Dutch Delight - Book 1 E-Book

Chain Emily

• Herausgeber: So Romance - INT
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Aux Délices d'Amsterdam
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 245

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

They weren't meant to be, but Christmas magic had other plans...

Tess and Nolan weren't meant to be. She's a businesswoman, weakened by her ex, Tomás, who abandoned her on the eve of their wedding. He's a confectioner, haunted by the death of his fiancée and his mother. Two people with tumultuous pasts who cross paths by chance in Amsterdam as Christmas is approaching. Everything seems to separate them... And yet, the Christmas season always seem to have some trick up its sleeve! Will they be able to put their wounds aside so that the magic of Christmas can do its work?

Come discover the new So Romance series under a snowy Amsterdam, tempting treat... snd dreams in their heads.

EXCERPT

I sit on the floor next to her for a moment. I distract her by telling her about one of the worst falls I had in my youth. A nasty bump with a laceration on my ribs. The anecdote, that I fainted three times at the mention of a needle to sew my arms back together, seems to amuse her greatly.
After a moment, her nose wrinkles and she finally manages to articulate a sentence:
"It stinks… we stink," she explains.
I sniff and realize the ambient odor surrounding us.
"You're not going to take your t-shirt off, are you?" she teases me. I might misinterpret that kind of coincidence," she adds with a half-smile.
I smile at her, pretending to take it off. She covers her face with her hand like a child. Her gesture makes me laugh, the effects of which I haven't felt in a long time.
"I promise, I'll stop undressing. But we're still going to have to do something about the smell," I laugh.
She nods, agreeing. With one hand, she grabs the sofa post to stand up. I support her back, ready to steady her at the slightest sign of weakness.
"I'm fine," she assures me.
I pretend to move away, still keeping an eye on her. She appreciates my show of confidence and pushes herself up into a sitting position. Still pale-faced, she waits a moment before straightening completely and standing. Her eyes shining, she observes me without animosity. Almost curious to see me still here.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Chain has always written and in diverse styles: from fantasy stories to thrillers and, of course, romance. After the series The Intern, she returns to So Romance to put stars in our eyes as Christmas approaches.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Chapter 1

Tess

Rush hour forces my driver to stop for the tenth time. The urge to leap from the taxi and walk the last few meters is tempting, but no one does that. Especially not a future vice president. At least, that’s what I hope to become in the next minutes. Sixty hours of hard work each week that might finally pay off. “Diligence always brings satisfaction, ” as my father says. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I agree with those words.

Seven years after joining one of the largest firms in the Netherlands, newly established in the management and auditing sector, sourcing capital, negotiating, finding the rare gem to make it flourish–this is my domain. I have lived for this for as long as I can remember.

“Three minutes, madam, ” informs the driver.

I’m used to this taxi service, but I don’t know this driver personally. Conscientiously, I note on my smartphone that he has just politely informed me of my imminent arrival. Data is a fundamental element for the smooth operation of our company. I activate the app, which has been dormant in a corner of my personal phone, to rate my driver. Eyes glued to the notes displayed on the little gem of technology I use for work, I tap out a comment on the other device.

Arrived late compared to estimated time (likely cause: heavy traffic). The driver is pleasant, not chatty as I requested. Smooth driving (allows me to work without being disturbed by sudden braking). Car very well maintained. (Good smell without being overpowering.)

Overall rating: 4.5/5.

Once my rating is written, I send it directly to the central office. My fingers barely lock the two devices when the driver stops in front of a multi-story building. I slip a bill slightly higher than the fare into the hand he extends to me, without giving him a single glance. It’s not generosity to reward a job well done. It’s a matter of justice.

Before the driver can attempt to return my change, I slip out of the cabin. The fresh air of early December sends slight shivers through me, which I ignore as I once again gaze at the immense glass tower before me. In seven years, I have never felt the slightest sense of weariness in admiring it. A giant of glass, solid, representing the prosperous company where I am fortunate enough to work.

I step onto the smooth pebble walkway that adds an even more majestic aspect to the place. My heels click loudly against the gray ground, but I don’t mind. The constant din of the city of Rotterdam drowns out my own presence. This is what I love here. To drown in this city where commerce and finance go hand in hand. Originally from Amsterdam, I wouldn’t leave this more dynamic and prosperous city for anything in the world. No tourists disrupt my days, and here, no romantic views of a canal lifts my heart.

