by Marian Tee
I want to, he thought.
Actually, he wanted her, period.
But every time he attempted to tell her, the words would fail him.
He watched her walk away, and a terrifying, painfully lonely sense of déjà vu struck him.
One day—-
One day, she would walk away from him, and it would be his fault.
One day—-
She suddenly stopped when she reached the doorway, and he held his breath without even knowing why.
She slowly turned towards him. “Tell me.”
His eyes widened.
“Y-you can tell me anything, and I’ll listen.”
Ah.
His mind whirled, his heart galloped, and his throat convulsed.
The word he wanted to say lingered at the tip of his tongue, stubbornly refusing to be revealed. He wanted to tell her that she reminded him of an angel—-
“Issac?”
Ilse’s beautiful eyes were on him, and he could feel himself drowning in them—-
And it scared him.
She was beautiful and smart, funny and creative.
She was everything a guy could want.
He slowly forced himself to smile. “Maybe next time.”
He had been sixteen then, and he had told himself next time he would ask her out properly. Next time, he would be confident about confessing his feelings for her because by then, he would be the kind of guy every girl would want.
But next time never came.
Chapter Nine
There was always something about rain that made even melancholy beautiful. The skies changing color as it wept, cold mist painting a frosted layer over windowpanes as the steady dripping sound hummed a melody exquisite in its agony.
Sometimes, rain made the pain bearable.
Other times, it was the opposite.
Other times, the sound, the sight, the sheer icy feel of rain just made it worse. Pain reflected in every teardrop, and there was just no way to escape it. In every raindrop that struck the blurred glasses of the club, the billionaire could see Ilse, broken and still. In every raindrop, her whispery and halting words echoed.
We are who we are, mijnheer...and we are not for each other.
It was this kind of night that the billionaire surrendered to what he had long struggled with but found impossible to deny.
He needed her.
He needed Ilse.
He would need her forever.
A sense of desperation gripped the billionaire at the realization, and he looked about him blindly. The opulent décor of the club, the heart-thudding music being played by a live DJ, the endless sparkling flow of champagne flowing down a fountain of crystal glasses—-
He saw none of these.
His mind, his entire self, was still submerged in an endless downpour of regret.
Ilse. Ilse. Ilse.
And he knew.
Turning away abruptly, he walked out without a word, not giving a damn that he was being rude to the hundred or so guests he had invited to his party.
Right now, all that mattered was Ilse—-
And he had to see her, now.
As he stalked towards his car, he called Ilse up, and his chest tightened as her phone started to ring. Pick up. Pick up, my love.
But she didn’t.
He drove like a madman, reaching her office building in ten minutes when the journey should have taken twice as long. Throwing his door open, he rushed out into the rain and banged on the front doors when he found them locked.
They opened almost a minute later, and he found himself staring at Ilse’s boss—-
The anxiety in Gloria’s eyes made his fingers tighten around the handle of his umbrella. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse as he asked a question that a part of him already knew the answer to.
Ilse. Ilse. Ilse.
Gloria stared at him, looking like she was about to break down any moment. “Ilse,” she choked out.
Of course, of course, his mind acknowledged dully. It was almost like the past all over again. He had fucked up, and now someone else was paying the price.
Someone else was always paying the price.
THEY ASKED FOR A NURSE who could act like a naïve country bumpkin. That was normal. But they also asked for someone with dark hair and brown eyes, and that was what raised a red flag for me. It was too specific – like the booking was tailor-made for Ilse.
So I called someone I know from the credit card company, traded everything for one single favor, and that’s how I found out it was Ilse’s ex-best friend, Natalia, behind all of it. She’s throwing this bachelor party for her fiancé, and it’s the guy who used to be in love with Ilse.
I don’t know what Natalia’s planning – I just don’t want Ilse to be hurt.
Gloria’s words pounded the billionaire’s mind over and over, and terror like Jaak had never known dogged him as he combed the streets of De Wallen, his blue gaze rapidly scanning his surroundings left and right for a brunette in a nurse’s uniform.
With every second that passed, he felt like he was taking a step closer towards redemption. This time would be different. This time, he would make it, this time he would save her.
But every second that passed in which he didn’t find her also made the billionaire feel like a fraud.
His soul shriveled at all the bad things that could happen. Men from her past trying to make Ilse feel ashamed of something she should be proud of. Men thinking they could do anything they wanted to just because of Ilse’s job—-
The billionaire’s fears did its best to cripple him.
Would he really be on time?
Could he really change the past?
Should he even try?
He had no fucking answer to these questions.
The only thing he knew and understood was that he had to try.
More minutes crept past him, and the billionaire struggled to hold on to the belief that he could still make it. Ilse needed him, dammit. And he would be there for her. He would be fucking there, no matter what—-
And that was when he heard her voice.
Beautiful, sweet, and so goddamn familiar because he had dreamt of it every night—-
The billionaire strained to hear it again, and he looked around wildly, trying to find where it was coming from.
