Attraction - a fraudulent marriage

4. wishful thinking

The charity dinner was a drawn out affair that rubbed me the wrong way. I had to sit on my hands to stop them from making some sort of mess. Even so, I kept smiling and chatting with those at our table even if their topics of conversation were dull at best. Every word that left their mouths was carefully weighed, and none spoke with true passion. Mostly they talked about people I'd never heard of.

Chris and Dante sat close, but to my great horror and disappointment, Tom and Lara resided at another table. Lara and I were yet to be introduced properly, but I wasn't all that interested in her anyway. She looked nice in her dark green dress and intricately braided hair, but next to Tom she paled. Literally.

Every time I looked their way, Tom wore some kind of neutral expression or a scowl. He tapped his fingers around a tumbler, but my gut said that it was water rather than vodka. Considering his reaction to Chris' jibe, I figured boss-lady had him on a tight leash. If I were the waiter, I would have spiked the water and perhaps decorated the secret drink with tiny pink umbrellas.

Chris leaned in to whisper in my ear, his breath far too warm in the heated room. "Regretting that you came along?"

"Yeah, do I have to pay to get away from here? Feel like they've taken me hostage." The dinner had been interrupted several times by various speakers who expounded on the importance of higher education to fulfill the American dream. I think they were trying to collect money for college stipend funds. Definitely a worthy cause, but then I never understood why they had to charge for education in the first place. Hell, Swedish students got paid to go to university.

"I think they might let us go mingle soon," Chris said.

"Awesome." Few people liked to mingle, but few surroundings suited me better than a room full of people who wanted nothing more than to crowd around the enigmatic centers of attention. In Stockholm, I had been one of those centers far too often for others to genuinely like me. Swedes generally dislike people who stand out in a crowd which is quite inconvenient when you're naturally outstanding.

Applause rang around us, rising toward the high ceiling.

"Why are we clapping?" I asked.

"Because he's finally done," Chris offered.

"Jeez, that took them long enough." I received a scoff in reply, but it was worth the smile he tried to hide.

The other guests around the table rose and discarded their neatly folded linen napkins. Apparently, we weren't the only impatient ones. Chairs scraped against the polished floor—a sound reminding me of the urgency displayed by students at the end of a boring lesson.

I tailed after Chris, who in turn tailed after Dante. It was a neat little tail train that hopefully would lead me to the life of the party. "Where are we going?"

Chris threw me a glance over his shoulder. "Let's talk to Lara, she wants to meet you."

"Cool, I want to meet her too." That was only half the truth, or maybe less than that. I needed a reason to stay close to Tom in order to see if he was open to some casual flirting. He gave off a strange vibe that revealed nothing—a mystery to be solved, and I loved mysteries. The harder the better.

Lara was rummaging through her bag, fretting like a pissed off kitten. "I can't believe I forgot my lipstick." Clearly, she was a lady of my liking. She was tall in her stilettos, elegant but certainly not lifeless. She gave off an air of old Hollywood.

She looked up and eyed me from head to toe beneath her thick lashes. "This is the friend you've been talking about?" she asked Chris.

He nodded. "Lara, this is Joachim Carlsson." He shifted his gaze to me. "Joachim, meet Lara Demalier."