“Madam Abspoel, ” warmly greets the receptionist.

It’s common to see new faces in this position. Each time, I inquire about the name and other small details regarding the employee. Knowing your surroundings and being pleasant is important when you work as much as I do. This building has become a home, especially in recent months…

“Maarten, ” I reply with a half-smile.

Calling him by his first name elicits the expected reaction. He lowers his eyes to his computer, a joyful pout on his lips. I take my badge from the pocket of my trench coat and activate the security gate. After a quick scan of my electronic chip, the doors open to allow me access to the elevator shafts.

“Tess! ” exclaims Henri Coulier.

I have had the opportunity to work numerous times with this talented French financier. But both he and I, in working too much, had forgotten the boundaries of professional collaboration. Going out to dinner to discuss work, grabbing a bite in the middle of the night, always immersed in endless files, and falling asleep against each other from exhaustion. He saw that as a sign of affection from me. But I had simply forgotten to define our relationship as what it was–just business. Out of principle, I did not mix work and feelings. Not since I learned that love is just another weapon in this field.

“Henri, what a pleasure! ” I say without further ceremony.

My tone is not cheerful. Cold and professional.

A tall blonde, slightly withdrawn, furrows her brow as she sees him embrace me in a hug that feels a bit too pronounced for my taste.

Intrigued, I force my colleague to introduce us.

“You’re in charming company today, ” I remark, keeping my eyes fixed on this stranger.

Before he can even begin to respond, she steps forward with her hand extended.

“Eugénie Mansfield.”

No accent drips from her introduction, which leaves me unsure of where she’s from.

“Tess…”

“I know who you are, ” she cuts me off before turning away from me to enter the elevator that has just opened its doors.

Henri’s hand rests against my hips, urging me to follow the stranger. His touch sends a shiver down my spine before I hear him whisper:

“Don’t ask questions and get in.”

Offended by being dismissed in such a manner, I prepare to respond when the name Mansfield comes back to me. It belongs to one of our new shareholders. And if I believe Kathleen, my secretary, the family is not just wealthy.

Blushing with shame for not having made the connection immediately, I step into the elevator, avoiding the gaze of this blonde, to whom my future with this company belongs. Henri follows closely behind, still too near my body.

“Are you two together? ” she inquires as the elevator ascends to the upper floors.

Dazed, I look back and forth between Henri and this woman. My first thought is: why does that concern you? The second: of course not, are you joking? Neither thought makes it to my lips before my colleague’s response comes swiftly.

“Never mix work and feelings, Eugénie, come on. We’re not rookies. Especially not Tess.”

Hearing him defend me touches me. Our last conversation was several months ago when he wanted us to start something outside these walls. My cold and dry answer back then is not reflected in his response today.

“Good, otherwise what follows would have been compromised, ” she declares, a satisfied smile on her face.

I have never been very patient under normal circumstances. It’s what drives me to excellence in my profession. I unearth gems with great potential, I pressure the owner who quickly gives in, often before realizing the true value of what they possess. Simple as pie. But waiting to learn the plans of a stranger with the power to fire me on the spot makes me more anxious than I should be.

The rest of the elevator ride is heavy. Henri seems just as tense as I am while Eugénie casually taps away on her phone, seemingly distracted. My own phone vibrates several times, but I pay it no mind, too tense to respond to anyone.

“After you, ” Henri invites elegantly, pressing himself against the elevator wall to let us pass in front of him.

If the situation had been different, I might have thought he was trying to flirt with this blonde. At this moment, I would seduce this woman myself if it would ensure my place. Except we are far too tense to do anything.

“Good, otherwise what follows would have been compromised.” The phrase loops in my mind. What was going to follow? What could have been compromised? I still wonder when the cobalt blue suit of Bill Maas, my boss and friend, emerges from a group of well-dressed men and women. My simple suit, thrown on this morning without further ceremony, makes me feel uncomfortable. On days when I have no scheduled meetings, I don’t bother to put on makeup, and my hair is held back only by a simple elastic band in a rather casual ponytail. My meeting this morning was supposed to be just with Bill and, at worst, one or two colleagues from accounting and human resources–not any of the big names standing before me. The first to step forward is a charming man in his fifties, with very short gray hair. His smoky suit perfectly matches what he exudes. The only splash of color is in his cerulean blue eyes.

