0 comments/ 4853 views/ 5 favorites Stockholm Syndrome Ch. 01-03 By: Addicted2Writing AUTHOR'S NOTE: This never happened! It is purely a fic of my warped dreams. --------------- PRESENT DAY "Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink, perhaps?" asks the overly perky stewardess with a thick British accent. "No." I snap at her without even looking up. Yes, I know it's rude, but I don't give a rat's ass. For over an hour I've been stuck on a plane sitting exactly where it was when we boarded waiting for mechanics to fix whatever they had to fix to make the plane flyable. I continue to stare out the plane's window at the terminal, wondering if he's watching. My heart hopes he's there, but my mind doesn't want him to be. Where's Eric Northman when I need him to glamour me so I'll forget what happened in Stockholm? Damn Eric to hell! But it isn't Eric. It's Alex. So technically it should be damn Alexander Skarsgard to hell. I close my eyes and sigh heavily. "Excuse me, Ms. Boyce. Can you please come up to first class with me for a moment?" the same stewardess asks me. "Is something wrong?" Not that I can do anything about the plane if that is the problem. "No, not at all." I follow her toward the cock pit until she leads me to a little secluded section. I was looking at her, although she was looking at someone else, when she says, "I can give you a few minutes." "Thank you very much." I recognize the voice and butterflies erupt in my stomach. My first instinct is to turn and run back to my seat. After the stewardess leaves Alex kneels down a little and whispers, "I was afraid I'd missed you." I am taken aback as to why he sounds so winded. "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask completely flustered. "I want to give this to you," he says as he hands me an envelope, the same type that airline tickets are held in. I don't take the envelope right away but just stare at him. "Look, we're short on time so please take it. It's an open-ended round-trip ticket back here to Stockholm so we can spend ... so I can show you what you missed since—" "I can't, Alex. I told you I can't." He takes a slow, determined step towards me, the butterflies now doing Olympic-worthy flips. "I know what you told me, but I'm just as stubborn as you are, Carrie. After you got on the plane I bought this ticket, but I couldn't find the balls to give it to you, don't ask me why. I was almost to my car and felt like I couldn't breathe so I raced back here hoping ..." His eyes are pleading with a trace of pain in them. "Please don't do this." I feel my eyes begin to burn, fighting to keep them at bay. "You're a great guy, and I'm grateful to have met you, but it's too complicated with me on the east coast and you ... not." I run my fingers through my hair because I'm getting flustered that he's pressuring me once again, not that I am not flattered. "Mr. Skarsgard, I'm sorry. The captain has said he is ready to begin departure procedures," the stewardess tells him. "You must get back to the terminal." "Alright." Alex grabs my hand and places the envelope in it, the tips of his fingers rest on the base of my palm. "Take it. If you use it, great. If not, no big deal." The look in his eyes is hopeful and light, and he has the most adorable, charming grin. "You'll call me." He says it as a statement, but I take it as a question. I can't wrap my brain around anything to say. After a second he realizes he has lost, his eyes dim, and he quickly steps by me and heads for the door. Before I know what I'm going to say I turn and call out his name. He has just reached the door when he turns and glances back at me. I tentatively step to him and get on my tip toes; he meets me halfway and I kiss his cheek. "I'll call you when I get to the hotel in Brussels," I whisper, leaning my head toward his and linger for a moment before I step back. "Good," he replies with a huge smile. "Thanks again, Alex." "Entirely my pleasure. Now get." "Ha. I've heard that before." I grinned. "But you're the one that has to leave." "Oh, right." He grins sheepishly before giving me a quick kiss, which feels like forever. I only open my eyes when I realize his lips are no longer on mine, and I see he's indeed gone. I feel like a fool standing there so I head back to the seat. A few minutes later the plane levels off after take-off and we are finally in the air. I then proceed to replay what actually did happen