Chapter 7 Chryssy
Chapter 7
CHRYSSY
F ive days after making a very questionable decision, I find myself strapped to Vin as we cling to each other for dear life.
Literally.
We’re about to jump together off a building eight hundred feet above the ground while attached to nothing more than a thick cable and a few straps. It was explained to me as a decelerator descent, which is essentially a fast-moving, roof-to-ground chair lift in reverse. Minus the chair.
I’ve always imagined what it would feel like to be the seed of a dandelion floating through the air. Now I finally get my chance.
I admire the expanse of Las Vegas below us as we stand near the edge of the hotel we’re about to leap from while event goers wait in anticipation. Vin and I are pressed up against each other for our tandem jump. We’re buckled and clipped into the right cords that will allegedly support us both, and are being safety checked for a third time. Against my throat, Vin’s chest throbs. His heartbeat is like a Ping-Pong ball bouncing off my head.
“You doing okay?” I ask after a long stretch of silence. Vin hasn’t said a single word since we started this entire process.
Vin grunts. “Fine.”
I tilt my head back to get a good look at his face. His eyes are closed, his pinched eyebrows creating a deeply grooved quotation mark.
He’s scared.
Tandem-jumping off this building together now sounds like a terrible idea.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say softly, feeling my own heartbeat quickening in parallel to his. “We can turn back now.”
“It’s too late,” he mumbles. He blinks one eye open, peering out over the ledge before squeezing it shut again. In this brief second, I notice that his pupils are dilated, the black circles dominating the light brown.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” I ask.
“For the kids.”
“Right. The kids,” I echo. “What if I tell them it was me? I couldn’t jump.” I place my hand over my chest. “You know, I am starting to feel a little nauseous.”
“That wouldn’t explain me. I’d have to go solo,” he says, his voice shaky. “That’s worse.”
Though nonexistent at first, my nerves start to mirror Vin’s, increasing with every passing second. Through his turquoise bodysuit, I can feel excess heat. “Okay, we’re both feeling sick?” I suggest.
“I made a promise,” Vin says. “The only path down is that way.”
“Would it be easier if you threw me off?” I offer in an attempt to make him laugh.
An immediate smile forms on Vin’s face, but no sound accompanies it. “We’re attached. I’d go right along with you,” he says skeptically.
“Well, yes. Throw me, jump yourself, whatever you need to get through this. A little perspective shift might help,” I say.
He groans in response.
The waiting isn’t helping. It’s as though being this high off the ground is making time slow down, and the longer we’re up here, the more terrifying it’s becoming. We’re instructed to wait for the signal from below when the Take a Bow director finishes his introductions of the program and us. Once that happens, the crew will clear us to jump. Until then, all we’ve got is time.
I spin one of my little flower stud earrings. “Okay, uh”—thinking, thinking—“I have this flower,” I say, holding up my fist like I’m really holding one in it. “Do you like the smell?”
Vin’s eyes slowly open. “What?”
“Do you like the smell?” I repeat, holding my fist a little higher. “Of my flower.”
He makes a face. “Is the altitude getting to you?”
“There’s a good chance, but indulge me, will you?” I ask. “It’s one of the best-smelling flowers there is.”
Vin narrows his eyes at me but leans his head down to play pretend with me.
He sniffs the imaginary flower. “Smells like exhaust, false hope, and regret.”
“My flower smells nothing like those things,” I say, biting down a smile. “Try it again. For longer this time.”
He seems resigned, but Vin does as I instruct. He takes a long, deep breath in through his nose.
“Nice, right?” I ask.
Vin does it once more, deeply inhaling.
He doesn’t have to tell me he’s calming down. I can feel it. His thumping heart has slowed a beat. Vin’s contracting pupils also show me.
He smirks. “I see what you did there.”
“I just wanted you to enjoy my imaginary flower,” I say, grinning back. “Can you smell it once more, but this time release the breath through your mouth?”
Vin does, and his shoulders drop an inch.
I look out past him at the view that I’d typically see from an airplane: sky for miles. Until we’re prompted to leap, this is our hangout spot for the foreseeable future. If I can keep Vin breathing—and talking—we can get through this.