“Jack Rius, from Altorium.”

His expressive smile doesn’t allow me to forget who he is. The name of one of the major groups in our company quickens my heartbeat, while a woman in a mint green suit, in her forties, takes his place.

“Eléonor Merber, HDM, ” she introduces herself with a broad smile. “Holding Development Manager, ” she adds in a whisper in response to my lack of reaction.

I nod, without thinking to introduce myself personally. Something tells me they all know exactly who I am.

“Nick J. Niels, delighted to finally meet you, ” declares one of the youngest in the assembly before taking my hand and placing a kiss on it.

My cheeks flush as I try to reclaim my hand. The contact of his warm lips on my skin brings back memories from months ago. I shake my head to chase those thoughts away and listen to the introductions of the other attendees.

“We’ll take our seats in the meeting room, if you don’t mind.”

Bill’s voice, imbued with natural authority, prompts everyone into the vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows. I have always loved this room during our business meetings or audits that stretched late into the night. But today, it feels threatening.

The shareholders take their seats at the far end of the table. It’s clear from the way they hold themselves that they’ve already had a meeting before this one, and they don’t seem to ponder their positions. Several binders already scattered before them confirm my suspicion.

Henri sits to Bill’s right, while I opt for the chair to his left, when Eugénie Mansfield places her hand on the back of the latter.

“Don’t sit down, ” she commands, settling next to my boss.

A bit lost, I find myself standing alone as the shareholders’ gazes fall one by one on me. Uncomfortable, I step back a little from the table to regain my composure. Am I going to be fired? In my worst nightmares, it usually starts somewhat like this.

I’m about to speak when the door to the room opens to reveal my assistant. A brief relief washes over my features before I see that she avoids my gaze. Does she know about my dismissal? A pang of sadness freezes my chest. Kathleen is one of the best assistants I’ve ever had; we were close enough to feel concerned when one of us had a problem. At least, that’s what I thought until now.

“Here are Madam Abspoel’s belongings, ” she states, placing a box on the small table.

Tears well up uncontrollably in my eyes. My jaw clenches to prevent me from breaking down in front of this assembly. My assistant leaves without a word or a glance in my direction.

“Well, shall we start right away with the topic that concerns us all?”

I stop breathing as the shareholders throw me smiles that I interpret as sadistic. The man named Nick J. Niels straightens up. He theatrically clears his throat and locks his gaze onto mine. I don’t flinch, too proud to let them humiliate me.

“Madam Abspoel, Tess, isn’t it? ” he begins, pretending to examine the file in front of him.

By the way he holds himself, I know he knows every detail of my case. His file serves him only in his role.

“Madam Abspoel, ” I respond without emotion.

My answer draws an amused smile from him. His fingers glide over the first paper on the list. Despite myself, I want to know what’s written there. Perhaps it’s just his breakfast receipt or his shopping list. Or, it could outline mistakes I’ve made over the past few years that authorize them to fire me without notice. In my opinion, I am one of the most prolific negotiators in the company, but one can always fail.

“You have an unusual background, ” he continues, rarely lifting his eyes to me.

I swallow hard. My resume is flawless, except for one indelible stain two years ago. The biggest mistake of my career. The one that forced me to work ten times harder to get back to the same level as the others. A weakness. A misstep called love.

“However, your background is impressive. Especially in the last eleven months. What work!”

He seems almost impressed. He is good at what he does, that’s undeniable. I begin to relax as he merely recites his role.

“But are you a good asset? Can your environment fully exploit your capabilities?”

He leaves his question hanging, and I hesitate to respond. Just as my dry lips part to offer him a semblance of an answer, he continues:

“I’m not sure. That’s an understatement, as we are all convinced that you don’t belong here.”

There it is, he said it. I have no place here anymore. I’m fired. After seven long years of hard work, months of rebuilding myself through this job, I’m being tossed aside without further ado.

In situations like this, there are those who scream, cry, or run. I am the other percentage, the one who steps outside the norm. Instead of collapsing, I rise a little higher.