to me in Sweden ... CHAPTER ONE It was almost eight o'clock at night by the time I reached Hotel Soder in Stockholm, and the sun hadn't set. It being the end of June it wouldn't get dark until around 10:30, yet the sun would rise fully at four a.m. Some nights I wouldn't fall to sleep until after one, and even then there was still a faint stream of sunlight brightening the bedroom. It was the one major adjustment I hadn't planned on making while on my adventure in Scandinavia. I had driven from Gothenberg, which would have been only a five hour drive to Stockholm if I hadn't made several little side-stops on the way, so I ended up being on the road for almost thirteen hours. I was incredibly tired as I registered at the front desk, so much so that I could barely keep my eyes open, much less remember my name. I simply grabbed my overnight bag and went straight to bed, thankfully falling right to sleep before my head hit the pillow. Amazingly enough, the next morning I woke up at seven wide awake. I had a huge breakfast because I never knew where I was going to be at lunchtime, and most closed between lunch and dinner. As I stepped out onto the street I took a deep, heavy breath of the fresh air, taking in the sites and smells that surrounded me. It was only a block to the Metro, or T-bana as Swedes call it, to pick up the train to Old Town. I was a little nervous about the system and how it worked, but luckily it was very tourist-friendly. It was similar to the tube in London, which Washington, D.C. copied for the most part, so I made the thirty minute ride in one piece. Although the Old Town area is the oldest and original Stockholm, settled in the 1300s with most buildings built in the 1600 and 1700s, it still had the feel of a little-big city. I was so tempted to take a ride on the double horse-drawn wagon but preferred to walk to make sure I wouldn't miss anything. I lingered at the royal castle admiring the architecture, strolled the oldest street Kipmangatan, bought a few souvenirs, and took a brief break at Sankt Goran, a bronze statue built in the late 1400s of a Viking brandishing a long sword and straddling his horse which is making mincemeat of a dragon. Although it didn't seem like I'd done a lot of walking, by two o'clock I was exhausted, yet not quite hungry for lunch. I decided on a small bite then eat an early dinner, indulging myself in the Swedish tradition of fikabrod, a coffee break taken after breakfast, lunch, before and after dinner. I chose a quaint little baker shop and sat outside at a tiny café table. Looking over the map of the city, I decided the last thing I'd hit would be Marten Trotzigs Alley, the narrowest alley in Stockholm. Alleys in Great Britain were also narrow, but not thirty-five inches wide. As I munched on a kanelbullar, or cinnamon bun, someone asked, "Is this seat taken?" When I looked up I started choking on the food. It wasn't the fact that I'd looked up too quickly but the fact that Alexander Skarsgard was staring down at me with a look of genuine concern on his face. "I'm sorry. Here," he said, handing me an unopened bottle of water. I took the bottle and slowly drank, telling myself it wasn't him; it was just someone that looked like him. But I know what voice I heard, his soft, deep sexy-as-hell tone that goes straight to my crotch whenever Eric Northman gets saucy on True Blood. I couldn't talk myself out of it that it wasn't him. Patting my chest lightly and finally able to talk, I put the bottle on the table. "Thanks for the water. Sorry. No, no one's sitting here. You can take—" "Great. Thanks," he exclaimed then promptly sat down at my table. "It's so nice out here today I didn't want to sit inside, and there are no tables left. Hi. I'm Alex." Okay, wait a minute. I don't remember saying you could sit with me. Anyone else but you, for pete's sake. Why my table? There's a woman alone over there that is way skinnier and prettier than I am. "I'm sorry," Alex said as he stood and grabbed his coffee. "I didn't mean to be rude." Carrie, what the hell?! Get him back! "Alex, no, wait," I gurgled as he'd just turned to leave. "You just caught me off guard, is all. Please. You can join me." "You sure? It never occurred to me you'd want to be alone." "I never said ... it's okay. You gave me your water, I can share my table." I instantly regretted my stupid-assed comment. He sat down hesitantly but never seemed to