“What are you on?” I ask as I try my best to get the muck out of his hair. “Heroin or something else?”
He’s going to need a haircut.
His head droops. “I couldn’t handle it. I tried, Florian. I swear I did. But when Father kicked me out, I had nowhere to go. I got a hit of heroin, hoping I wouldn’t wake up. And just like that, I was hooked again.”
“Why didn’t you reach out to me?”
Anger rushed through my veins. I’d made it clear to him that I would help him anyway that I could, and that I didn’t fault him for our father being an asshole. However, I needed to compose myself and help, not push him away.
“I would have helped, Didrick. You know I would.”
“I know Father came to you to help me the first time, and he’s never let me forget it. I didn’t think you would help this time,” he says, sadness in his voice. “I know you don’t like me, Florian. I don’t even blame you, not after Father pitted us against one another.”
“You’re my brother, Didrick. No matter whatFardoes, nothing changes that. I will always help you if you need me.All you ever have to do is pick up the phone, and I’ll drop everything.”
A series of sobs escape him, causing his body to shake with each one. For the next few minutes, I listened to the youngest Larsson release the anguish and hurt that not only my father caused him, but me as well. I’m determined to make this right. Unlike my other brothers, Didrick hasn’t been totally corrupted by our father, and I refuse to let it happen. I can still help him escape the destruction that is our father. He still has time to make something of himself as long as he’s far away from Olan.
“I’m going to get you some help, Didrick,” I say once his sobs slow. “I’m your big brother. I’m going to fix this.”
He nods, but he says nothing else. I’m sure his body is suffering from agonizing pain. He’s ashamed of the person he’s become and needs time to process what’s happened. So, I continue to clean him in silence as he comes down off his high.
Tomorrow, I’ll make sure he’s on the first plane out of the country. In order for him to get clean and stay clean, he needs new scenery. New people. Most of all, he needs to be as far away from our father as humanly possible.
14
Arabelle
The moment I step into the opulent foyer of Laila’s of New York, I’m immediately struck by the luxurious marble floors beneath my feet and the intricately lofty ceilings, with a multi-tiered chandelier hanging from above. A massive abstract water feature dominates the center of the area, its cascading streams creating a soothing ambiance to the space. I have never seen something so sophisticated.
As I approach the hostess’s podium, I can’t help but notice the young, dark-haired woman in a black-and-white uniform. The name Laila’s of New York, written in large, shimmering gold letters, looms behind her.
Many times, I’ve wanted to come here, but it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation. The last time I checked, the wait list was seven months long. It made me wonder how much power Florian actually has to pull this off in less than a week.
“How may I help you, ma’am?” the hostess asks, her beautiful smile on display.
“I’m meeting someone,” I reply as butterflies flutter in my stomach.
She opens the reservation book. “Name?”
“Ms. Williamson. I’m here to meet Florian Larsson.”
“Oh yes!” She closes the book. “Ms. Williamson, Mr. Larsson said you would be joining him tonight. Giancarlo will take your wrap and clutch.” She points to the young man standing a few feet away. “You can pick them up at the end of your night.”
“Thank you.”
I remove the black cashmere wrap and hand it to the young man along with my black, diamond-encrusted clutch. He tags both items with my name and then disappears into a room off to the left of the hostess station.
“Let me take you to your table.” She grabs a menu from behind the podium. “You’re in the private dining room. Right this way.”
“Thank you.”
Stepping into the dining room, I’m greeted by the soft glow of candlelight dancing off the crystal chandeliers above. With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and lift my chin, refusing to let the anxiety churning in my stomach overpower my confidence. I’m about to meet my future husband. The man known as Beast.
Whispers of his alleged connections to Swedish organized crime have been floating around, but so far, none of it has been substantiated. The papers suggest a connection, but they also mention that his name originates from his involvement in the corporate world. I don’t know what to believe. I’ve lost any hope that my father wouldn’t get me involved with someone who would put me in danger because he doesn’t care. As long as he gets what he wants, I now know he doesn’t give a shit about me.
I push down the negative thoughts intruding on my night. I have to make the most out of it. He’s going to be my husband. I’ve signed my life away, so there’s no going back now.
Despite my nerves, I can’t help but take a sharp breath in awe of the vast, beautiful, and elegant space. The dim lightingcreates a romantic mood. The black tablecloths draped over the round dining tables contrast elegantly with the tall crystal vases brimming with exquisite white roses.
