Once, when Annika was ten, she and her family went to the Dominican Republic on holiday. It just happened to be hurricane season, and one such storm was headed near the island. Deliliah was its name, but Annika paid little attention to the weather.
She remembered her parents discussing their options over fresh fruit and tea at breakfast: stay and take their chances that the hurricane would turn as expected and skirt the island, or play it safe and leave the island now, when it was still calm.
They had paid a lot of money for this vacation and there were no refunds, her mother pointed out.
“What if we stay and the hurricane hits? Isn’t it better to be safe rather than sorry?” her father argued.
Little Annika piped up, mango juice dribbling down her chin. She loved the beach and they had just gotten there! She stood up at the table and gave her two cents on the matter. “I don’t want to leave. Please! How bad could a hurricane be if they named it Delilah? Look, it’s sunny out! It’s not even cloudy here!”
The fact was, no one wanted to leave. Annika’s little plea had tipped the scales just enough, and they decided to stay.
Two days later the hurricane transformed into a Category 4 just before turning directly toward the island. The Bashirs spent the next week in a crowded, dirty shelter before being evacuated from the battered island.
Her older brother, Dev, teased her for years about her weather forecasting abilities. “As Annika would say, it’s clearly clear out. Weather never changes, and Doppler radar, that’s just hocus pocus!” he would say, laughing, whenever the weatherman mentioned a storm was heading their way.
True to form, Annika glanced out of here apartment window to check the sky. Dark storm clouds seemed to blanket the horizon, but otherwise, it was clear out. She dropped her unfashionable raincoat on the bed—the storm wouldn’t hit.
But something deep inside told her the storm was coming and it was going to knock her down hard this time.
Why didn’t she leave the island when she could have? What was it about her that made her miss all the red flags and stay when others would be seeking shelter?
She grabbed the raincoat and headed out to meet with friends. She had called an “emergency” lunch meeting of her closest friends, coworkers and distant relatives at the French café known for the best macrons downtown.
Her lawyer was pushing hard for her to secure character witnesses for trial. “It all comes down to your character, Miss Bashir,” he has told her. She had to convince the jury she was a good person who just made a mistake agreeing to marry Kareem, and she was setting things straight in her life finally.
He gave her a fifty-fifty chance of winning. So she was going to up her odds today.
The back table in the private room of the restaurant was full and Annika stood at the front like the CEO of a start-up. The group had just enjoyed a nice lunch, complements of their hostess, and now sipped tea, coffee and an assortment of colorful macrons.
“First of all, thank you for coming today. It’s nice to know who really has your back when things get tough,” Annika announced. Her confidence was growing as she looked around at the smiles and kind faces of the people who knew her best. “As you all may have heard, I’m embroiled in a frivolous lawsuit and I need to know I can count on you to testify for me.”
Rachel Dealy, her former coworker at the marketing firm, was the first to speak up. “Annika, why is he suing you? And what it is you want us to say on your behalf? I’m a little confused by all this.”
Annika cleared her voice and then explained to everyone the insides of the lawsuit, how she was just an innocent victim and now had found true love with a nice Indian physician who works at a charity hospital.
Her former professor, the dashing Dr. Hartly, looked confused. “I know of the Patil family. They’re multi-billionaires. Isn’t your fiancé quite wealthy?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t live like that and that’s not why I’m marrying him,” Annika spewed, unable to curb the irritation in her voice.
The professor shook his head. “Listen, I appreciate the lunch, Annika, and that you thought of me as a character witness, but I’m not quite sure what you want me to say. You took one class from me in your sophomore year.”
“Didn’t I show up on time for your class and take notes? I mean, it’s not like we dated or anything—that would have been so inappropriate—but I was a good student and that’s all I need you to say.”
It was a veiled threat. Two awkward dates at the park with one wet kiss was how she bumped up her grade point average by three points so her parents would finally buy her the convertible Mercedes.
She batted her eyes at him and smiled sweetly.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I guess so,” he answered.
