The Queen’s Denial

Chapter 27 Chi

Chapter 27

Chi

“What was that, Chichi-chan?”

I swallow hard, and I’m certain my father senses my anxieties. I’m sure he’s known deep down that there was something between us, but he has never brought it up so plainly before. I don’t like lying to him, mostly because it never really works, but I see no other option in this instance. “Nothing, father. He is just concerned for my wellbeing, like any of the guards. And, you know, we are both young…”

My father blinks at me, looks over at Andy’s retreating form, and then back to me. “I believe it is more than that. For both of you.”

I have no idea what to say or how to react. Should I deny it? Should I confess? What is he expecting me to do? Should I find a way to convince us both that this is no big deal?

“I’m sure Daiki told you about Andy and me at the mansion a few weeks ago. We were very… obvious. But you know how I live, Papa. We are having fun with each other.”

He eyes me sternly again, and I know he sees right through me. “It is more than that, Chichi. You are still lying to me.”

I gulp and finally decide it’s time to shut my mouth.

Keeping quiet for too long gives him my answer by default. He sighs. “Chichi, this will not be tolerated. And you have your second meeting with Asuka tomorrow. This behavior must be stopped.”

I grit my teeth and look off like a petulant child. But it really isn’t fair. Does my father think I’ll never have a lover if I hate my husband? I’m certain my father has had one or two over the years. But I suppose that isn’t quite the same, as he and my mother split up so long ago.

Not for the first time, I wish I knew more about their relationship. Were they ever happy? Were they ever in love? I suppose I’ve never actually seen a functional marriage at work. Some of my friends’ parents seem to like each other, at least, but I’m not close enough to any of them to really know if they love each other or how that relationship works.

In the end, it almost seems impossible that people can love each other for so long. That people don’t get sick of your body and your mind. That they don’t focus on the negatives to such an extent that you become somewhat meaningless and unattractive to them. And then you get old and less attractive, anyway. And as often happens, I see my life played out for me this way, and just like that, I accept my fate, like I always end up doing.

The truth is, I know that I’ve never had control. But maybe we all think we have choices when we really don’t. Perhaps that reality is the same for us all: that we love hard and sweetly, and once that fades and wanes, we get old and wish for those younger years back.

Maybe that would happen even if I did have a choice. Even if I could choose Andy, I tell myself, trying to find some comfort. But something about that doesn’t ring true to me. Something about it feels off.

I sigh out all of my wishes, my hopes, and my heart’s desires, and I grit my teeth harder. “Yes, father. Of course.”

I wait for him to dismiss me, praying he’ll do so quickly. I feel his harsh gaze for a moment, but something seems to soften in the air between us the longer he stares. His energy shifts just a bit, but enough to tell me that he’s trying to find some kind of middle ground between us. This shocks me so much that I blink up at him hesitantly, wondering if I’m misreading his body language. But the further into this moment I get, the more I feel it.

“Father?” I ask expectantly.

“Chichi. You must… I didn’t want you to do this.”

I expected him to be angry, but I didn’t expect him to be disappointed. That tone in his voice is so much worse than anger. So much worse than a simple command. I can’t stand feeling an ounce of my father’s distress. He never shows it to anyone, and I don’t know why it’s there right now. Am I causing this? My father doesn’t get disappointed. He doesn’t feel pain. He is fearsome and hard, and he rules with an iron fist. I never want to see him troubled, especially over something I’ve done.

“I’m sorry, Oto-san.” I don’t know what else I can possibly say, and I hope this will pacify him.

Finally, he pulls himself up, straightens his spine, and becomes the scary paternal figurehead that I’ve always clung to. “You should be, Chichi. It won’t happen again. Correct?”

I almost sigh in relief. This is a tone I am accustomed to from him. “No, father. It won’t happen again.”