Chapter 1
Prologue
Julia
I must be out of my mind! Here I am, heading to a hotel room with a man I just met hours ago. There’s something about his magnetism that I can’t resist; it’s reckless! At any moment, I could run into my boyfriend. What on earth am I doing?!
He doesn’t even hold my hand; instead, I’ve hooked my arm through his. We stroll through downtown St Gallen like a couple that’s been together for years. My left boob is practically pressed against his impressively muscular biceps, and with every step, I’m drawn closer to him.
It’s a warm June day, and I’m wearing nothing but a spaghetti-strap dress, a thong, and sandals. I can feel his upper arm brushing against the side of my breast. – What on earth am I doing?! – Yet, if someone tried to rescue me now, I’d scream.
I’ve never met anyone quite like this man before – I want to be with him. The receptionist at the Hotel Einstein gives me a look that encourages me in this reckless adventure. She’s about my age and as alluring as I feel at this moment. Her gaze lingers far too long on my companion before passing him a sealed envelope. – She’s taken with him too. In the lift, he remarks, “She’ll remember us, no doubt. Talk about staring.” Then, turning me towards him, he envelops me in the gentlest embrace I’ve ever known. His lips brush against mine – just enough to leave me yearning for more. His breath, still carrying the aroma of espresso, along with the bulge in his slacks revealing his excitement, sends my heart racing.
As soon as the door closes, he pulls me into an embrace that reflects the tenderness we shared in the lift – yet somehow, it feels even more intense. His kiss is maddeningly gentle, sparking a blend of anticipation and impatience within me. I long for him to hasten his pace, but he lingers leisurely, even though his body reveals his desire. His hands glide from my lower back to the bare skin above, caressing me with an intimacy that seems almost instinctive. How does he know this is the spot that utterly undoes me? When I attempt to slip out of my dress, he gently readjusts the straps, murmuring against my lips, “What’s the rush? Let’s take our time and get this right from the beginning.”
Unbelievable! How can he possibly postpone what requires immediate attention?! Yet, his maddening patience only heightens my yearning, sending a warm flush of desire coursing through me. Each moment of restraint transforms into its own form of seduction.
Then the inevitable happens – my body rebels against the prolonged teasing. I manoeuvre him onto the bed, pushing him so he lands on his back with a mischievous grin. My excitement makes my fingers clumsy as I fumble with his belt and unzip him, finally freeing him from the confines of his briefs. There’s no time for me to undress completely. Straddling him, I hitch my thong to one side, guiding him in with a sense of urgency that leaves no room for hesitation.
Waves of pleasure course through my body, stronger and more overwhelming than anything I had ever experienced before. It is so intense that I pass out. When I come to, my companion is grinning down at me impishly. Then I notice it – the bedsheet is soaking wet. I lift my head, horrified with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry! Look at this mess! I’ve never done that before!” I stammer.
“You’re a funny girl! How could you apologise for a perfect fit?” he says with a cheeky wink.
“When did I even take off my clothes?” I ask, confused.
“There wasn’t much to shed in the first place. But to answer your question: before the second round,” he replies, amused.
I glance at his perfectly sculpted body and ask, “And you?”
“Hmm, I used the time you lingered in bliss after round three to take off my shoes. After round four, I finally managed to match your attire,” he explains, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
I sigh, and the air I exhale trembles. “I can’t move,” I say.
“I’m glad to hear it because neither can I,” he responds, his tone sincere.
“What’s the time?” I ask, my thoughts drifting.
“Well, if you had appointments after lunch, they’ve been waiting in vain. It’s almost 6 p.m.”
“Good grief! I set up my mum! We were supposed to go to the hairdresser’s.”
“Don’t worry. You muted your phone, but it vibrated when she called. I texted her, I’m busy. Call you asap.”
“And she bought that?!” I ask, incredulous.
“Not on the first try. I told her you had a late lunch and left your phone on the table while you went to the restroom.”
“But that was four hours ago!”
“She tried again an hour ago. I skimmed your WhatsApp messages and copied the one you used to tell her to be patient.”
“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” I say, utterly stunned.
“No, not really. I’m pretty smart. Sorry for the lack of modesty,” he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
“So far, I can’t figure out what you should be modest about,” I mutter, immediately regretting it. Too much praise might inflate his ego.
I sink my head into the cushion, staring at the ceiling.
“It might be a good idea to call your mother. She may be worried. Afterwards, we could grab a bite downstairs at the hotel restaurant. They serve excellent food,” he suggests, sounding reasonable.
“Pass me my phone, please.”
He gets up, retreating to the bathroom to give me some privacy – a true gentleman.
When my mother picks up her phone, I gasp, “I don’t know his name!”
Chapter 1
Julia
“Please, Julia, reconsider your next project with greater care. Your career may end before it even has a chance to start if you’re not more selective in choosing the topics you wish to write about. Should you write even a balanced piece – let alone a favourable one – about the Hungarian Prime Minister, you could eventually become a pariah like him. You’d be shunned and cancelled by the influential figures in our industry. Is that truly what you desire?”