“Indeed. I don’t belong here. But my talent for uncovering thriving young companies is undeniable. You’ll find it on page three, between the revenue statements and your balance sheet. I’m not a novice. When I want something, I get it. Here in Rotterdam, there’s nothing left to win. The magic of novelty is not found here and…”

“Exactly, ” Eugénie interrupts, standing up. “You have no reason to be in Rotterdam anymore.”

Firing me is one thing, but banishing me from a city is another… I prepare to retort with a little insult from my collection when Bill stands up as well.

“Let’s stop dragging out the suspense, my friends! ” he exclaims, a smile on his lips.

He walks around the table to approach me. The situation feels surreal. His kind gaze and friendly smile don’t match my dismissal. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me as he pulls me into his arms.

“You are being promoted, and will become the new vice president of Maas & Abspoel Holding, based in Amsterdam.”

His voice seems distant. A veil of softness envelops me as I gradually drift away from the blurry faces leaning towards me.

Chapter 2

Nolan

The sound of the oven timer pulls me from my thoughts. I shake my head, a bit perplexed about the time. For my last day, I’m not very present… Lucas approaches me with a cheerful demeanor. I must admit, I will miss this cheerful French side of him. His unruly brown curls sticking out from his chef’s hat and his corny jokes from the start of our shift.

“Are you daydreaming, Nolan? ” he throws at me, grabbing two enormous bars of dark chocolate from the counter.

Lucas is a whiz at chocolate preparations. If his father weren’t one of the greatest chocolatiers in Paris, I would have asked him to come with me. Except he already has his mind set on taking over the family business after his father. He just needs to endure a few more years of orders from men like Alexandrov Mickael. One of the big names in our profession, relentless and extraordinary.

In three years here, I’ve learned so much about different glazing techniques, baking, ganache… The list is long, and the thanks are absent. Since Alexandrov learned of my departure, he has been avoiding me. Everyone here is just passing through, eventually returning to their home country. Nevertheless, this man finds it hard to accept being left behind.

“Ready to run away? ” Lucas whispers, as if reading my thoughts.

His accent gives his English a warmer touch, which all the women in Warsaw seem to appreciate.

“Yes. I miss my country…”

The glimmer that passes through my colleague’s eyes tells me he feels the same way. He shakes the chocolate bars in front of him to explain his escape, even though I know he’s simply been avoiding this conversation for weeks.

Making friends in the pastry and confectionery world isn’t easy. It’s almost impossible under normal circumstances. Except for Lucas and me. We’ve become like brothers to each other. Me, the orphan without family, him, the only son of a man too busy succeeding to be a good father.

Three days after his arrival in Warsaw, we were already pouring our hearts out about our lives, a Polish beer in hand.

“No vodka? ” the waitress exclaimed in broken English.

“No, yeast, it’s good.”

Lucas’s very school-like English had sealed our friendship.

Now that I’m heading back to the Netherlands, the thought of not having these nights of drinking and my friend’s incomprehensible humor weighs heavily on me. If my dream weren’t waiting for me there, I might have asked Mickael to let me stay a few more months… except here, I’m not fully doing what I love. Despite my admiration for Lucas’s work, chocolate isn’t my preferred material. Only sugar and what it holds allow me to shine.

I’m busy with my last batch when Mélodie’s voice reaches me from the shop adjacent to the kitchen.

“Tell me he’s still here, ” she whines.

“He left a week ago, ” Martha repeats in the same weary tone as on other days.

Lucas appears at that moment, showing the number six with his fingers.

“She has the record, I think? ” he jokes, trying to remember the last girls who sought to see him again after a wild night spent in his bed.

I shake my head, not commenting. I don’t have much to say to him; love and I don’t mix well. The only two women I’ve loved were taken from me on the same day. The memory of my mother’s sweet face compresses my stomach, before that of my first girlfriend, Ellie, finishes the job.

Invisible tears stream down my cheeks as the wound reopens. Lucas’s laughter slightly alleviates that oppressive sensation their memory brings me, but not enough to forget them.

“Maybe I’ll send them a wedding invitation; what do you think?”

That’s what’s twisted about Lucas. He already knows the woman of his life. An adorable Parisian from a good family, hopelessly in love with him since elementary school. A love without a hitch… if we don’t count the dozens of women who pass through his bed here in Poland.

