Copenhagen, Denmark
PENELOPE STRETCHED IN her business class seat aboard a Scandinavian SAS flight, her head still throbbing with stress. The seat reclined flat and the ten-hour flight was the first time she’d slept since before she’d left New York. Touching a button that elevated her seat, she reached for a bottle of water and drank, thankful for the predawn quietness in the shrouded cabin. Few people other than flight attendants were awake at this hour.
Penelope enjoyed the solitude of flying, particularly after the last two days. After being unable to get past the paparazzi to her home in peace, she had been followed to Scarlett’s townhouse in the SUV that Verena drove. In less than a day, the media attention had become a nightmare that Penelope felt she couldn’t impose on friends.
Never mind the social media and tabloid accounts of the event in New York. She’d been linked to countless actors, a Prime Minister, and a Greek billionaire. She didn’t even know half the people she was supposedly dating. Now, a worldwide search was on for her, and conjuncture about her Russian and underworld ties were being spun in the tabloids. Most of it wasn’t even remotely true.
Except for the Greek billionaire. Kristo Demopoulos had made his fortune not in shipping, but in software that controlled and optimized shipping processes around the world. He was a modern-day Onassis. They’d met in Monaco, and he’d been interested in her, but she’d been in recovery from Stefan. Though they’d never dated, she seemed to run into Kristo often and had watched his transformation from star-stuck software geek to billionaire.
Before she decided what she was going to do about her tattered life, she was going home. Her family kept an apartment in the old section of Copenhagen. She loved her native country, but she’d been gone so long she felt like a tourist now in Denmark. Her memory of the cobble-stoned streets had dimmed, and many places she’d known as a child had changed. She prayed she could find some semblance of quiet anonymity there.
Recalling recent events, she felt so grateful for her friends. They had all rallied around her—Fianna, Elena, and Davina in New York. Scarlett, Verena, Lance, and Johnny in L.A.
And even, she had to admit, Stefan. She sighed and took another sip of water. Part of her aching head was undoubtedly related to him.
A week ago, her life had been busy and normal, planning her next jobs with her agent and assistant, swimming and going to Krav Maga classes, and jetting off to her next work location. She lived out of a suitcase most of the year, so her cottage that clung to the side of a cliff in the Hollywood Hills had been her respite from the world. Now that it had been staked out by media vans, she could no longer carry on life as she knew it.
First her runway work, then her home. She thought of conversations she’d once had about mythology with her father. Was she like Icarus, who had flown too close to the sun? She took another drink of water to clear her mind. What could possibly happen next?
Around her, passengers were beginning to stir as the flight attendants wheeled trolleys with coffee and juice down the narrow aisle. Penelope thought about what lay ahead for her. For years, she and friends had planned trips—snow skiing or spas—in between her work demands to have fun, unwind, and plan their lives. She had always looked forward to these adventures, which were filled with friendship and positive planning.
As she was booking her flight for Copenhagen, she thought about her friends and who might like to join her. If they could avoid the media spotlight, which she thought possible in Denmark. So she’d asked Verena and Scarlett and texted invitations to her other closest friends. Only Elena, who was still in New York, said she could meet her.
Penelope was still waiting to hear from Dahlia, who had been traveling in France with her grandmother Camille while seeing to their perfume businesses. She’d done commercial modeling work for Camille’s Parfums Dubois in the past, but now she doubted she’d have much business with the company until this scandal blew over, unless Camille chose to support her despite it.
As the flight attendants passed, a middle-aged female passenger tiptoed behind them and slipped a small notebook and a pen onto Penelope’s tray table. “Would you mind giving me your autograph? I’ve been following the awful shooting and kidnapping in New York.”
“As you can see, I wasn’t really kidnapped.” Penelope managed a wan smile and scribbled her name across the page for the American woman. “But thank you for your concern.”
“You live such an exciting life. This is my first visit overseas.”
Exciting wasn’t how Penelope would describe the last two days of her life, but she supposed that living vicariously might have its thrills. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
The woman leaned closer to her. “How did you manage to escape your kidnappers?”
Hadn’t the woman heard her? “It was all a media hoax.”