completely relax. "I'm Carrie." He brought his hand forward and we shook hands, but I couldn't look him in his eyes. "It's nice to meet you. You're not from around here, are you?" "Ha. That's what the pharmacist asked on day four of my trip when I got a nasty cold from the warm weather followed by a 20 degree temperature and rain then it was warm again. I needed medicine to get rid of it and couldn't read the boxes to tell what was in them, I felt like an idiot but—" "Breath," he told me, grinning. "How long have you been here?" "I just got in last night. I'm at the end of my trip. Stockholm is my last stop." "I just have to say you have the most incredible smile." I blushed wildly and tried to hide it behind the coffee cup but failed. "Where are you from, if I may ask?" "Washington, D.C., Virginia suburbs, really." I couldn't really ask him where he was from because I already knew the answer. "So, where all have you been, Carrie?" Hearing him say my name sent shivers through me. "All over. I flew into Denmark, drove south to Aarhus, then Odense to Helsingor. Took the ferry to Gothenberg, stayed there three days before driving here yesterday." "I love Gothenberg. What did you think of it?" He finally leaned back in the chair and sat comfortably, which made me feel a little better. "It is probably my favorite big city, being on the water and all. But I prefer smaller villages and the national parks. It's amazing to wonder what has changed from five thousand years ago when ... There are a lot of places I liked, but I think Glorup Slotspark in Odense was my absolute favorite." "I love getting away from everything and hike and such, love the peace and quiet. What about your travel companion? How are they liking it up here?" "Oh, no, it's just me. I'm traveling alone." I could have sworn his face brightened. "Are you serious? You're very brave. I'm impressed." It doesn't take much to impress you, I see. "Not really impressive. It's no big deal. I prefer traveling alone because I can go where I want and not have to worry about anyone else, you know?" "Yes. And I do think it is brave." He drained the last of his coffee. "Can I get you another cup?" "No, thank you. Coffee here is much stronger than in the states. One cup has as much caffeine as three at home. It took me three days to figure out it was the coffee giving me the shakes. I could have run to Iceland." He chuckled. "You know, I thought the same thing, but I thought it was just me." I chuckled. "Nope." "Well, I guess I shouldn't have anymore this late either." He stared at me for the longest time, making me more nervous by the second. "Why all the way up here? Sorry, I'm curious. Besides, I like hearing you talk with your accent." "I don't have an accent ... do I? Hell," I said, shaking my head. "I'm the foreigner here so I guess I do." I chuckled nervously. "I've never been south of New York City, but your accent is softer and slower than what I'm used to hearing in Texas and Louisiana." "Dad was from North Carolina and even though I was born and raised in Virginia I pick up the accent in certain words." I took a sip of coffee to make myself stop rambling. "It was on my bucket list, coming here. Before my ... my brother tested his DNA and we're I1, Scandinavian ancestry. I'm a bit geekish on geneaology and migrations ... What I find amazing is wondering if I'm walking in my ancestors shoes, or feet really, just five thousand years ago. Sorry, too much information?" He smiled warmly. "No, no. Tell me more." "Okay, you asked for it, but I'm sure you already know. Scandinavia was formed 30 to 40 thousand years ago when the ice retreated from the last Ice Age and it became warmer, more habitable. So people from Germany and other northern European areas migrated north." "They didn't have anything else better to do, huh?" I laughed. "Good point. Probably not, but it was proposed that others got kicked out of their clan or they wanted to see what else was out there. I think that's why Swedish sounds very similar to German. Anyway, everyone knows about the Vikings and you guys feeling the need to conquer and all—" I suddenly realized I needed to watch my words with Mr. Skarsgard. "And it seems for the past thousand years my ancestors hung around Great Britain. But I get why people stayed here for so long. It really is such a beautiful part of the world." "Wow, again I'm impressed. And that explains it. I thought you