“When you said ‘nonprofit event,’ I imagined something kind of glamorous like, I don’t know, the Met Gala or something,” I say.
“The Met Gala isn’t as glamorous as it looks,” he says, still pale. “But I thought this event would be, too. No wonder they wanted me to have a plus-one. Normally these things are boring, red-carpet situations. Take a Bow wanted to shake up expectations for their Soar for Strings event. The organization raises money for string instruments for children who can’t afford them.”
“They did a good job shaking,” I say. “This is the opposite of boring.”
Vin nods one too many times. “I think that was the point. This gets people’s attention, which is ultimately good. Every jump raises money, so us doing this together is two times the amount. Our soar is going to buy ten children good beginner cellos.”
The thought of kids playing their first chords on a violin or cello or guitar comforts me. I close my eyes and can practically hear the bow scraping against the strings. It takes me a few moments to realize that it’s the clicking of a carabiner that’s making the noise.
“Have they tested this thing? Maybe we should’ve let Yo-Yo Ma go first,” I say.
I hold my hand steady against Vin’s back, feeling his muscles contract under his bodysuit as he shifts his footing. Vin’s hands are around me, too, his biceps bulging around my upper arms.
“Guess we’re just diving headfirst into this date, huh?” I babble, making pathetic jokes. “No better place to go for a fake date than Vegas.”
“Technically, we’re not jumping headfirst,” he adds. “It’s more of a vertical zipline straight down.”
“Fine. Dive in feet first. You sure you don’t want to up the stakes and get married tonight?” I ask. “Dip our toes all the way in? Divorce is much messier than a breakup, though.”
“We haven’t tried that angle yet,” Vin jokes.
“And with the prenup I’d need you to sign, it’s better to keep things clean when you end this in a few months.” I maintain a serious look. “Why do you look so shocked? You’re not walking away with half of our future tea empire.”
Another ghost of a smile appears on Vin’s face as he shakes his head. A desire flows through me to help distract him more.
“I’m rambling, aren’t I? Nerves, probably,” I admit. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“This whole… thing… is new territory for us both,” Vin says.
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, yes, the fake part. But also, with dating. It’s been a while for me.”
Vin looks surprised. “What’s a while?”
“Two—” I start, coughing out “—years. Not like it makes a difference to me, but I’m a little rusty, so you’re going to need to take the lead. I’m prepared to be wooed. Do whatever it is you do.”
“With all my spells and love potions?” he asks, recalling my words from the party. A quiet sound escapes his mouth.
I smile. “Oh, good. I’m glad we can laugh about that now.”
Vin grunts. “That wasn’t me laughing. You’ll know when I laugh.”
“Why? Is it a loud, barky type of laugh? Something that might shock us all?” I ask, widening my eyes for effect.
“If the rumors are true, it’s throatier, I guess,” he responds sarcastically.
“I’ll believe it when I hear it,” I say, catching him in a moment when we’re both smiling. “I know it’s only a couple of dates, but I wonder if it would help to have some rules.”
“Rules?” Vin asks, one eyebrow raised in question.
“For… us. For this,” I say, gesturing between us with my chin. “What do we say to people tonight? And fair warning, my family will absolutely have questions. Like, are we in love? In strong like? How much touching should there be? Do we have nicknames for each other? Oh my god, am I a Chaobreaker?”
Vin scoffs. “You don’t strike me as one.”
I raise my eyebrows in return. “And why is that?”
“Name one of our albums.”
“Oh! There’s the one with you and Leo on the cover,” I recall, though I could’ve guessed that and still gotten it right. “You both have… cellos in front of you?” When my mind goes blank, I ask, “Can I phone an auntie?”
Vin’s mouth curves into a smile. “You’re not a superfan, and we’re not in love. You like me for me and not because of my music,” he says, his voice shifting into something softer.
I nod in agreement. “Great. That I can do. And we’ll touch only when necessary and exclusively in public. Right now qualifies as one of those moments,” I say, gesturing around us.