The woman drew the corners of her mouth down in disappointment. “I don’t understand. Who was behind it?”
“I wish I knew. It’s caused me a lot of anxiety.”
The woman shook her head. “My husband always told me that I couldn’t trust my little newspapers, but I told him they couldn’t possibly print stories that weren’t true. And they’re so much more interesting than regular newspapers.” She scrunched up her brow. “But it was also on the Internet.”
“Yes, I know,” Penelope said with a sigh.
“That’s just not right,” the woman said with sudden conviction. “Such lies.”
“Be careful what you read.” She took the woman’s hand. “Copenhagen is special. I hope you enjoy it.”
After landing, when Penelope exited customs, she heard her name called. Crestfallen, she slid her gaze toward the person who’d called out.
“Penelope, it’s me, Elena. Over here.”
“I’m so relieved it’s you,” she said, hugging the slim brunette she’d last seen at the party in New York.
Elena clamped her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have called out your name.” She glanced around, but no one paid them any attention. “Maybe we should give you a code name until all this blows over. You know, like 007 or something.”
Penelope couldn’t help but laugh, and then realized it had been days since she’d felt like laughing. “I’m not a spy.”
“But you are a hunted woman.” Elena rolled her eyes. “You have no idea about the paparazzi that was gathered outside Davina’s apartment in New York.”
“I hate you had to go through that.”
“Oh, God, it’s not your fault.” Elena put her hand on her hip. “You should have seen Davina handle them, calling them pox and bollix and who knows what other Irish insults before they moved on, their tails between their legs. I’ve never seen anyone hurl curse words with such class. Reminded me of an old Maureen O’Hara film I once saw.”
Penelope had a few choice lines of her own that Davina would surely enjoy. “Who do you think she learned it from?”
Elena’s eyes widened. “What, really?”
“They were friends, though Davina was younger. You should hear the stories.”
“That’s us in thirty years,” Elena said, laughing.
Penelope grinned. “Don’t you know it.”
“It’s adorable,” Elena said, spinning around the cozy apartment that looked out over a cobble-stoned street lined with flower boxes.
“This was my grandmother’s flat,” Penelope said, opening windows to let the fresh sea air in. She glanced up and down the street and thankfully, didn’t see any paparazzi. “My parents live outside the city, but they keep this place for trips and visitors. When they’re away, I like to stay here because it’s close to everything.”
“I might never leave,” Elena said, laughing. “Where do you want to go first?”
“Copenhagen is an easy city to navigate,” Penelope said. She was glad she’d invited Elena. Otherwise, she might have hidden inside the apartment for days. She peered outside at the quiet street. “We can walk along the Strøget, a long pedestrian boulevard, and have lunch and do some shopping.”
Penelope flung her tote bag on the bed in the blue-and-white bedroom with polished wooden floors. Since she hadn’t been home, she was still traveling light, though she had picked up some jeans and T-shirts in the airport and restocked her cosmetics at the duty-free shops.
Leaning against the window, Penelope looked out from the side, breathing in the cool air from the sea. Best of all, there were no paparazzi, no photographers, no media. Just quiet, ordinary people walking past or riding bikes. Pure bliss.
Along Strøget, Elena and Penelope found lots of shops from all around the world, as well as many that were uniquely Danish. They started with coffee at Café Europa, looking out over a large square and afterward shopped at Sand and Mads Nørgaard for modern minimalist styles. They strolled through Georg Jensen admiring sleek silverware and jewelry and stopped in local artisan’s shops for soft sweaters against the evening chill.
Penelope chatted with some of the shopkeepers in Danish. Though she missed being here, she’d been gone so long that the city had changed. Things weren’t the same as she’d recalled. And now, people treated her differently. You could never really go home, she decided.
They had lunch outdoors at Café Norden, sharing a seasonal salad, fish, and a cheese board while they watched people walking by and talked about different styles they observed. There, Penelope felt a prickly sensation on the back of her neck, as though she were being watched, but she shrugged it off.