were a native until you spoke. "Really?" I laughed. "It must be my big-assed forehead and pointy chin, fair skin and rosy cheeks," I said with a playful grin. Alex's expression changed, he brushed his bangs over his forehead and grinned sheepishly. "I didn't mean—" He grinned. "I know, Carrie. I was just playing with you. What are your plans for this evening?" "Oh, I'm chicken-shit when it comes to being out alone after dark in big cities. I'm just going to get a bite at the hotel." He took a deep breath, seemed to tense a little. "Have you heard of the IceBar?" "Yeah, similar to the Ice Hotel, in Iceland, right? Didn't they open one in New York City?" "They did, and they opened up one here a few months ago, but I haven't been to it yet. If you don't think me too forward would you like to go ... with me?" Sure. I'd love to go there, but with you is another story. It's not like we'd end up together ... "... date or anything, just ... Carrie?" I was too embarrassed to admit I was lost in my thoughts to ask him to repeat what he said. Gathering courage to look at him, he did look a little disappointed. He confirmed it when he said, "Sorry, I knew I ... It was—" "What? No, no. It's not ... I was just ... oh, hell." I sighed, knowing it was common not to be asked twice; Swedes ask a question once, no means no, and an 'I'll get back with you' is taken as a no as well. There are no second chances with a Swede. "Well, I was leaving it open to go there after dinner, if it was still light out. As long as you ..." I couldn't say it and was sorry I even got those words out. Alex leaned in and whispered, "We're just two new friends going out, nothing more. I'll behave myself, promise. We'll stay no more than thirty minutes. Would that be alright?" Oh, Mr. Skarsgard, it's not you I'm worried about. I smiled. "Yes, Alex. I would really like that." He matched my smile and leaned back. "As long as I've been in America, I don't think I'll ever get used to you guys. Are you done? Would you like an escort back to the hotel?" "No, that's not ... actually, that would be great." CHAPTER TWO Alex was the perfect gentlemen as we walked to the metro. It was a little chilly but it was comfortable. The sky was breathtaking, being that sunset seemed to take hours. He made me feel safe walking close to me but not too close. I had to struggle to keep up with him with my short Irish legs, and I was getting a little out of breath. I wanted to ask him to slow down, but he seemed to pick up on it and slowed down to a shuffle, or so it seemed. I was struggling with something to say instead of rambling about everything that I saw, like I do when I see something fascinating. Then I thought of something I wanted to tell him, considering I'd never get the chance after tonight. I took a deep breath and said, "Hey, I have to tell you that I think you did an amazing job with Nora when she died. I thought it was the most touching and heart-felt scene you have ever done. And when Eric was in the cage and they shot her with Hep-V. That growl you did ..." He was quiet for a second, and I seriously thought I'd offended him. "Wow. Thank you. That's kind of you to say. You're a fan, I take it." I nodded shyly. "That was a hard scene for me to shoot, to be honest. The blood bag was quite a mess, well, bags. It took five takes ... you don't want to hear about that." "Yes, yes I do!" I exclaimed, looking at him excitedly. "You let me babble with my geography lesson, so the least you could do is babble about Eric Northman." Okay, seriously Carrie, if you don't shut up. He stared down at me, slowing his pace a bit more then continued. "Every single time the bag either didn't leak right if at all, or I didn't put the right emotion into it. The whole season was emotional for most of us." "I know the show has taken on a tone of its own from the books, but I love Eric, and especially Eric with Sookie, although it appears she has her own agenda. And then Bill, he is really starting to get on my nerves." He laughed long and hard. "That Bill Moyer is annoying me as well." I laughed back, doubting him completely. "Admittedly, seasons three and four were a little ... shaky, I guess you could say. I didn't like the whole maenad storyline or even the witch, but I loved seeing Eric not be ... Eric." "I like that the writers -- let me get that for you." We had just approached the kiosk to pay for the train and for some reason I