I look out past the crowd waiting for us down below and take in the flat surrounding area. The beige desert is dotted with trees and framed by navy mountains in the distance. It’s a stark contrast from the concentration of hotel and casino lights that create an intense glow. As the seconds pass, the neon from the Vegas Strip twinkles brighter and brighter as the periwinkle sky fades into darkness. Watching the sun set from up here is beautiful. The proximity to Vin is also surprisingly not terrible, either.
I straighten my shoulders. “Just no hand-holding, okay?”
“You have a weird thing about fingers or something?” Vin asks, seemingly amused.
“It’s too… romantic,” I reveal.
“And romance is bad?”
“Romance is like wearing rose-colored glasses,” I say. “It’s too intimate. It creates confusion and makes relationships complicated. Better to keep things practical.”
“I don’t disagree,” Vin says.
“Can a heartbreaker even do romance?” I ask.
“I guess I’ve always waited to see if a relationship will go anywhere before things get to that level,” he says. “Romance is best left to music.”
I relate to his need to remain clearheaded.
“Great. We’ll agree to agree. No romance. We can link arms, or you can put your arm over my shoulders. I’m even comfortable kissing if we absolutely must,” I say, tripping over my words at this offering. “Not that we’d need to kiss on our first date. Or even the second, for that matter.”
“It might up the believability,” Vin ponders. “And other people don’t know how many dates we’ve been on.”
Naturally, his words make me look at his lips. I can’t help it. They’re right there , just inches from my own lips.
Kissing. Something else I didn’t consider when I agreed to be his date.
For some reason, I go along with him. “True. If we come out strong, we won’t have to prolong this.”
“Exactly,” Vin says. A few seconds later, he asks, “You’re okay with kissing, but not hand-holding? Isn’t kissing romantic?”
“Not really. It’s so showy,” I reveal. “Hand-holding is way more intimate. These little extensions of you clinging to someone else, even when no one knows about it because you just have to be touching in a private moment. Hand-holding keeps you connected for longer, too, even when you’re not kissing.”
“I guess looking at tongues is how you do your job,” Vin says, shrugging. “Works for me. I can’t risk anything happening to my hands.”
“And don’t bring me flowers for the family thing,” I add.
“Too cliché?”
“Not even,” I say. “It’d be like growing a green pepper and letting it sit out to die. Flowers aren’t for display. They’re for healing. And it’ll spark an entire debate about which flower is best among my family. You don’t want to be caught in the middle of that. Trust me.”
Vin grumbles in acknowledgment. “Noted.”
“And, uh, we’re not going to be… seeing other people, right?” I ask. “I just think it would be good for us to only be with each other until our deal is done.”
“That’s the only way I do relationships,” Vin says.
I nod. “Cool. If you get numbers or anything, don’t feel like you need to reject them on my behalf,” I add. “But maybe just call once you’ve broken up with me? Of course, I can’t tell you how to live your life—”
“Chryssy, I’m not going to be calling anyone,” Vin says, his intense eyes staying on me as he says this. My awareness of his hands on my back heightens as heat floods through me. “Is there anything we can do? Besides linking arms and kissing.”
I swallow. “Right. We could work on nicknames. I did like Vin Vin.”
“I don’t do nicknames,” Vin says.
I flash him a sweet smile. “Whatever you say, Vinny. If you want this to look real, then we need to pay attention to the details.”
Vin looks more horrified at that than he does at our current situation. “No.”
“Okay, I’ll stop, Vinley. Vinster?” I offer. “Needs some work-shopping.”
Vin groans. “I despise all of those. No nicknames.”
“Maybe the nickname is your name,” I say, giving up. “Like, we’re the couple that doesn’t need nicknames, you know?”
Vin glances down at me. “Would you like a nickname?”
“Yes. Yes I would, Vinnyboy,” I say.
“I could call you, I don’t know, Dandelion, but that seems weird.”
“Because I’m a weed or an herb?” I ask, feigning offense. “Or a shed?”
A short laugh escapes Vin, and my hands move with his body as it relaxes a little more. I snap to attention. The rumors are true. His laugh is throaty and deep, and I want to hear it again. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make him laugh so I can hear it even just once more.
“I’m undecided,” he says. “No, this is good. Onstage performing, you need to commit. People can hear half-assed-ness. We don’t want to half-ass this.”
“Then let’s sell it, Vinny-poo,” I tease.
