Page 43 of Johan.

Stuart nods and leads us upstairs. As we enter one of the cozy, elegantly furnished bedrooms, Stuart closes the door behind us. I notice our luggage is already there, neatly arranged.

"Well, it didn't go so bad," I say, turning to Johan with a small smile.

“True,” Johan agrees, but there's a tension in his voice, a subtle undercurrent that I can't quite place. He walks over to me, his eyes dark and intent, locking with mine as he gently holds me by the waist.

"We have an hour before lunch," he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against my hip. "Maybe we could..." He leans in, his breath warm against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I tilt my head slightly, giving him more access as his lips graze my skin.

"Have some fun?" he whispers, his voice low and inviting, the suggestion hanging in the air between us.

I giggle softly, trying to mask the sudden rush of desire that his touch ignites. My hands move to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Johan,” I say, my voice a mix of caution and excitement, “we shouldn’t…”

His grip tightens, pulling me closer, his eyes searching mine. "Why not?" he asks, his tone almost pleading. "Just something quick before lunch.”

The temptation is strong, the intimacy of the moment pulling me in. I glance at the door, my heart pounding. "Because we need to be careful," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

Johan’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. "Careful, huh?" he says, his hands sliding up my back, sending tingles down my spine. "I think we can manage that.”

I bite my lip, the tension between us palpable. The anticipation, the risk, the thrill—it all makes the moment electric. "Maybe just a little," I finally concede, my resolve weakening as I pull him closer, ready to lose myself in the stolen moment before us.

“This is ridiculous!” Oma shouts, slamming her hand on the table. The sound echoes in the grand room, making the delicate porcelain rattle.

Lunch is served in the grand dining room, the table set with Oma’s finest china and silverware. The room is filled with the aroma of roasted meats, fresh bread, and rich sauces. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished wood and antique furnishings. We sit around the table—Johan, Margaret, Amelia, and I—enjoying what should be a peaceful meal.

“All I’m saying is that we let Johan find the star of Ubar, and then once we collect enough evidence about Ludovic’s scheming, we’ll inform the Dean and the authorities,” Amelia responds, her voice measured but edged with frustration.

Oma’s face reddens with anger. “After twenty years, you have more than enough evidence to throw him in jail!” she yells. “He kidnapped you, for fuck’s sake!”

Amelia's calm demeanor cracks for a moment. “But he let me go… in exchange for my silence,” she says, her voice softer but no less intense.

“Oh, he let you go.” Oma’s tone drips with sarcasm. “So why did you never show up, hm? Why go into hiding for so long?”

Amelia’s eyes flash with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Because I was still being followed,” she snaps. “Free with conditions. I know how you are, Maggie, and I know you’d have gone against him even without my permission.”

Oma’s eyes narrow, but there’s a hint of reluctant acknowledgment. “Well, that… is true,” she admits, her voice dropping slightly. “This Ludovic has his days counted.”

Amelia leans forward, her gaze steady. “I can assure you he does. Johan is going to lead his new expedition in January. He’s already his trusted archaeologist. Soon enough, Johan will catch Ludovic selling artifacts.”

Johan, who has been silently observing the heated exchange, nods firmly. “We have a solid plan,” he says, his voice calm and reassuring. “We’ll get the evidence we need, and Ludovic will face justice.”

I sit quietly, my eyes darting between Oma and Amelia. The tension in the room is palpable, and I can feel the weight of their past pressing down on us. I reach for Johan’s hand under the table, seeking some comfort in his steady presence. He squeezes my hand gently, a silent promise that everything will be alright.

Oma takes a deep breath, her anger slowly giving way to a more controlled determination. “Alright,” she says finally, her voice firm. “We’ll do it your way. But mark my words, Amelia, if anything goes wrong, I won’t hesitate to take matters into my own hands.”

Amelia nods, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Understood, Maggie. But trust me, this will work.”

The tension in the room begins to dissipate, replaced by a cautious optimism. We continue our meal in relative silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Oma then looks at me, noticing my quiet and composed demeanor as I continue eating. After a moment, she asks, “Excited for tonight, dear?”

I frown in confusion. “Tonight?”

“Well, it’s Christmas Eve, after all,” Oma says with a soft smile. “I’m planning a small dinner, don’t worry.”

“Oh gosh, who’s coming?” I ask, my voice tinged with surprise.

“Only your parents and siblings,” Oma replies with a reassuring tone, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

I share a look with Johan, who presses his lips tight despite his nervousness. My mind races at the thought of so many family members arriving. But I put on a smile and say, “Yes, I can't wait to see them all.”

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