didn't argue with him but simply thanked him. "Where are you staying?" "Hotel Soder." "Perfect. That's only a few blocks from my apartment." He led me to the train, we got on, and thankfully it wasn't too full. I was shocked no one was looking at us, more specifically Alex. He let me sit by the window before he sat beside me and stretched out his long legs. "Okay, go on." "What?" He looked at me oddly, like he had actually forgotten what he was talking about. "What you were saying about the writers." "Oh, right. I get bored easily, you see. And it was a nice change of pace to play a different side of Eric ..." As he continued to talk in his American accent, sometimes a word or sentence was laden with a Swedish accent. He was still talking when we reached our stop. I didn't have to worry about finding the exit; Alex seemed to know where we were going. When we hit the street he again walked close beside me, his right arm occasionally brushing against mine, not that I minded. "Would you like to get a bite to eat first?" Whoah there, buddy. Wasn't the original plan the IceBar for half an hour then go our separate ways? Yet I said, "Sure." We walked in silence, not an awkward one. By the time we reached the hotel he had his hand in the small of my back. I felt the warmth of his hand before it touched me through my thin top, and he'd peered down at me to make sure it was okay. I didn't make him remove it, and I noticed he smiled triumphantly. Too soon we reached the steps to the hotel. All I could think of to say was, "Thanks for walking me back, Alex." "You're very welcome, Carrie. I've enjoyed it. How does seven sound?" I nodded. Before I could turn to head up the stairs he'd bent down and kissed me softly on the cheek. I felt my cheeks blush and burn red-coal hot. "I'll meet you here, then." Smiling, I nodded again and took two steps up the stairs, my body still facing him, my eyes flush with and glued to his. Yet my feet wouldn't budge off the second step, my mind reeled as to why. We both stood there staring at each other in a killer silence, much worse than any awkward moment could have been. "I'd invite you up, but—" Stockholm Syndrome Ch. 01-03 I was just thinking why I had said that when I swallowed my words as he stepped forward, stopping just short of ramming into me. He took my hand, which disappeared into his. "I've really been stepping out of my comfort zone here, Carrie. I'm not much of a risk taker with women, and I know I'm taking a chance here, but—" Take a chance, take a chance, take a chance chance. I tried not to laugh. Someone said, "Abba." I hadn't realized it was me. "Vad." His eyebrows furled, and he shook his head. "Uh, what?" I grinned nervously. "You're quoting Abba. Now I'm going to have the damned song in my head all night." He smiled broadly, his eyes lighter than I'd seen them since we'd met. "Is that such a bad thing?" "No. It could have been worse. I once had 'Henry the Eighth' in my head for two weeks." He chuckled. "Oh, yeah. I'd say so, too." He squeezed my hand then said, "Thanks for saying yes." You're an idiot, Alex! What are you thinking thanking me?! Like any right-minded woman would ever say no. Before I could say anything he winked and walked away. I couldn't help but watch him. As soon as I reached the hotel room I threw myself on the bed and groaned, "What the hell am I doing?!" --------------- I set my travel alarm for 5:30 so I could take another shower and primp a bit more for my 'date' with Alex. Sadly I couldn't sleep worth a crap trying figure out what to wear. I'd only brought jeans, shorts and one pair of slacks, but no shirt was good enough -- meaning sexy enough -- for a bar; thankfully I had a comfortable pair of dress flats. My feet were killing me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go out and find a blouse in time and rest, too. I finally settled on a navy blue sweater, a little low-cut but it didn't show too much cleavage, but thick enough to keep me warm in the bar. Surprisingly enough the alarm woke me, so I set about getting ready: Dried my hair for extra volume and curled the ends; made sure my eye make-up was perfect; ironed the dress slacks and finally put the outfit on, praying it didn't make me look like a drowned whale. I was comfortable in it, though I wished it was a little more thin-flattering. I've never quite been secure and confident with being overweight, but for some reason