“Absolutely not.” Vin grimaces, but there’s warmth in his voice.
Down on Planet Earth, the director’s speech echoes, barely reaching us: “And now, Vin Chao and his girlfriend, Chrysanthemum Hua Williams.”
“Thought that might be a nice touch,” Vin says. He sounds pleased. “Really get your name out there.”
I nod. “That should make it very clear. Our work here is done.”
Before we can call this off and back down, a woman with a headset waves us forward and guides us to the end of the diving-board-like ledge. Our feet are inches away from air.
Our moment is here. It’s time to soar.
I smush my cheek against Vin’s chest. All sounds, lights, and nerves still as I grip tighter and press my body as close to his as it can go. Vin wraps his arms around me, securing me in place.
“We’re really doing this?” I ask.
“Here goes nothing,” Vin says.
We jump feetfirst and a swooping feeling—like when you miss the last step—swirls through my stomach. My scream turns into a laugh, wind whipping through my hair.
Forget trying to take in the view or being a dandelion seed gently blowing on a breeze. This is an aggressive gust, and everything’s a blur: the city’s flashing signs, the replica landmarks, the emerging stars against the dusky sky.
When we near the ground after what simultaneously feels like forever and no time at all, we brace ourselves as the cord we’re attached to slows our momentum. It’s maybe the most ungraceful touchdown this landing pad has ever witnessed. I topple onto Vin, sliding over him as adrenaline courses through my veins.
“So sorry for screaming in your ear the entire way down,” I say, catching my breath. My stomach is unsettled from the sudden rush of falling.
“Did you? I blacked out. What just happened?” Vin says. His hair is windswept, but the color is back in his cheeks. We end up lying sideways on the mat, our bodies still strapped together. When Vin leans back, I’m pulled with him. Wherever he goes, I go, and vice versa. He lets out a whoosh of air as I collapse onto his stomach. “You okay?”
I pat down the side of my body. “Still in one piece.”
My senses come back to me, and I finally hear the clapping of the large group of donors around us. They seem eager to see Vin, who gives a small wave to the crowd from the ground.
One of the people on the jump crew unbuckles us in seconds, a realization that makes me chuckle given how long it took to strap us in. I roll off of Vin, slowly separating from him like cheesy pull-apart bread. Ugh. How can I think of food at a time like this?
As we stand, our attention is drawn to the six-foot cardboard guitar cutout propped up by a microphone stand. A volunteer colors in with green marker along the neck of the guitar the amount of money we raised by soaring. The line moves from $15,000 to $35,000. More claps all around.
“Our leap raised $20,000?” I ask. “Get back up there. Let’s go again!”
“Hey, Vin! Chrysanthemum! Smile!” a photographer calls out to us. “Where’s Leo tonight?”
“Couldn’t make it,” Vin responds, keeping it vague.
“Glad to have you here,” the photographer says. “Mind if I take some pictures?”
We stay close together, posing in our bodysuits, unkempt hair and all.
Tentatively, I reach up and push Vin’s rogue strand of hair off his forehead.
I feel a light tingle in my other hand as Vin’s hand grazes mine.
“Shit. Sorry,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Totally accidental.”
A smile breaks across my face. I have too much adrenaline after all that to hold any emotions back. Flashes from the camera remind me of where we are and why we’re here.
“Give us a kiss!” the photographer shouts.
Vin looks at me, his eyes intensely dark. “I’ll follow your lead.”
I nod, and the next thing I know, I’m swept up into Vin’s arms, his hands cradling my lower back as he lifts me against his chest. I wrap my arms over his shoulders, latching onto his bodysuit to stabilize myself.
Our faces are now centimeters apart as Vin slides his fingers along the back of my neck while mine run through his tousled hair. He gently presses his thumb on my chin, his fingertip grazing the edge of my bottom lip.
In less than two heartbeats, our lips meet. My stomach flips and flops, but this time for a very different reason.
We pull away from each other. My eyes don’t move from Vin’s.
This man is potentially dangerous.
I need to make sure.
I tug him toward me, our lips meeting again.
Yep. He’s a dangerous one.
More flashes, more clicking.
Moment captured. Message sent.