“If you want to avoid them talking to your Chloé on your wedding day, avoid it, ” I reply, carefully pouring the honey ganache over the last cakes ready to be displayed in the showcase.

My friend’s face darkens as Mélodie’s voice reaches us.

“He’ll regret it when I’m the one having fun, ” she snaps, acidic.

Seeing that something is bothering my friend, I quickly finish applying the ganache before turning to him. With his arms crossed over his chest, he seems to be deep in thought.

“What’s going on? ” I ask.

“What if she’s like me? She might have met someone else… and she doesn’t love me anymore!”

Honestly, I hadn’t expected this conversation enough to think about it on my end. It seems obvious that this Chloé realizes her future husband’s actions, and the least she can do is return the favor. However, women don’t think like men.

“She loves you, stop worrying. Think of her birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, and Valentine’s Day… the rest can wait for your return.”

I don’t truly believe every word I say, but after trying relentlessly to stop his antics with the entire young population of Warsaw, I’m trying a different approach.

He looks at me thoughtfully before giving me a big goofy smile.

“I don’t know why hearing you say such things reassures me; you know nothing about love. But well… I suppose that’s why I’ll miss you, ” he sighs, removing his apron. “Come on, last round of bars, in memory of the last few months!”

He doesn’t know about Ellie. Like no one does. My wounds have been buried for a long time without the possibility of surfacing completely, just enough to make me suffer.

The clock strikes 6 PM, quitting time. Today, it seems to have a different, more bitter taste. A hint of fear creeps in as well. Martha comes to find me in the locker room, her eyes swollen.

“I’m going to miss you, my dear, you and your talent, that’s for sure. What am I going to tell Mrs. Strauss? And the others?”

I smile at her, grateful for these last months in her company. She insisted that I create my own confections, and the success they’ve garnered has significantly increased the shop’s revenue. Even Mickael had to acknowledge that his wife had a good idea in giving me my chance.

“Too bad you won’t be here for pierwszy dzień Bożego Narodzenia… ” she sighs.

Christmas… I’ve been hearing that for weeks. As if the world stops during Christmastime to become something more… perhaps I’m alone; that’s why I no longer have that overflowing enthusiasm for this time of year. But returning to Amsterdam will change that, I’m sure of it.

“Christmas with Lucas’s talent for chocolates… you have no reason to worry, Martha! ” I reassure her, pulling her into a final embrace.

The sweet scent emanating from her hair tugs at my heart with a pang of nostalgia. Being around her every day, I’ve grown accustomed to her presence. I see a bit of my mother in her. A candy-like person, filled with sweetness.

Leaving behind people I’ve learned to love feels like déjà vu.

Plane ticket in hand, leaning against one of the massive pillars in the airport hall, I see myself leaving Amsterdam years ago. Hurt, alone, and resigned. No future, no wishes, except to forget.

Flight to Amsterdam, gate number 4.

The voice of the invisible hostess announces the closest gate to where I am. The airline, Lot Polish Airlines, is displayed next to the flight details. 2 hours and 10 minutes of flying await me before I set foot at home.

It’s been years since I last returned, and yet, upon my arrival, all of the serious stuff will begin. The notary has already arranged everything. All that’s missing is my presence in this magical city.

Five minutes before 8 PM, the plane takes off from Warsaw. The light of the Polish capital offers me a final glimpse of the months spent here before I plunge into the clouds.

I barely have time to rest my head to the side when a hostess asks me what I would like to have. Having lost my Dutch habits, I respond to her in impeccable English, which misleads her about my nationality. This is followed by a list of typical dishes from our country that I must, according to her, taste upon landing.

She walks away from me after a moment without me being able to contradict her. This interlude only grants me a light nap before the plane begins its descent. With eyes puffy from half-sleep and in a less-than-joyful mood than I would have wished for a return home, I step down the last steps of the jet bridge.

Chapter 3

Tess

The cool air from the cabin, coming from an air conditioning system that seem unnecessary in December, sends unpleasant shivers down my spine. Delighted to be wearing one of the last cashmere sweaters from Marc Jacobs’ latest collection, I settle into the grooves of my seat to avoid catching a chill during the flight. My closed expression signals to the crew that I do not wish to be disturbed during this brief transitional flight.

