Chapter 21 Borrowed Time #2
I could see it in her eyes that she had shifted to journalist mode. Her intense attention felt like she was zipping me open and peering at the contents on the inside.
She tilted her head. "Were you going through something when you decided to redesign this island?"
The question landed like a blade between my ribs.
Very smart, Tora.
Of course she'd seen it. The journalist in her could read the architecture of trauma—how every imported flower and relocated tree was just another way of saying I couldn't save them, but I could save this.
I tensed. "I was still battling grief over my mother and brother’s death. I’d bottled it up for so long that it finally began to spill out and I found that. . .I needed a place to go where. . .no one was around to see me. . .break apart.”
"So, you were building a sanctuary?"
"I told myself I was creating a place where I could escape from everyone—my enemies, father, men—somewhere I didn't have to be the Dragon.
" I gestured toward the beach, where waves lapped gently at the shore.
"I envisioned myself here alone. Walking these shores at dawn with only waves and my own thoughts.
Reading in the pavilion while rain drummed on the roof. Swimming in absolute silence."
My voice roughened. "No complicated entanglements. No mafia politics. No voices. No one requiring pieces of myself I wasn't willing to give."
"A curated fortress of solitude."
"Yes." I turned back to face her with the sun warm on our skin and the sound of the ocean as a constant backdrop. "But never—not once in all those years of redesigning this island—did I imagine it would become something else entirely."
"What do you mean? What has it become now?”
"Every detail I obsessed over—the imported sand, the positioned pines, the flowers, the birds, and even the angle of the pavilion’s roof to perfectly catch the sunset—I chose for myself alone. But standing here with you now, watching your eyes widen, seeing you take it all in. . ."
She parted her lips.
My heart warmed. "I realize I was building this for you all along. I just hadn't met you yet."
And one day—if I survived this war, if I could keep her safe from my father and his spies—I would bring her back here.
Not as my lover.
Not as my Tiger or Heart.
As my wife.
I'd propose on this beach. Watch the sun catch the ring as I slid it onto her finger. Watch her belly grow round with our child while the Satsuki bloomed and died and bloomed again.
Watch our kids play on the beach.
The visions felt more real than the war waiting for us.
Her eyes watered like she could see all the things playing out in my mind. “Baby. . .”
"This island isn't mine anymore, Tora. It's ours. And the truly terrifying part is. . .”
“What?”
“Now that you’re in my life, I don’t think I can ever be here without you."
Before she could respond, my chef, Bunzō approached with a lacquered tray carrying two tall crystal glasses.
"Sir." He gave me a slight bow and turned to Nyomi. “It is good to see you again.”
“It is.” She nodded. “I’m still dreaming about that amazing breakfast you made Zo and me.”
“I hope to make you something else soon or,” he raised his finger. “Or we could cook together.”
“Oh.” She grinned. “That sounds like fun. I would love to cook with you.”
I frowned.
“I was told that Hiro and you cooked together this morning. I was able to get a small taste of the hollandaise sauce from a pot before the washers got to it, and I was quite impressed. What ingredients did you use for that sauce?”
“My grandmother would whip me if I told you.”
“Oh no. We don’t want that, but we must cook together.”
She nodded. “We must. In fact, I’ll need help with this big cocktail party and dinner I’m doing for the Claws, Fangs, Reo, and the Dragon of course, so I’ll need all the help—”
“What?” I scowled.
She blinked. “Oh. I’m doing something for the Claws and then—”
“That’s not happening. The breakfast should have been enough to satisfy them—”
“The Claws didn’t get breakfast today, just Reo and Hiro—”
“Everyone is taking this too far. I’ve had enough—”
“You promised not to butt in with my cooking for everyone—”
“You said nothing about a cocktail party and dinner for my men.”
“And I don’t have to say anything either.”
What the fuck does that mean?
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Chef Bunzō. “Anyway. Thank you so much for these drinks. What’s in them?”
The cocktails gleamed pale pink in the sunlight.
He stirred, clearly, uncomfortable with our earlier discussion. Surely, he had never seen anyone talk to me in that way.
He cleared his throat. “Fresh yuzu juice, premium sake, a touch of Okinawan sugar, hibiscus syrup, all topped with champagne.”
“Wow.” She took a sip and groaned.
My body stirred.
She licked her lips. “I see why you’ve won so many awards.”
He blushed and then bowed. “You honor me.”
“It tastes like sunshine, joy, and flowers."
He bobbed his head. "That's what I was going for."
“Oh my God. Promise me that you will help me with the drink pairings too for the event.”
I sneered.
There will be no damned cocktail party.
I could have said that out loud, but I chose to be quiet for now. Let them all think they will share her food. I would come up with a plan to end this, even if it meant getting rid of the kitchen altogether.
“Nyomi, I will do my best.” He made sure to avoid my scowl as he quickly nodded and then backed away. “Enjoy your drinks. I provided a nice picnic basket of snacks while you swim.”
“Oh. That sounds fabulous.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
When he left, Nyomi turned to me and shook her head. “If you keep being stingy about the food, you’re not going to get an invite to the party.”
“Is that so?” My control slipped a notch.
She gave me this odd look and widened her eyes as if she could see something rising behind me.
I squinted at her, puzzled by her sudden silence and the widening of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I looked behind me, didn’t see anything, and then faced her. “You saw something.”
“I did but you wouldn’t believe me, if I told you.”
“What did you see?”
She pursed her lips.
“Tora?”
“I saw your dragon.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She headed off with the drink and took another sip.
I followed her. “You saw my dragon?”
“New topic. Please.” She sipped more of her drink and picked up her pace.
Saw my dragon. . .what the hell does that mean?
Her words haunted me long after she walked ahead.
The phrase looped in my mind, unsettling and electric.
What did she see exactly?
A flicker of energy in the air?
Some mythical vision?
Was it a metaphor of the shadow of what I was beneath the skin?
Or had she really glimpsed the darker thing that lived inside me—the one that had bombed Tokyo, destroyed families, and bathed itself in vengeance?
Maybe she’d seen the part of me I spent years burying beneath order and ritual.
Maybe she’d seen what even my men feared to name aloud.
Or maybe she’d simply felt it—the ancient hunger that stirred whenever she smiled, the beast that called her mine in a tongue older than language.
The questions pressed at the back of my skull like heat behind my eyes.
I wanted to ask more.
To know everything.
To corner the truth out of her.
But the breeze carried her laughter again, light, lovely, human, and so passionately alive, and I swallowed the questions before they could wound the air between us.
There would be another time for this conversation.
I would not push it anymore.
Not here.
Not now.
Not while the sun touched her brown skin.
Not while I finally had her all to myself.
I let the mystery linger.
If she truly saw my dragon, I would let her keep the vision for now—because the next time we spoke of it, I intended to make her understand exactly what it meant to awaken the creature inside me.
Naughty Tiger.