respects my business enterprise quite as much as you seem to,” he said. “There are many who believe that health food shops are a bizarre fad. My family is among them.”
“I shop there,” Francesca blurted out before she could stop herself.
He raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
She wished she hadn’t said anything. She wanted him to imagine her as a tough FBI agent. She definitely didn’t want to be thought of as picking out herbal supplements and yoga mats. But the die had been cast.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “There’s a Friska near my house.”
He nodded, and she saw some of the lines in his face ease. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.
He was in pain, she realized suddenly. She hadn’t really noticed his pain until it had faded. But it was clear to her now. He had been saddened by the thought of his family, by the idea that they were disappointed in the things he had done with his life.
I wonder what they would say about him being involved in a hit-and-run.
But he must be used to coping with their disappointment. After all, she reminded herself, he did give them a lot to be disappointed about. The womanizing. The drinking. If she had been his sibling, she would have thought he was irresponsible.
Then again, maybe that was why Viggo did the things he did.
Maybe he drank to forget that his family disapproved of his life—a life that, if you ruled out all the partying, really wasn’t anything to be ashamed of at all. He had started an incredibly successful business, after all. Not only had it made him a lot of money, but it was also something that actually really helped people.
And it’s not as if he had the option to sit on the throne. They couldn’t have expected him to do that.
So maybe he drank to free himself from that pain. Maybe he went home with so many different women because, while he was with them, he could revel in the feeling of being admired and forget that his family didn’t have that kind of regard for him.
It was strange to find herself empathizing with Viggo. But she had to admit, the theory did make sense. And it explained a lot about his behavior.
But if he cares what people think of him, why would he run after the car accident?
It still didn’t quite add up. And Francesca didn’t know what to think.
Chapter 11
As the fire began to die down, Viggo disappeared into the kitchen. He reemerged with a tall glass bottle, tinted blue, and two highball glasses.
Francesca watched as he poured out two measures of the liquid inside, determined not to comment. But when he offered one of the glasses to her, she demurred.
“You won’t share a drink with me?” he asked.
“It’s barely noon,” she pointed out. “A little too early in the day for me to get started.”
“Have you ever had brännvin before?” he asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Then you’ve got to try it.” He placed the glass on the table beside her. “What should we drink to?”
“I don’t know that this is a good idea.”
“I know,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “To loopholes in extradition treaties.” He raised his glass, tilting it toward her, and smiled a little.
Francesca frowned. She didn’t feel like having a drink. But she didn’t feel like having an argument either, so she raised her glass and allowed the liquid to touch her lips.
Immediately, she was glad she hadn’t taken a full swallow. It was incredibly strong stuff. She marveled as Viggo drank down half of his own glass in a single gulp, as easily as if he had been drinking water.
But he drinks a lot. He was drunk in all those tabloid articles, and he had been drunk last night when he’d come home. Not to mention the fact that he had been involved in a hit-and-run, and Francesca would have been shocked to learn that no alcohol was involved in that situation.
He took another swallow, draining his cup, and began to move to refill hers before realizing that she’d barely had any.
“Don’t you like it?” he asked.
“I like it fine,” she said, not wanting to be ungrateful. “It’s just a bit strong for me.”
“It isn’t that strong,” he protested.
“Maybe not to you,” she said. “But you drink a lot more than I do.”
As soon as the words had left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. His face became hard and cold, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
“You don’t