Elena wanted to visit Marianne Dulong, a pair of goldsmiths and jewelry designers she admired for their smooth, fluid lines. After that, Penelope took her to Nyhavn, where rows of 17th and 18th-century townhomes splashed in ochre, mustard, and sky blue were rivaled by colorful vessels moored steps away from outdoor cafés on the canal.
Looking behind her first, Penelope stopped in front of one and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. “One of Denmark’s most beloved storytellers lived in that one,” she said, pointing to a window. “Remember The Little Mermaid and Thumbelina?”
Elena smiled. “Hans Christian Andersen. One of my favorites.”
Later that evening, they went to a restaurant Penelope recalled from her visits, Frk. Barners Kælder. “So, what do you think of Copenhagen?” Penelope asked Elena over dinner. The stone walls and red-checkered tablecloths created a cozy atmosphere Penelope enjoyed, as well as the traditional food she’d missed. Skagen toast with shrimp, herring, and salmon—she loved the variety.
“The flat is charming, the food delicious, and the company is the best. What’s not to like?” Elena cradled her chin in her hand. “The jewelry designs are intriguing, too. Lots of spare, elegant designs with smooth lines. And many avant-garde pieces. Thanks for inviting me.”
“I’m awfully glad you could come.” Though she’d traveled the world on her own, the more Penelope thought about what had happened in New York, the more wary she was becoming. It was one thing to deal with the media focus that came with her job, but the threat of a violent stalker was unnerving. Had the man been caught? She was relieved to be out of New York, though she still didn’t feel like she was out of danger, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed. Was it just nerves?
She pulled her attention back to Elena. “Where do you find inspiration for your designs?” Penelope asked, slicing a broiled potato with rosemary.
“The sea in all its aspects inspires me. Reminds me of growing up in Sydney.” Elena touched her swirled earrings in ribbed gold. “Smooth, undulating forms of water and sand…bold, powerful statements of the sea, and rich colors and textures of the coral reef and marine life. Jewelry and nature…rainbows of stones, gold, and silver, it’s all found in nature, like the red coral in this bracelet.” She slipped off her bracelet and handed it to Penelope to see.
“This new line with the bezel-set stones is stunning,” Penelope said, trying on the wide bracelet. “Looks like this piece required a lot of work. I love coral with turquoise for the summer.”
“Exactly. I’ve also worked yellow jade and lemon citrine into some pieces to reflect the sun. I like the spare Danish design aesthetic, and I’ve seen a lot of ocean influence. Denmark has such a vibrant coastal area.”
They were immersed in a discussion about design trends when a waiter interrupted them with a pair of small aperitif glasses. “Another patron thought you might like our lavender-infused Aquavit.”
“Aquavit, what’s that?” Elena asked.
“It’s a traditional aperitif,” Penelope said. “It’s usually flavored with caraway or cardamom. Careful, it’s fairly strong.” She lifted the tulip-shaped glass to her nose and inhaled the familiar scent. “Who shall we thank?” she asked the waiter.
The waiter nodded to a man in the corner who sat by himself. The man waved at them.
“Kristo,” she said and smiled, motioning for him to join them.
The trim, dark-haired man with an intense expression joined them at their table, exchanging cheek kisses with Penelope and Elena.
“Penelope, I knew we were destined to meet again soon,” Kristo said. “I always think of you when I visit Copenhagen, so imagine my surprise when I saw you and your friend walk in.” His dark, deep-set eyes roved approvingly over her. “Purple suits you. Looks good in photographs, too.”
Penelope shifted in her chair, avoiding his penetrating gaze. “Elena, this is Kristo Demopoulos. We met in Monaco a couple of years ago.”
“Enchanted,” he said, executing an air kiss over Elena’s hand before turning to her.
“The last couple of days I’ve heard some awful news about you. Is this true?” In his eagerness he leaned in, almost too near Penelope’s face.
Penelope moved to one side and sighed. “Part of it is.” She went on to explain a little, but she was tired of going over the incident. “I’m sorry you were pulled into the stories, too. Do you mind if we talk about something else?” It had been months since Penelope had any contact with Kristo, and she was embarrassed that he had been dragged through the tabloids because of her. She came to Copenhagen to get away from everything, not to rehash it.
