanted so badly. After the second interview, it would be time to move on from Sweden. And she wasn’t ready for that. All because of a night with a man she hardly knew. A man who most certainly didn’t want the same things as she did. No matter what, she wasn’t going to let herself fall into that same trap again.

  The gray Stockholm sky filtered in through the balcony doors. Summer was here, but the weather gods seemed to have forgotten the north. Caroline had imagined that the midnight sun would bring heat to this far corner of the globe, but she was wrong. Resting her chin on her hands, Caroline closed her eyes and conjured up the magazine spread on Italy that she had held in her hands just a month ago, the gentle hills colored with the sage green of olive trees. She willed her mind back to the time when all she wanted to do was to explore the lush green of these valleys on foot, leaving a tiny pensione early in the morning with only her camera and enough food to last until dinner.

  Caroline let the image wash through her mind, feeling the hot Italian sun on her head and the soft dirt beneath her feet. Then she looked back at her computer screen and typed “Italian olive groves” in her search engine. The warmth of the photos softened her. Another college friend was living in the southern tip of Italy, the next stop if she followed her interview itinerary.

  This is what I want, Caroline reminded herself, and most of her believed it.

  CAROLINE KNOCKED FOR a second time on Veronica’s door.

  “Just a minute,” called Veronica through the door. “My hands are covered with paint.”

  Caroline heard the tapping of her own foot echoing in the quiet hallway. She stopped. When had she become so impatient? Caroline took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The irritation she had suppressed all day threatened to burst through, and her mind looped through the same arguments with Ludvig she had silently been through over and over: She didn’t agree to travelling to Spain back at Veronica and Filip’s. In fact, if Ludvig had listened to her—and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he didn’t—he would have heard that Veronica, not she, was excited by the prospect of covering the soccer tournament.

  The door opened, and in front of her Veronica gave a warm smile. Caroline could feel her shoulders relax at the sight of her friend.

  “How was the U.S. game?”

  “Fine,” said Caroline. “I just sent the photos off.”

  “‘Fine’? You’re going to have to muster up a little more enthusiasm if you want to pass as a sports photographer,” said Veronica, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe ‘gripping” or ‘intense’?”

  “I’m not sure those are the words the sporting world uses either,” laughed Caroline.

  “I’m from a country where most people have never even seen real ice skates,” she said, throwing up her hands. “What do you expect?”

  Veronica closed the door behind her and led Caroline down the long hall, into the warmth of her kitchen.

  “Coffee?”

  “Am I under cultural obligation to accept?”

  Veronica gave a snort of laughter.

  “I’m training you,” she said. “It’s the first step in my plan to get you to stay longer: indoctrinate you into Swedish habits.”

  Veronica put the coffee maker onto the stove and sat down across from Caroline.

  “Seriously,” she said, drawing Caroline’s hands into hers. “Can you imagine yourself here for a little longer? I can work out an apartment for you. It wouldn’t be difficult. Most people leave the city for rustic little cabins in the woods during the summer.” Veronica wrinkled her nose again and added,
“Though I can’t imagine why.”

  “Stay here in Sweden?” said Caroline quietly, letting this thought that had been brewing in her head finally form. “If I want to keep my dream job, the max I can stretch my stay in Sweden is a month, remember?”

  She was trying not to allow the thought of more time with Niklas intrude on this conversation, but it was impossible.

  This question had nagged at Caroline since her night with Niklas. She had told herself that kissing him would be enough to quell her growing infatuation with him. But a kiss wasn’t enough. And if she were completely honest with herself, when she opened her door for Niklas, despite the anger on his face, something in her knew what would happen if she let him in. And she welcomed it. This feeling was something new, not driven by fear or a want for security but something quite the opposite. As if she were diving into the unknown.

  Now after a night together, all she wanted was more of him. But even if he felt this way, too, what could she hope to come from this relationship? A couple more weeks of that aching mix of pleasure, want and withdrawal? After the month was over, she would find herself right back here. And letting go would be even harder.

  “Maybe Ludvig can arrange something?” Veronica’s teasing smile was back on her face.

  “He already has,” said Caroline with a frown. “That’s what I came over to talk about.”

  Veronica’s eyes opened wider, and she leaned closer over the table.

  “Well?”

  “He’s arranged for me to go to those soccer championships that he talked about in Spain with his team. He said they’ll take care of everything, and it pays well. It would be tight, but I’d probably be able to meet my magazine deadlines as well.”

  “So…” Veronica stared at her for a moment. “What’s the problem? You don’t sound excited at all.”

  “He didn’t ask me if I wanted to go. Or if I could, for that matter,” said Caroline. Veronica continued to stare at her.

  “He just organized it and then told me that I was supposed to go.”

  Veronica was still staring at her. “So you want to say no on principle? But you can go. And you want to, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Caroline, looking out the window.

  The clouds that had ominously loomed over the city all day had finally made good on their threat: The rain began. Caroline watched the water hit the balcony doors, first in tiny, silent drops and then in larger splats. She looked back at Veronica.

  “I know I should go. I need the money, and nothing legal is going to pay more than a job like this,” she said with a half smile. “Plus, I feel like I owe it to Ludvig. Like he did me the favor of getting me the hockey passes, so to return the favor, I should go along with his part of the plan, too. And he wants me to go to Spain with him.”

  “But?”

  Caroline shook her head slowly. “But I’m not a sports photographer, and I don’t want to be one. I’m supposed to be devoting this time to my dream career, not getting sidetracked by another guy’s plans for me. This trip was supposed to be about what I wanted to do.”

  She had deliberately left Niklas out of this explanation, though Caroline wasn’t sure whether this was more for Veronica or for herself.