And then he heard it again—-
“Oh lawd, the way you stare at me, sir!”
Ilse. That was Ilse. That was his Ilse.
“I’m not the one on display, sir. Please look here instead.”
The billionaire followed the sound of her voice, and soon enough he found himself just a few feet behind her tour group—-
Ilse.
Indeed, she was wearing a nurse’s uniform, and though her costumes had always been tight, this one was more so than usual, and his jaw clenched at the thought that this one could actually burst open given enough time.
She stood in front of a window illuminated with neon blue lights, and her voice was earnest as she explained to them that this was the place they should go to if they wanted to be friends with—-
He watched Ilse cock her head to the side, her brows furrowing as if she was trying to recall something.
“I think the word they use is, umm, ‘transsexual.’” She looked about her, wide-eyed. “I’m not sure what that means. Do any of you know what it means?”
Hands shot up, with almost every guy in the group looking eager to impart his knowledge to her.
“You, sir. Please tell me what a transsexual is,” she implored, her eyes fluttering.
“It’s a guy who got himself boobs and a pussy.”
The men laughed, but Ilse clapped her hands over her mouth, looking properly shocked. “Oh dear gawd, how can that be?”
And so it went on.
And everything gradually became clear.
Ilse. Ilse. Ilse.
The tension slowly eased from the billionaire’s powerful frame, and Jaak had the strangest urge to laugh.<
br />
Ilse, Ilse, Ilse.
How could he have forgotten this was Ilse, and that she was different?
He watched Ilse proceed with the tour, acting exactly as requested and without a hint of discomfort on her face.
According to Gloria, all these boys had once been Ilse’s friends, and most of them had huge crushes on her. But when push came to shove, all of them had turned their backs on Ilse. When Natalia had begun spreading lies about Ilse, making her seem like she was a manipulative bitch intent on leeching off everyone—-
All of Ilse’s friends had chosen to take the easy way out.
All of them had chosen to believe Natalia.
And yet—-
Even though Ilse had every right to call them a liar to their faces—-
The moment the tour ended, the guys begged for a chance to have their photos taken with her, and Ilse graciously acquiesced with a sunny smile, still very much in character.
Thank you, Mr. Grant, and you’re quite handsome, too.
Oh no, Mr. Morley, you flatter me too much.
She was neither proud nor humble, her tone friendly but professional at the same time.
She gave them no chance to feel guilty or ashamed about the past, but neither did she act like she found her line of work an embarrassment.
This is me, and this is reality, her every look, gesture, and word said.
He watched her, and he had never felt prouder or humbler.
He watched her, and the billionaire thought, Ilse was right.
They weren’t for each other...because he couldn’t possibly deserve her.
Ilse was right, but he also knew it no longer mattered.
Because he also knew he could never let her go now.
She was the only woman for him.
ISSAC WAITED UNTIL the last of their friends left before hesitantly approaching her. “Ilse?”
She turned to him, big brown eyes questioning, and he could feel his hands getting clammy. It was happening again, Issac thought numbly.
He was drowning in her eyes—-
“Mr. Bakker?” Ilse blinked in visible bemusement, breaking the spell, and Issac cleared his throat.
“Issac,” he said when he finally recovered his voice. “It’s weird if you call me Mr. Bakker. Makes me feel like I’m my dad.”
Her lips curved, and she said obediently, “Issac it is then—-” Humor twinkled in her eyes. “But only because the tour’s ended and I’m no longer your guide.”
Silence fell between them, and Issac’s mind became blank, all the words he had mentally rehearsed disappearing.
“Are you okay, Issac?”
Ah. The familiar words struck him with a pang, and Issac thought, She had always asked him that.
He saw the genuine concern in her eyes, and he realized it was more than that.
And he remembered.
And he regretted.
She had always asked, and she had always meant it.
Unlike him.
“When we were sixteen,” Issac heard himself say, “there was something I couldn’t make myself say to you. I was young and stupid at that time, and I told myself I couldn’t say just anything to you because it wasn’t the right time. Because I couldn’t find the right word—-” Issac swallowed hard. “I took it as a sign that I should wait.”
When Ilse’s eyes become veiled, Issac already knew that nothing would come out of what he was about to do. But even so, he also knew he had to do it.
“I know it’s too late,” Ilse said tightly. “I know it’s my fault, but I also know I have to say this—-” He choked off, and for one moment he was filled with bitterness—-
God, he had been such a fucking wimp.
“It’s okay, Issac—-”
It hurt to hear Ilse speaking to him so gently, even when he didn’t deserve it, and he shook his head jerkily. “I have to say this, and you need to hear this.”
She started to speak, but he didn’t let her. “I need to say this.” He had to get the words out now, before he lost his courage all over again.
“Issac, you don’t—-”
“You were my first love, Ilse Muir.”