“Mum, you’re exaggerating. Besides, I don’t want to become a mainstream media penny-a-liner.”
“Like me, you mean?” Mum says indignantly.
“No, of course not! Oh, please, don’t twist my words around! – When was the last time you or one of your colleagues interviewed the Prime Minister of Hungary?”
“I’d have to check, Julia. But if you need an answer right now, I’d say he’s not too keen on being interviewed by anyone outside his media empire in Hungary.”
“Are you sure?”
“Like I said, I’d have to check. But yes, I’m fairly certain. He’s got a terrible reputation, and...”
“All thanks to your colleagues in the mainstream media!”
“Maybe, Julia. But there’s no smoke without fire.”
“And there’s also the saying, give a dog a bad name, and they hang him for it, isn’t there?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were biased towards him. How come you’ve developed such a keen interest in him?” Mum asks, looking at me suspiciously.
“As you said, he’s got a terrible reputation. Young women my age are supposed to be drawn to men with a bad reputation, aren’t they?”
“Don’t try that with me, Julia. I’m your mother. I can read you like a book. You’re in love. And it’s neither with the Prime Minister of Hungary nor your boyfriend Giovanni.”
I feel my face flush. Damn, my lack of a poker face!
“Gotcha!” my mother cries out triumphantly.
“All right then, what should my next topic be?” I challenge her without looking her in the eye, continuing, “Based on your kind critique of my latest article about paedophiles, my readers received it like a cup of cold sick.”
“Hmm, yes, that was a rather hasty remark. It slipped out. Sorry, Julia. Your article was a masterpiece in terms of writing, but the topic isn’t very popular these days.”
“But that’s exactly it! I don’t want to write about things every hack writes. I want to be unique.”
“Well, I don’t want to be rude, but you can’t make a living being a unique pariah in our profession.”
“Oh, I see. So it’s all about money! Am I too expensive to keep?!” Talk about money always gets under my skin. Now, it’s my mother’s turn to blush.
“Now you’re twisting my words – that’s not what I intended. But if you really must know, it is a fact that your father maintains a financial balance between you and Rita. With her surplus – since you tend to spend significantly more – she is able to purchase a small flat in St Gallen.”
I feel my chin drop. My sister barges in, adding to the tension.
“Sis, as a budding investigative journalist, you ought to be more astute and informed about your surroundings. Additionally, if you’re short on a story, you can always delve into Dad’s machinations specifically and the Swiss investment banking sector more broadly.”
“Rita! What are you implying? This is outrageous! Your father has never engaged in any dodgy dealings!”
“Come now, Mother. Didn’t one of your so-called colleagues, Adam something-or-other, write a shocking book titled Hitler’s Secret Bankers: The Myths of Swiss Neutrality? – I don’t think the shoddy Swiss banking practices ended there.”
“I must stress that I do not consider that person my colleague. Besides, he’s just a freelancer. His methods and writing style aren’t my cup of tea at all.”
“We’re straying from the main topic: money. You want me to be financially successful, while I want to be a devil-may-care investigative reporter. I prefer...”
“You could make some money by writing the book that so many literary agents have asked you to do,” Rita suggests.
“You mean the one where I was brutally raped and nearly murdered?” I reply incredulously.
“Well, if you put it that way, it sounds terrible, of course. But why not first achieve financial independence and then turn against the industry by taking a stand against them and interviewing pariahs like the Hungarian Prime Minister?” Rita continues, undeterred.
“He’s not a pariah for crying out loud!” I exclaim, my voice trembling with frustration. My chest rises and falls as I struggle to catch my breath. My mother and sister watch me, concern filling their eyes. When my mother reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder, I step back sharply, glaring at her defiantly. She halts mid-step, frowning before glancing at my sister.
“Just calm down, little sister,” Rita says softly. “We’re not trying to upset you. It’s obvious this means a lot to you. We’d like to understand what’s brought on your sudden interest in politics – and, above all, the Prime Minister of Hungary.”
I’m still trying to control my breathing when my mother’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes widening in realisation. “It’s that Hungarian young man we met at the Abbey, isn’t it?”
“What Hungarian young man?” Rita asks, her confusion mounting. She’s not used to being the last to hear about my latest conquest.
My mother senses that the situation is more serious than it appears at first glance. “Shall I make us all a nice cup of tea?” she offers.
I finally regain control of myself. “Yes, please. That would be lovely,” I reply, making a feeble attempt to sound relaxed and cheerful.
As my mother leaves me with my sister, she says, “Talk!” Rita is nothing if not direct, and I sometimes wonder how she manages to be a paediatrician with such bluntness.
“You certainly deserve to hear about Gábor Andrássy, whom Mum and I met during our visit to the Abbey of St Gallen. But not right now. I need more time to explain.”
“When?”
“I’ll drop by the hospital, okay?”
“You’d better. I don’t like being kept in the dark. This sounds serious.”
“More than you can imagine,” I say, locking eyes with her.