“Not at all.” He slid his hand awkwardly over hers. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I worry about you. Have you been getting my texts?”
Penelope shook her head. “I got a new number a few months ago.”
Kristo whipped out his phone. “What is it?”
Penelope shot a look at Elena and hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to give Kristo her new number, but after the last few days, she was afraid to trust anyone outside her closest friends.
When Penelope wasn’t quick to respond, Kristo added, “I’m throwing a huge launch party in L.A. for a new product soon. I want to invite you and your friends.”
Though attending any party was the last thing on her to-do list, she couldn’t deny Kristo’s eager smile. Acquiescing, she gave him her number.
Penelope lifted the aperitif to her lips. “This has a wonderful aroma.” She said to Elena, “Do you know about Linje Aquavit?”
“I just asked the waitress to bring you something interesting.” Kristo drew his chair closer to Penelope. “Linje. Doesn’t that mean line?”
“It refers to the equatorial line,” Penelope said. “Stored in kegs deep in the bowels of ships, Aquavit crosses the equatorial line twice on its way to and from Australia. The rocking motion and maritime humidity gives the liquor a unique flavor that can’t be matched. Then the kegs are tapped and the Aquavit is bottled. It’s our Danish tradition to enjoy it at Christmas.” She raised her glass. “Skål.”
“That’s a clever story,” he replied. “I’ll have to remember that. And check my ships for kegs.”
“You have ships?” Penelope had often thought about what she’d do after modeling. The more successful models knew how to maximize their limited time in the industry. “I thought you’d created shipping software.”
“Business has been so good that I needed to diversify my holdings. Shipping makes sense, among other things. But I have something extra special I’ve been working on. I think you’ll like it.”
Penelope deflected the intensity of his gaze. Kristo had become more attractive since she’d first met him—he’d had quite a drastic physical and financial makeover, in fact, from software geek to billionaire—but she still wasn’t interested. She even felt a little sorry for him because of his awkward social graces. “What other types of business have you invested in?”
Kristo held her gaze. “Media and entertainment.”
Elena perked up at that mention. “Where?”
“The company is based in New York. It covers the entire U.S. and other counties.”
“What’s attractive about that business?” Penelope asked, curious about his choice.
“The financials.” Kristo continued to stare at her. “It’s amazing how much content people consume. And it’s growing worldwide.” He cocked his head. “How do you keep up with what’s going on in the world?”
“On my phone, mostly.” Elena leaned forward. “But I admit to spending way too much time on social media and following celebrities. In my work, I have to know who’s wearing what.”
Kristo shifted his gaze to Elena. “You’re not alone. Celebrity news is big business. Headlines sell click-throughs and advertisers pay for eyeballs.”
Penelope frowned into her aperitif. “Judging from the media frenzy I’ve endured since that incident in New York, I get it.”
Kristo sipped his liquor. “You should take time to enjoy life. See the world. You could come with me.”
The conversation was making Penelope uneasy. Her phone buzzed and she drew it out of her bag. Glancing down, she frowned at the message, tapped a quick reply, and then shut off her phone.
Elena leaned over, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”
“More cancellations.” Penelope didn’t add that media outlets were clamoring for interviews. When would this incident die so she could have her normal life back?
“Remember what Andy Warhol said.” Kristo touched her hand, his dark, deep-set eyes flashing. “In media time, you’ve got fifteen minutes to succeed, or fail. What are you going to do with it?”
Could her career crash that quickly? A chill spiraled down Penelope’s spine.
“Take a break,” Kristo said. “Come and cruise with me on my new yacht tomorrow. Both of you.”
“Really? Oh, wow, we’d love to,” Elena said, her brown eyes warming to the idea. “I’ve never actually been on a yacht before.”
Penelope gave a wan smile. “Sure, why not?” Elena was curious and she’s traveled a long way. She sipped her drink, listening as Elena asked questions about Kristo’s yacht.
Kristo really wasn’t so bad. She couldn’t think of an excuse to avoid him, but after the close calls she’d had in New York and the media circus in L.A., her senses were now on high alert. Those were the only reasons she could think of as to why the skin on her neck now seemed to crawl with apprehension.