since I'd met Alex I never thought twice about my insecurity. I had half an hour to spare before I was to meet Alex at seven, so I decided to go down to the bar and have one drink just to calm my nerves. I was halfway through the vodka and cranberry juice when I saw him walk toward me. He was carrying a small backpack and a leather jacket draped over his arm. I smiled warmly because he looked really good in his jeans and long-sleeved, white button-down shirt. For a second I felt a little overdressed. I set the drink on the table to stand, but he stopped me when he said, "No, no. Sit. I'm early." He put the pack and jacket down before he bent over, put his hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. I got a whiff of his cologne and knew then that it was going to be a long night. "Mind if I get a beer?" "Of course not." I wondered what was in the pack. Taking a long sip of my drink I watched him walk to the bar, but unfortunately he caught me staring at him through the mirror where the bottles of alcohol were set. He grinned and winked; I blushed like hell. When he returned he sat down and stared at me awkwardly. "What's wrong?" I finally asked. "Your eyes, they're blue. I could have sworn they were a light gray." "Oh, they are grey. When I wear navy or dark blue they get bluer. I wish they were blue all the time." "Well, they're beautiful, regardless. And you look lovely, by the way." "Thank you. You look great, too. So, where are you taking me tonight?" To the moon and back, I hope. I made a mental note to not have another drink. I took another quick glance at the pack. I prayed to god it wasn't clothes for an overnight stay. What possessed me to even think that was beyond me. "I've made reservations at Gondolen, about three blocks from here. There's an incredible view from the dining room eight stories up. It's been a while since I've been there. Bill warned me we might need some things. I've got two pairs of gloves, a hat and a shawl from Eija, my sister." "I'm sure you'll look great in the shawl, Alex," I teased. He chuckled. "Not my shade. I'm a winter." "Oh. I didn't even think about gloves. I thought maybe they'd have them at the door." "No worries," he said with a sheepish grin, his eyebrows flinched up and down. "There are a few ways to keep us warm." "Man, you really are a flirt, Alex." "Carrie, I was referring to the blankets they have on the blocks of ice they use as couches." Heat rose to my face in two seconds flat, but at the time it didn't occur to me that he wriggled his eyebrows. "Guess I didn't do my research very well." He gave me a crooked smile. "You've researched me?" "Alex! I meant the bar," I exclaimed a little too loudly. I saw the bartender looking at me harshly. I finished my drink in two seconds flat. "You're so cute. I love getting a reaction out of you." I narrowed my eyes at him with a little playful grin as he took a swig of beer. "And, um, confession time. Yes, I googled you, not obsessively or anything. Just your birthday and such. I'm obsessed with Eric Northman, not you. I don't really like blondes and you're tall and really good looking and ... oh, shit." I threw myself back in the chair, even though I wanted to run home, over land and sea, never to speak again. He just sat there staring at me. I wanted to die. "Want a confession from me? I sort of followed you from Sankt Goran to the cafe." The correct way he pronounced it sounded a lot better than the way I said it in my head. "So, you were stalking me?" I said it light-hearted so he knew I wasn't angry. Confused, but not angry. "Well, yes. No! Yeah." He cocked a half-grin and leaned closer. "I saw you smiling, and the look in your eyes was amazing as you looked around. Sorry. Creepy, huh?" Yes, Alex. Totally creepy. "No. I'm just ... shocked. Why me?" He leaned back and finished his beer. "I don't know." "Well, that's a good reason," I muttered, which made him laugh. "You ready to go?" he asked as he stood, his hand out for mine. I took his hand, and he helped me up. "Forget what I said?" I asked as he led me through the lobby door. "Nope, not a chance." "Again with Abba. Bad start, huh?" As we stepped onto the street he replied, "No, not at all." CHAPTER THREE Walking to the restaurant was strange, and I'm glad Alex asked me about myself. It kept me focused on something other than the stupid shit I told him in the hotel bar. I purposefully stayed away from