For one moment, there was just heart-wrenching silence.
For one damn moment, he almost considered letting himself hope.
For one damn moment...until he heard her whisper in a stricken tone, “Why are you telling me this now?”
And he knew he had to accept that he really was too late, and there would never be a next time.
“I still remember how I felt when I first saw you, you know.”
“Oh, Issac.” Ilse shook her head helplessly, not knowing what to say. This was an Issac that she didn’t seem to know at all. “We were five—-”
“Five is old enough to know the difference between love and hate, and—-” His lips twisted in a self-mocking smile. “Let’s just say I didn’t hate you, and everyone knew it. Everyone probably thought we would end up together.”
And once upon a time, Ilse thought painfully, she had thought the same.
As Issac stared at Ilse, memories came rushing in, forcing him to remember just how callous he had been.
She had to have been frightened out of her wits that day she had called him—-
His whole life he had loved her, had wanted to be there for her—-
And yet he had failed her when she needed him the most.
He had given her all the promises in the world, but he had failed her. It had given her every right to scream at him, to get mad, but even in the end—-
Even as her world crumbled around her, Ilse had still found it in her heart to worry about him, had still tried her best to ease his guilt—-
Her gently spoken words drifted into his mind, and each word hurt.
You have no need to explain.
The words tormented him, and he choked out, “I’m sorry.” He stared at her desperately, willing her to believe in him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. You were the only girl I loved. The only girl I have ever loved—-”
He watched her lips part at his words. “Issac.”
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you, and Natalia – somehow she knew.” He swallowed hard. “She probably set this whole thing up, thinking that I’d lose interest in you the moment I saw you, but—-” A grim expression settled on Issac’s face. “I’m no longer the idiot I was four years back.”
He gazed at Ilse, his beautiful, kind Ilse, and his heart ached so damn bad that it was barely able to keep beating.
“You probably don’t need to hear this,” Issac said unevenly, “but I’m damn proud of what you’ve become.”
Ilse’s lips started to tremble.
“You’re a good sister to Jan, and if your parents could talk to you now, I k-know...I know they’d tell you the same thing. That you did them proud—-”
She didn’t say anything as her hands went up to cover her mouth.
But in her eyes, he saw what she wanted to say.
Thank you.
Her hands slowly lowered, and he saw a smile start to tremble on her lips. Her unspoken words reached him like she had whispered it straight to his heart.
I forgive you.
His head lowered as her words washed over him, cleansing him, healing him.
God.
He had never even let himself hope for her forgiveness, but he should have known it would be this simple and easy.
Because she was Ilse.
“When we were sixteen,” Issac heard himself say, “I wanted to tell you something, but I didn’t have the right word then.”
“Are you saying,” she teased shakily, “it took you almost seven years to find it?”
Yes, he thought. It had taken him seven years to find the right word...because it had taken him the same seven years to find the courage to say—-
“Ethereal,” he said rawly.
Issac raised his head, and his gaze met hers unwaveringly.
“That was
what I wanted to say to you then.”
Ethereal because she was like an angel—-
Ethereal because she had always seemed too perfect for this world—-
And she still did.
She was and would always be ethereal to him because Ilse was his first love.
His only love.
Chapter Ten
The rusty bells hanging on the door chimed in welcome as Ilse walked inside Byron & Company, a bookstore-cum-café that took up ground floor space of one of RLD’s oldest buildings. Open twenty-four hours, the store had become a refuge of sorts for Ilse, and right now she needed that.
Mr. Peters, the gray-haired shop owner, looked up from behind the register the moment she entered, and he nodded curtly to her in greeting. “Done with the tours?” he questioned with a grunt.
“Ja, mijnheer.” She didn’t mind his gruff tone at all, knowing that under the tough, wizened exterior was a lovely man who preferred to spend most of his time with books because he didn’t know how to make friends.
“A new Austen edition arrived,” he informed her.
Ilse perked up. “I’ll check it out.”
He grunted.
“Thanks for telling me!”
But Mr. Peters had already turned his back on her, having gone back to reviewing the receipts in his hands.
Ilse took her time strolling down the aisle, her gaze drifting from one tall, wooden bookshelf to another. By the time she reached the classics section, she heard the bells chime out once more and wondered absently about what kind of person would have a need to visit a bookstore in RLD at two in the morning.
Maybe that person was like her, unable to find escape in sleep.
Or maybe she was being too fanciful, and the newcomer only wanted a cup of coffee.
Taking a left on the last aisle, she immediately spotted the new book Mr. Peters had spoken of. There you are, Ilse thought. As she reached for the book with the pretty floral cover, she caught a glimpse of the shadow moving on the carpet.
The newcomer, Ilse realized absently. And judging by the look and length of it, Mr. Peters’ customer was a rather tall man. How surprising. Majority of De Wallen’s tourists might be males, but book shopping was unlikely on top of their priorities.
