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?!"

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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.