Chapter Eighteen“He'd damn feckin' better be keeping his hands to himself,” Patrick said. He was n***d in Astria's hot tub, a decanter of Kijafa Danish Cherry Wine balanced on his stomach. Astria felt warm and her face relaxed. Patrick was here and he was with her.
“I trusted you in Calgary,” she said. Only a little guilt here, remembering the weekend in Copenhagen with Karl, the best hotel, the fancy little car, the expensive restaurant meals which she and Patrick could never afford unless her parents paid for them.
“Sure.” Patrick ducked under the hot swirling water, grabbed the Kijafa, and splashed her where she stood on the other side of the tub. He held up the decanter of wine and drank. “I can be trusted. I don't have no big Swede sitting next to me in class and bringing me flowers
