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needed.  
    The most recent photo of Luuk, a bare-chested selfie that she had managed to convince him to take for her birthday last month. She had been begging him for the longest time to send her another photo. It was only fair when he always managed to convince her to send him a lot of her new ones. But for her birthday, she had laid on the guilt pretty thickly.
    The memory of how he had choked in surprise and growled in frustration when she requested that he be bare-chested made Ayah smile now, cheering her up enough to forget the unfortunate incident at the ferry station.
    “Take off my fucking shirt? What am I? A gigolo?” he had snarled during their Skype call that day.
    “Mm…yup. My gigolo.”
    There was a pause and then— “You always know what to say to disarm me.” That time, his voice was a mixture of exasperation and irritation.
    “What I know is that I always like looking at you. It makes me miss you a little less.”
    Another pause. “Just say the word, lieverd.”
    She shook her head. “No. You were honest with me that first time – about your marriage and not having enough money to fly here. I don’t want you to be in debt just because I’m being selfish, missing you.”
    The memory faded and she sighed, wishing she could call Luuk. But he had been very explicit. His divorce was still in the process of being finalized and as long as it still wasn’t approved, he would not be able to afford being openly seen with any woman. Even his calls could be screened at work, which was why she could only wait for his call and they only ever came at specific hours of the day—
    Like now.
    Stunned that Luuk was calling her at this time of the day—if it was nine here in Hong Kong, then it would be two in the morning in Amsterdam.  
    She answered it breathlessly. “Hello?”

 
    ~ Two ~  
     
    Three Days Ago, New York City
     
    “Why are you thinking of marrying Thelma Laarson when we both know you don’t even desire her?” Farica de Koningh demanded of her cousin the moment he opened the door. She pushed past him and stalked inside his hotel room.  
    Nic closed the door and when he turned around, the younger girl was standing in the middle of his room, a tiny blue-eyed blond angel with the wrath of God burning in her eyes. Of all his cousins, Farica was the one closest to him, the only one whom he felt truly understood what it was like to feel unwanted as a child. Like him, she had almost become a victim of abortion and, like the rest of the older generation of de Koninghs, both her parents had been assholes, too.
    Farica was special to him, a sister of his heart, but in this case she would need to learn to mind her own business.
    She stomped her foot. “Well?”
    “It’s none of your business, Fari.”
    Farica threw her hands up at that. “You’re my cousin! I care about you. Of course who you marry is my business – especially if you’re marrying a bitch like Thelma.”
    “She’s not a bitch to me,” he pointed out mildly as he crossed the room. He gestured for her to sit, more a command than a request and Farica knew it. She promptly took the couch and he sat opposite her, taking one of the armchairs.
    “Drink?”
    “Just water,” she said, spying the crystal pitcher of water on the table. As he poured her a glass, she started again. “Of course she's not a bitch to you, Nic. She’s after your money. She’d pretend she was a monster if that’s what turns you on.”
    He handed her the glass wordlessly.  
    She took it with a frustrated sigh, never liking it when Nic shut himself off like this. “Nic, come on. This is marriage we’re talking about. She’s not even an heiress so this can’t be a business arrangement—”
    “Oh, but it is,” he interrupted coolly. “I need someone to play hostess and make nice with business associates, preferably someone I don’t have to train for the role. I need someone to fuck occasionally when I don’t have a mistress, and I’d prefer