KIM SLEIZNER FELT HIS phone vibrating in his pocket, but he didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t a good time; he had been looking forward to this moment all week and he wasn’t about to let a stupid little phone call ruin everything. This moment was far too precious and life was far too short. He could say he was in a tunnel or an elevator with bad coverage. This was his area of protection — his very own little bubble that no one had any business disrupting.
He thought of Viveca, and whether he ought to have a guilty conscience, but decided against it. All she cared about was her yoga and whether there was money in her bank account. Given how much had been on his plate recently, it was a wonder he could even get out of bed in the morning. Viveca wasn’t the only one who depended on him to function and feel content — so did every citizen of Denmark.
The alternative was anarchy. He leaned back and enjoyed the prize he had awarded himself.