talking about my family, even though he did ask about them. It was just too painful to think about, and I didn't want to ruin the evening. We reached the building and took the elevator to the top floor where Gondolen was. I stared at the door while Alex stared at me. "Carrie, I wasn't offended with what you said. You don't have to be nervous." "What makes you think I'm nervous?" "Because your knuckles are turning white." I removed my hands from the railing and shook my head. "Alex, you have no idea how weird this is for me, none. I don't know a damned thing about you. And the things I do know—" The elevator door opened, and he let me exit first. The host was standing behind a podium and said, "Good evening." "Just a moment," Alex said. Looking down at me he said, "Come on. Let's talk." I frowned at him and followed him to a corner feeling like a little kid about to get punished. "Carrie, listen. Forget who I am, what you read about me. I'm not that guy. I enjoy showing people ... you around my city." He was quiet for a second, like he was trying to think of more to say. I sighed. "Alex, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry." "I wasn't looking for an apology. Just have fun?" I smiled and nodded. "I will." He led me back to the host, who sat us at a table by a huge plate glass window. "Wow, Alex. You weren't kidding about the view," I commented, looking out at the buildings and bridge over a river, or was it a canal? He stood and sat beside me. "That building right there is the city museum," he said, pointing to it. "That's the royal palace, and there's Monteliusvagen. That area has the most beautiful houses, old, as well. And that's Lake Malaren." He pointed to the same bridge I'd noticed, so I guessed it was a lake, not a river. "Wow, looks like the sun will set over that building. Cool." "Yes. That's City Hall." I turned to look at him, smiling; he was smiling back. The waiter interrupted my personal guided tour, who said something in Swedish. The only word I understood was Fredrik. "Ja tack," Alex replied and sat in the seat across from me. The waiter handed him a menu, but I found it odd he didn't hand me one. Alex listened for a moment while the waiter spoke more. "Their specials are boiled lobster with lemon, horseradish and mayonnaise, and smoked herring. Would you like some wine?" "Yes, please. Chardonnay. " I needed something more to calm me down. "You are English?" Fredrik asked. His accent was very thick, but I had no problem understanding his English. I shook my head. "No, American." "American. Underbart. Welcome," he said, smiling. "Where are you from?" "Washington, D.C." I didn't bother getting too specific. "Your nation's capital. I hope you are enjoying our beautiful city." "I am, yes. Thank you." By then I noticed Alex had gotten a little tense for some unknown reason. Fredrik then turned his attention to Alex. "What would you like before your meal, Mr. Skarsgard?" "Nogne of Sunturnbrew." I noticed his tone sounded rather short. "Perfect. I'll bring them right to you." When Fredrik left, Alex grunted, "I'm not tipping him." "Why? He was just being friendly." "He was flirting with you." His tone softened, yet I wasn't sure if he was serious. "Oh, he was not!" I tried to laugh but it came out a gurgle. "Why didn't he give me a menu?" I asked softly so as not to be overheard by our neighbors. He chuckled. "Because it's in Swedish." "But he speaks English. I've been to places that have given me menus in English." "It's protocol to give the menu to the man to order for his lady." For his lady, I repeated to myself. What the hell?! Fredrik returned with Alex's beer, as it turned out was the ... whatever word Alex said. Fredrik popped the cork on the bottle of wine, grabbed Alex's wine glass, poured a sip into it and watched as Alex drank it. "Fine." His voice was much more polite. Fredrik smiled and filled my glass before filling Alex's water glass with his beer. "Are you ready to order?" he asked Alex. "No. We need a few minutes." "Of course." When he left I asked Alex if he was seriously mad at Fredrik, and told him I wouldn't be able to drink the whole bottle of wine; I learned my lesson the hard way years ago. He chuckled. "No. I told you I liked teasing you. And I'll help you finish the wine." "Well, can you at least warn me when you do, tease me, I mean?" "I'll think about it." He grinned. "What would madam like for dinner?" "I