𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 ── 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒔. ✔︎

𝟬𝟬𝟬. 𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘀.

prologue / racist hotels. 

           FIVE FIGURES ENTERED THE HOTEL, drenched in rain and carrying Louis Vuitton bags. Nicholas Young scraped his shoes on the marble floors, getting dirt all over them as Ramona scoffed. "Gor Gor, that's not polite," Ramona lectured, cantonese rolling off her tongue. She may have been younger than Nick and Astrid but she was just as mature as them. "If you didn't make us walk, we wouldn't be soaked!" Eleanor Young exclaimed as she and Ramona approached the front desk, young Ramona holding onto Eleanor's hand.

Ramona was drained from the sixteen-hour flight from Singapore, the train ride from Heathrow Airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets. Felicity, her dai gu cheh—or "big aunt" in Cantonese—said it was a sin to take a taxi nine blocks and forced everyone to walk all the way from Piccadilly Tube Station.

"May I help you? This is the Calthorpe ─ private hotel," the person at the front desk stated in a quite rude tone. 

"Yes, good evening, we have a reservation," Eleanor replied in perfect English. Ormsby peered at her in surprise. 

"What name is it under?"

 "Eleanor Young and family." 

Ormsby froze — he recognized the name, especially since the Young party had booked the Lancaster Suite. But who could have imagined that "Eleanor Young" would turn out to be Chinese, and how on earth did she end up here?

"I'm terribly sorry, but I can't seem to find a booking under that name."

"Are you sure?" Eleanor asked in surprise.

"Quite sure." Ormsby grinned tightly.

Felicity Leong joined her sister-in-law at the front desk. "Is there a problem?" she asked impatiently, eager to get to the room to dry her hair.

"Alamak, they can't find our reservation," Eleanor sighed.

"How come? Maybe you booked it under another name?" Felicity inquired.

"No, lah. Why would I do that? It was always booked under my name," Eleanor replied irritatedly. Why did Felicity always assume she was incompetent? She turned back to the manager. "Sir, can you please check again? I reconfirmed our reservation just two days ago. We're supposed to be in your largest suite."

"Yes, I know you booked the Lancaster Suite, but I can't find your name anywhere," Ormsby insisted.

"Excuse me, but if you know we booked the Lancaster Suite, why don't we have the room?" Ramona asked, confused as Auntie Felicity nodded, grasping Ramona's shoulder.

Bloody hell. Ormsby cursed at his own slip-up. "No, no, you misunderstood. What I meant was that you might think you booked the Lancaster Suite, but I certainly can't find any record of it." He turned away for a moment, pretending to rummage through some other paperwork.

Eleanor leaned over the polished oak counter and pulled the leather-bound reservations book toward her, flipping through the pages. "Look! It says right here 'Mrs. Eleanor Young—Lancaster Suite for four nights.' Do you not see this?"

"Madam! That is PRIVATE!" Ormsby snapped in fury, startling his two junior clerks, who glanced uncomfortably at their manager.

Eleanor peered at the balding, red-faced man, the situation suddenly becoming abundantly clear. She hadn't seen this particular brand of superior sneer since she was a child growing up in the waning days of colonial Singapore, and she thought this kind of overt racism had ceased to exist.