“Thank you. Anyone else have questions?” Annika asked, smiling brightly. But before anyone could respond, she noticed a man outside of the restaurant taking her picture. It couldn’t be the press—no one cared that much about her lawsuit. The guy noticed her and then quickly walked off.
What the hell?
He was familiar. She’s seen him before around town. At the gas station, the grocery store, the beauty shop and now at her favorite French café.
He was spying on her!
Annika bolted out the front door of the restaurant and ran after the guy, but he disappeared into a large lunch crowd crossing the street. Damn Kareem! How dare he hire someone to follow me!
It was then that she noticed the weather. The sky was dark and gray, and the wind had picked up. Thunder clapped and the rain poured down.
The storm had arrived and she was standing right in the middle of it.
John Patil’s secretary dropped the FedEx package on his desk. It was a thick envelope, postmarked from Dallas, Texas. He grabbed his sharp elephant ivory letter opener and dragged it across the top, ripping the thin, waxy cardboard open.
He knew what was inside: proof that the Texas simpleton his son was planning to marry was nothing but trouble. He had felt it the second he laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, yes, and charming, and he could understand why his son had fallen for her, but there was more to marriage than that. There was his legacy and ensuring it would stand the test of time. He wanted his son matched with someone who would not only protect the Patil name, but fortify it.
That wasn’t going to be Annika Bashir.
Kiran needed someone like Lucy Vanderbilt, not a marketing major whose greatest pastime involved a credit card and shopping bags.
So he had done what every concerned parent should do. He’d hired a local private investigator to follow the woman around Dallas and keep him updated on her life. He would find something to show Kiran—he just needed one smoking gun and it would be over. So far, he had nothing.
He pulled out the latest pictures and looked them over.
Annika getting her nails done.
Annika bumping into Kareem outside her lawyers office, but they were obviously fighting.
Annika eating a pink macaron at a French restaurant with friends.
Nothing.
John stacked the photos and put them back into the envelope. The he filed them away in his locked cabinet under his desk.
No smoking gun today.
But you don’t grow a massive multi-billion dollar empire without cultivating one specific virtue: Patience.
He could wait.
“That’s a nice big one, just the way I like it,” purred Lucy Vanderbilt to Kiran.
“Thank you. I hear that a lot,” he answered, feeling somewhat proud. He had been tasked to showing this woman around Goa and though he had his reservations, her company wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and it kept his mind off of Annika.
He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing.
“I’m sure you do. Can I touch it?” the attractive blonde asked, moving her hand to the edge of the Koi pond in his mother’s hospital atrium, where a massive golden fish was nibbling on crumbs floating on the water’s surface.
“You can try. He’ll most likely get spooked and move away if you’re too aggressive.”
Lucy looked Kiran dead in the eyes and smiled as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’ll be gentle. It’s not like I want to eat him. He has nothing to be afraid of.”
Kiran swallowed and loosened his shirt collar. Did they set the temperature to high in there? He made a mental note to ask the equipment manager. “Go ahead and try.” He shrugged. “You never know.”
Lucy reached out to the fish, her fingers just touching the surface of the water. It looked as if she would succeed until the fish bolted away back into the dark recesses of the water. “Oh rats, I almost had him,” she said, disappointed.
“I’ve never heard of anyone petting a fish. They’re quite skittish. Perhaps you were trying to do the impossible,” he offered.
Lucy stood up and took a seat a little to close to the doctor on the bench—the same bench where Annika had once shared with him when she expressed her views on beauty and life and how one meant little without the other. She loved this place and he loved her for that.
But she wasn’t there.
After a moment, Lucy had something to say. “This is a lovely garden your mother built.”
“Thank you. I hope to have one like it in the new orphanage.”
He noticed her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh? You don’t think that’s a bit extravagant? We could use the money for another wing and house more children.”
He nodded his head politely, but didn’t say anything. She had a point.
But Annika would hate it.