don't know, Alex. You're the one with the menu," I said playfully. He glared at me before he smiled fully. "Touche." He proceeded to read the appetizers, though none sounded appetizing. I declined, and he went over the main courses. I stopped him at the lamb fillet with soft baked onion, thyme gravy and goat cheese risotto. "Risotto. I've always wanted to try risotto." "Alright. I think I'll have the herring." Alex took his glass and looked at my glass of wine. He wanted to toast. Lifting our glasses he said, "Here's to a new friendship, a great dinner and a fun night." I should have known better to think of something to toast, since that was a tradition with Swedes. "Here's to Eric Northman." I swear to god I thought Alex was going to choke on his spit. "I did not just say that, did I?" "I'm afraid you did." He clinked my glass. "Here's to making new friends." After we took our sips I said, "Much better that time, wasn't it?" I laughed. "Much." He returned my laugh. "So, are you working on making any films with your break from True Blood?" I asked him. "I am, yes. I'm reading two scripts now, but I'm leaning toward one already." "Care to share?" "If I did I'd have to kill you." "Spoil sport." There were so many more questions I wanted to ask him, but I didn't want him to think I was being too nosy. "Oh!" I exclaimed when I thought of something light-weight. "Let's do a James Lipton interview." "Who?" "He's a British journalist, I guess, who does interviews with actors on The Actor's Studio." "Oh, him. I didn't know his name. Shoot." "What's your favorite word?" I started. "Pickles." "Pickles? Come on! Play right!" He laughed. "Open-mindedness. Yours?" "That's two words!" "It's hyphenated," he pointed out. "Fine. Miscombobulate. What is your least favorite word?" "Shallowness. Yours?" "Whatnot." I had to remember the other questions. "What sound or noise to you love and hate?" "Love to hear a baby laugh, and hate hearing a baby cry." Those were the best answers that I thought my ovaries would explode. "Aw. Love the baby laughter, hate someone chewing ice. Okay, what profession would you like to attempt, and never attempt?" "Hmm, I have so many." He was thoughtful a moment. "Vodka taster is good; belly dancer is bad." I couldn't help but laugh, but not at the answer, envisioning Alex actually belly dancing. "You're no fun. Okay, last question." "No, what are your answers?" Without hesitation I replied, "Marine biologist, training whales and dolphin, if I started when I was younger, and I would hate to be a waitress. That takes a special type of person, which I'm not." "Wow, marine biologist would be the greatest. I support IFAW, an animal protection organization." "Isn't that what Kristin is into?" He cocked an eyebrow curiously. "Yes, yes she is. She told me all about them one night when we were on a break from shooting. She and her husband are supposed to take me whale watching sometime." "Oh, you have to! It is so amazing. When I was younger Mom and my Aunt Marge went watching off Virginia Beach. February is the height of their migration, and it was freezing, but we saw a humpback with her calf." "Then I will definitely do that." "What I want to do for my 50th birthday is go to the Bahamas and swim with dolphin, or maybe Sea World in Texas, where I can swim with Beluga whales. I've already got the plans together." "Your 50th? Your what, early 30s? Isn't 20 years a little too early to make arrangements?" he asked then brought the glass to his lips. "Um, Alex. I'll be 48 in November." He was about to take a sip when he seemed to just about choke, setting the glass back down. "Wait a second. You're 48?" "Technically 47, and thanks for adding that extra year on there. You just lost a brownie point," I said teasingly. He narrowed his eyes at me. "I don't believe you." I shrugged my shoulders, pulled my wallet out of my purse and showed him my driver's license. "November 12, 1965." Handing the card back to me, he said, "I'll be damned. Carrie, you don't look older than, hmm, I have to be careful here, don't I?" "No, go ahead and bury yourself deeper, Mr. Skarsgard." "Okay, fair enough. But I still don't believe it." "I can thank my mother with her Irish complexion. She always looked younger than her real age." Unfortunately, he caught the word 'looked' and was about to ask me something when Fredrik came with our plates. I thanked God for rescuing me from saying more.