  Veronica raised her eyebrows. “But you need money. And you can do both. You just fly stand-by on the around-the-world ticket, so the timing doesn’t matter.”

  Caroline nodded impatiently.

  “Right. But there’s another problem,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her forehead in her hand. “I can feel that Ludvig’s interest isn’t just professional. He’s never tried to kiss me or done anything overtly romantic, but the flowers, the nice restaurant, the favors… I can feel he wants something more. And to be honest, going to Spain with him would make me feel like some sort of call girl.”

  Veronica’s laugh caught her off guard, but it was loud and infectious, and soon Caroline found herself laughing, too.

  “Dios mio, Caroline, I really doubt that’s what he has in mind. Well, maybe a little, but probably nothing serious,” she finally said, still chuckling. “And why not give Ludvig a chance? Don’t tell me you’re holding out for the sexy hockey player across the hall.”

  Caroline took a deep breath. “That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. Things between Niklas and me got a little more… complicated.”

  Just saying those words sent a sudden wave of memories through her—physical memories. His breath on her neck, hot and insistent. His fingers teasing her nipples before he lifted them into his mouth. The hard muscles of his thighs pushing her legs open. Caroline closed her eyes, willing the memories to stop there. But Veronica must have seen it on her face.

  “Oooo, Carolita,” she said, shaking her head. “Be careful. You know how those athletes are. They go through women like that.” She snapped her fingers, drawing a little smile from Caroline.

  “I know, I know.”

  Part of Caroline wanted to argue that Niklas was different, that things were different between them but in truth, the same thought had been running through her own mind over the past few days. This was exactly the kind of guy she had learned to stay away from back in college.

  Caroline looked at her friend carefully and said, “When we finished school, your father had everything set up for you. He had found a dealer for your paintings, and he had told your old boyfriend you were coming back. But you didn’t go back. Instead, you left to travel through Europe with Filip, whom you hardly knew then, and ended up never going back to Mexico.”

  Veronica burst into laughter again. “Sí, I’m a terrible example.”

  Caroline smiled. “But it all turned out well for you.”

  Veronica looked out her kitchen window and nodded. “But it all turned out well for me,” she said with a wary smile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  You know how those athletes are.

  Veronica’s words rang in Caroline’s head as she stared at the blank screen of her computer. Did she really want to know these details? Niklas had said that the worst things that were written about him weren’t true—at least not in the way that they were written. What did that mean? Was he saying that he was wrongfully accused of something or that the media got the details wrong?

  Caroline’s heart pounded as she waited for her laptop screen to light up. Then, she typed the words into the search engine for the second time: Niklas. Almquist. News. And again, a band of photos appeared, on the ice and off. She scrolled down the page, past player statistics, until she found what she was looking for. Or, rather, what she hoped, irrationally, that she wouldn’t find.

  But there it was, listed in enough iterations on her screen that she couldn’t ignore it. Ludvig hadn’t exaggerated. The story was all over the Detroit news. Caroline stared at the list of articles in front of her. Then, with a deep breath, she clicked on one. Niklas’s face was suddenly in front of her. The shot was taken outside at night, in front of a hospital she recognized. And Niklas looked furious. The way she had seen him on the ice. The woman next to him had turned from the camera, but not enough to completely hide the swollen mess of her eye.

  Caroline’s mouth hung open. Shit. Yes, this was really bad. She couldn’t even bring herself to read the article. Shit.

  The photo seemed to speak for itself, didn’t it? Didn’t she believe that photos captured parts of a person? If this photo truly captured a part of Niklas, she wanted nothing to do with him, no matter what kinds of feelings he stirred in her. But was what she saw the truth? Or could she trust what he had told her, trust that there was something more to the story that would make her see this scene differently? Everything about her interactions with Niklas suggested he was inclined to protect her, not hurt her. Even that first day she had seen him in the park, before they met, he had gently but firmly made sure nothing happened with Baseball Cap.

  Still, his words came back to her: Hockey brings out something in me, something I
can’t always control. And he hadn’t denied the incidents on the ice.

  Should she give him a chance to explain? Caroline lay her head on the kitchen table. She didn’t know what to think.

  LUDVIG’S CAR SPED up the ramp onto the raised highway and then over the bridge past Old Town, towards the giant arena ahead of them. They were running late for the game, but Caroline suspected this wasn’t the only reason for Ludvig’s sour mood. The sun had momentarily appeared from between the billowy clouds that spread across the city, shining down on the water and lighting up the buildings in front of her.

  “I can’t believe that I’ve been here this long and still haven’t spent the day with my camera in Old Town,” said Caroline as they rode along the edge of the island. Walls of stone, brick and painted plaster rose up on either side of them, passing by too quickly for Caroline to take them in.

  “Old Town is mostly just streets with lots of little souvenir shops and overpriced restaurants, if you like that kind of thing,” said Ludvig, not taking his eyes off the road. “But I guess it’s worth a day just to say you’ve done it.”

  “Yep, souvenir shops and overpriced restaurants. That’s what I’m looking for,” she said with a wry smile.

  Caroline looked over at him, but he wasn’t smiling. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for her sarcasm. She drew in a breath but tried to keep her sigh silent, bracing herself for another tense car ride.

  She had been mistaken about him: Ludvig wasn’t nice. As soon as something—or someone—rattled that precious equilibrium enough, his placid exterior melted into seething anger, carefully barbed comments and long, painful silences. She knew all of this only because she had years of intimate experience with it: Brad was the same. And she had accommodated him. She never would have put Brad and her relationship in these stark terms if Ludvig hadn’t been sitting next to her now, with his clenched jaw and his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. He was doing the exact same thing, and Caroline could feel her own sinkingly familiar urge to placate him.