From Rotterdam to Amsterdam, I have no time to think about anything other than the surreal hours that have just passed. Reflexively, I nervously tap my phone, unable to turn off airplane mode, while being watched by a flight attendant with a perfectly neat bun. The desire to read the dozens of congratulations I have surely received from my colleagues and clients gives me, for a moment, a blissful look.

This feeling of happiness lasts only a moment before I become aware of what lies ahead. The prospect of nearly a month of vacation terrifies me. A forced rest, as Bill tried to explain to me. My fainting spell has only intensified the urgency of this break. Resting is the only way to give it my best when opening my own branch, according to him.

My name, associated with that of one of the greatest negotiators in the country. While the idea delights me, I wonder what I could possibly do during such a long month. The thought of staying in Rotterdam for this forced break initially settled in my mind. That was before an unknown guilt compelled me to take a flight to Amsterdam, the city of my childhood, where my parents run a charming bed and breakfast in the heart of the city. A welcoming place that I only allow myself to visit once a year, for the end-of-year holidays.

Christmas is just a few weeks away, so I plan to make a short stay before the holidays and not return, pretending to have urgent work at home. Kathleen will find a lovely destination for me to spend the holidays, basking in the sun and completely relaxed. That’s what Bill wants for me, and I’m not entirely against the idea after a few hours of reflection. The latest figures from my department prove that I haven’t rested in ages. It’s time to accept that I can take a breather without fearing that I will sink.

I am much stronger now than I was twenty-four months ago.

A cold breeze brushes against my nose as the voice of a flight attendant announces our imminent arrival at Amsterdam Airport. Her way of translating her sentence into three languages makes me forget the tranquility of Rotterdam. Here, tourists swarm in every direction. A simple municipal building becomes the attraction of the day. Entire families pose in front of it, oblivious to the wrought iron signs on the door.

When she begins her French translation, she stumbles over the last word. She quickly apologizes, trying again. The French-speaking tourists applaud her effort. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Applauding a job well done, yes. Applauding a mistake, no. Even a second attempt. In negotiation, mistakes are unforgivable. One mispronounced word can tarnish relationships, potentially causing a major contract to slip away.

A child squabbles with his brother just as the seatbelt sign illuminates. I sigh, convinced that taking a flight after 8 PM would have spared me this kind of inconvenience. A man in a dark gray suit seems to share my thoughts as he shoots a dark look at the two kids. Silence returns to the plane as we begin a descent that is almost pleasant.

The arrival on Amsterdam’s soil doesn’t thrill me much either. A light rain accompanies my first steps on my native land after months. The sulky air I’ve had since boarding the plane doesn’t lighten as I order a taxi through an app on my phone. The battery blinks dangerously before dying, forcing me to search for an electrical outlet in the arrivals hall. After a search devoid of patience, I approach one of the information desks to ask where I might find a plug for my phone charger. A charming but incompetent attendant asks me to wait.

Impatient, I tap the counter as one of her superiors comes to assist me:

“There are no available outlets in this wing due to construction. You’ll find some on the other side, in the international arrivals hall.”

Her professional, complete, and quick response suits me perfectly. I give her a smile, accompanied by a thank you for her service, and move in the indicated direction.

Most often, my annual trip is by train. Sometimes by car, when I wasn’t going alone. A bygone era, for months now. The airport is therefore completely unfamiliar to me. Slowly, I observe the directional signs to avoid going to the wrong hall.

A sign reading “Arrivals Hall – International Flights” points me in the right direction. My small suitcase, containing only the essentials to survive here for a few days, rolls behind me. Only travelling with essentials is another technique to help me leave the family cocoon more quickly. My mother, a stunning sixty-six-year-old blonde, is my complete opposite. And when it comes to family and Christmas celebrations, it’s not easy to escape without planning a slew of clever strategies.

“Look at the sign, Dad, the Polish Airlines has landed, ” exclaims a young woman, bouncing with impatience.

Judging by the toddler she holds in her arms, dressed in a “DAD IS HERE” onesie, the happy father seems to be eagerly awaited. Unmoved by the potential reunion of a stranger and her lover, I turn away from the doors leading to the tarmac to find the elusive outlet that will ensure my communication with the outside world.