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I looked at Astrid. Her arms were crossed and she appeared defeated. I hated that the girls were probably right. We had no business ordering anyone around, even if that should be Alexandra’s job.
“Come on then,” I pulled Alexandra by the hand, leading the two to the service entrance.
“Where are you headed?” Alexandra’s guards asked.
“We need to go downtown,” I said. “Dinner reservations. Sort of… last minute.”
“We will wait while you clear it,” Martin added. “It is authorised on our side.”
“Is there an issue?”
Alexandra stared in a quite intimidating manner at the head of security.
“Because I am getting cross standing here. And… well, Rikard has been so darling to offer to take us out to dinner. We were fed scraps tonight since our grandmother is out. Would you have us starve?”
She laid it on thick, now batting her eyelashes. She knew what she was doing. I resisted the urge to laugh. I handed it to her.
“We were just so hungry. Second dinner,” Astrid played along. “You know how it is.”
The head of security looked doubtful, but his men were completely captivated by the women. Their distraction was evident.
“Please?” Astrid said. “It would be so lovely.”
“We’d be forever grateful,” Alexandra added. “If it won’t betoomuch trouble.”
They flirted. I was dying laughing inside. I was proud of them for this bizarre act of defiance. Baby steps. The head of security relented, calling us a car. We were off.
“Don’t have them drop us right at the restaurant,” I told Martin. “We can take detail, but I’d rather fly under the radar.”
The restaurant was a casual place—a brewery with a kitchen that was second to none among the small group of Neandian hipsters. The fact that therewerehipsters confused me. Neandia was an odd place. Upon arrival, they dropped us in an alley 2 blocks away, our rendezvous point if we weren’t seen. Martin informed us that if we were spotted and things got messy, we’d be swooped out of there before we could scarf down our food.
The girls and I walked into the bar and asked for a table. No one questioned it. Alexandra and Astrid were unrecognisable in street clothes. Astrid had a very casual demeanour about her on any day, but even Alexandra was always buttoned up. Tonight, she waited for a table, her hands in the pockets of her painted-on jeans. It was good to see them enjoying themselves. I couldn’t imagine having lived twenty or more years, never to see the inside of a bar. The drinking age in Lundhavn was a tender eighteen. Great, boozy celebrations were a rite of passage before one went to university.
“Can you tell me what to order?” Alexandra whispered at first but raised her voice because the place was loud.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what to drink.”
“What?”
“We don’t get to drink beer—ever,” Astrid explained. “We have no idea.”
“We can get a flight.”
They cocked their heads in unison. The resemblance unnerved me.
“It’s six beers. Tiny ones. You can pick and choose. Let’s get two and split them. Choose what you think would be good.”
The girls chose based on beer names. Some were slang terms I didn’t understand. My French wasn’t the best. Now around French speakers day and night, I admitted my French needed improvement. I was assured that our engagement interview would be conducted in English.
The beers arrived along with the huge basket of fries the girls ordered as a starter—as they were starving. Finally, our burgers arrived. The way they dug in, it was as if this was their first time tasting food. They inhaled the frites, ordering even more. It was as if they just escaped a bunker or a cult. I felt grateful to have a somewhat normal childhood.
As we finished our burgers—which they devoured in about five seconds—a man approached and sought out Astrid. Sitting on her own across from us, she looked up, keyed into the fact he was hitting on her. Meanwhile, Alexandra was confused and acting like the world’s greatest cockblock.
“What’s your name?” Astrid played with her hair.
“Tim."
