Ayah.
Her bitch of a rival’s name was Ayah.
Whoever that little upstart was, she had successfully made Nicolaas de Koningh believe in the possibility of love, but Thelma was having none of it. In order to get Nic to marry her, she had to do whatever she could to disabuse him of the notion. Nic would never marry Thelma out of love, but he would out of necessity, and that was more than good enough for her.
~ Five ~
Nic woke with a stinging headache and the worst case of guilt.
He was not the type of drunk who forgot what he said or did upon waking up. He was the opposite, and Nic winced as he realized the extent of what he revealed, not only to Willem but also to Thelma Laarson.
Checking the clock, he counted the time and something inside him withered as he realized it had been fifteen hours since he had last seen Ayah Chandler.
What was she doing now?
Was she thinking of him?
Did she hate him?
He was already reaching for his phone by the time he realized what he was doing. Nic swiftly pulled his hand back.
No. He could not contact her. He must not.
It had to be this way.
TWO DAYS HAD PASSED. The thought crawled into her mind like a virus that infected and hurt, but she pushed it away. Alone in her hotel room, with the lights switched off, Ayah found herself staring at her iPad. It had been like this since she had last seen Luuk.
She didn’t care if people who found out what she was doing would think she was crazy and stupid for waiting. They could believe whatever they wanted, she told herself. She knew her heart best, and it told her that she could not – should not – give up.
Her eyelids began to droop, but she didn’t want to sleep, fearing that if she did, something would happen and she would forever lose the chance of seeing Luuk again.
Straining to keep herself awake, she flipped onto her back and grabbed her iPad again. Then she began to type, praying all the while that her virtual message in the bottle would one day find its way home.
When she woke up, it was because of the insistent ring of the phone.
Luuk!
The bedside lamp almost crashed to the floor as she shoved it away in her haste to reach the phone. She answered breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Good morning, ma’am. This is your wake-up call.”
Shit.
She wanted to cry then and there.
Maybe there was no hope after all.
“Ma’am?”
Tears choking her voice, Ayah stammered, “T-thank you.”
No hope, she told herself. There was no hope and it was time she stopped believing. She grabbed her iPad from the table, clicked on the Facebook icon, and waited for her profile page to load.
When it did, she started to cry.
There weren’t any new posts or messages, but someone had tagged himself in the photo of souvenirs she had uploaded.
Luuk Aafjes.
After
~ One ~
Summer, One Year Later
Tsim Sha Tsui, Hong Kong
Mrs. Lee beamed at Ayah as she huffed and puffed while half-carrying and half-rolling the lady’s two oversized Louis Vuitton suitcases out of the escalator and hurried towards the guests under her care. The departure area for ferries bound for Macau and other ports was crowded, and she had to snake around groups of tourists and shoppers like someone intent on winning The Amazing Race.
“I told you, Ayah,” Mrs. Lee said to her in Mandarin when Ayah reached her side, “We’re not going to be late.”
Ayah could only smile. She’d talk later, once she managed to catch her breath. She knew everyone who came to Hong Kong had shopping in mind, but the luggage had been seriously heavy. Were folks from Taiwan into buying rocks or something now?
Mrs. Lee’s gaze flitted to the queues in front of the ticketing booths. Her hands fluttered. “Now, to buy some ferry tickets to Macau...” She paused.
Ayah asked obediently, “Would you like me to buy the tickets for you and your son, Mrs. Lee?”
The woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, would you? If it’s not much of a bother...”
“I’d be happy to, Mrs. Lee.” And she honestly was. She loved helping people, really. It was one of the reasons why she preferred working in a guesthouse rather than a hotel. There was just something nice about being able to frequently interact with tourists and personally help them, something Ayah knew she wouldn’t be able to enjoy in the often sterile and austere environment of first class hotels.
It took about fifteen minutes to buy the tickets, which she immediately handed to Mrs. Lee. “Here they are, Mrs. Lee! I hope you enjoy your stay in Macau.”
“Oh, how sweet of you.” Mrs. Lee beamed. “Thank you for all your assistance, Ayah. Our stay here in Hong Kong was so much easier than the last time because of you.”