Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
THEO
If someone had asked me last summer where I’d be today, standing in a five-star hotel in Dublin in a tuxedo definitely wouldn’t have made the list of possibilities.
Holding a glass of expensive champagne, about to have dinner with heads of state as the guest of a Japanese princess? Absolutely mental. Yet here I am.
Trinity House is the sort of hotel I’d normally avoid on principle, mostly because it’s exactly the kind of place my father would love.
There’s a massive crystal chandelier overhead, parquet floors polished to a mirror shine, and a red carpet so plush, it feels like walking on a cloud.
Everything is gleaming, buffed to within an inch of its life.
Kaori stands near the entrance beside the ambassador, the president of Ireland, and the capital city’s lord mayor, completely unfazed by the fact that the entire room is angled toward her.
She looks like a living piece of art tonight.
Her kimono is a gradient of gold, soft-red, and warm-cream—colors that shift when she moves, catching the light like a sunrise.
Her dark, silky hair is pinned up with a lacquered ornament, and without her usual glasses, her eyes look even larger than normal.
The deep, warm-brown of her eyes reminds me of strong coffee—dark, steady and impossible to ignore.
My throat goes tight. I’m an engineer, not an artist, but tonight I feel inspired to create a coaster in her honor.
I’ll call it The Dancing Crane. The spine will be sleek, with white and gold-gilded trim.
The first drop will be a soft curve, like a crane’s wingtip, with an inline twist to represent her kimono’s sleeve catching the wind.
Something that looks delicate at first glance, but is engineered to withstand any storm.
As if she senses the blueprint forming in my head, she glances over. Our eyes lock, and a small, private smile curves her lips. She winks once before turning back to the diplomat beside her.
Moments later, Kaori glides toward me. The crowd parts naturally for her, and when she reaches me, she shifts subtly, letting the silk sleeve of her kimono brush my arm. It sends a flurry of snowflakes through my stomach.
“You doing all right?” she asks softly.
“I’m way outside my comfort zone,” I answer, because honesty seems the only sensible option. “But I’m managing.”
She gives me a look that’s half-fond, half-teasing. “Well, you haven’t insulted a head of state or started rambling about something like the airflow patterns in the room, so I’d say you’re doing well.”
“I’ll take that glowing review, thank you,” I deadpan.
Her laugh, soft and bell-like, cuts clean through the noise of officials and cameras. For a moment, the room narrows to her and me and the comforting certainty that no matter where we stand in the world, she’s the person who steadies me.
A steward approaches and bows. “Princess Sorahino, they’re ready to begin the dancing.”
Kaori inhales, spine straightening in that subtle, unmistakable way it does whenever she slips into princess mode. “Of course.”
“I know you hate dancing, but you’ll do well,” I say.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” On cue, the lights dim. A string quartet begins a slow, lilting waltz that sweeps through the ballroom and the guests part, making way for her. She turns toward me, eyes warm and bright. “Would you be my partner for the opening dance?”
“Me?” My whole body goes rigid before I can stop it.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with the president?
Or the ambassador?” My eyes flick over to the cluster of Irish cabinet ministers and Japanese delegates already watching her every move.
“Won’t they be insulted if you waltz with a nobody engineer from London? ”
Her expression softens. “You aren’t a nobody. You’re my boyfriend, the man I love, and my guest of honor tonight.” She lifts her chin slightly. “And this reception is for me, which means just this once, I get to choose how things go.”
My heart thuds so hard, I’m half-convinced people across the room can hear it. “Right,” I breathe. “Well . . . I suppose that’s settled, then.” I’d be a fool to turn down a dance with the most beautiful woman in the room. Inside and out. And I’m no fool.
She extends her hand. I take it, praying my palms aren’t as clammy as they feel. I don’t want to ruin the delicate fabric of her kimono. I wager something like that has to be cleaned by hand.
We walk together toward the center of the ballroom.
Conversations hush and the crowd subtly shifts inward to watch.
I’m aware of every step, every breath, every pair of eyes tracking us, but none of it matters once Kaori turns to face me.
Her hand finds my shoulder. Mine settles carefully at the small of her back.
“Just follow me,” I whisper, hoping I sound more confident than I am.
The quartet swells, and somehow my feet remember what to do. She lied to me. She’s not a bad dancer. She moves like a ballerina with fluid precision, guiding us through the opening turns. Her kimono sleeves float with each step, trailing soft arcs of golden red that catch the chandelier light.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” I tell her.
“Only because I have a good partner,” she says.
“You can thank Nan. We used to waltz around the farmhouse after Sunday roast.” I glance toward my big feet, wincing as they come into contact with her hem. I hear a faint ripping noise. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I hope this isn’t an antique.”
“It is, but don’t worry about it. Kimonos are meant to be worn and enjoyed.
I’m sure the seamstresses at the palace will have no trouble repairing the hem.
This particular one was due to be cleaned anyway.
And to do that, it gets disassembled. Each seam is undone and all the panels are washed by hand. ”
“Really? That’s some serious engineering.”
“Uh-huh. It’s why kimonos aren’t cleaned too often. We wear a lot of clothing under it.”
“Impressive.”
We do a slow, steady spin. The rest of the ballroom fades out of focus. It’s just us. Kaori looks up at me with her warm eyes and causes my brain, which is usually cluttered with calculating angles and figuring out tolerances and stress points, to go completely quiet.
For a heartbeat, I imagine that we’re in our own private garden tucked deep in a forest. I can picture the lanterns strung overhead like constellations, dew on the grass, and a soft breeze carrying jasmine.
Just out of sight, a string quartet plays a soft rendition of “Born to Be Wild.” The song that was playing on our first unofficial date.
As I stand here with her in my arms, I remember exactly why I fell in love with her.
It’s not the title, or the way she looks in a ballroom like this.
It’s her compassion. Her stubbornness. And her curiosity.
She sees the world like a puzzle she’s determined to understand.
She approaches people with a gentleness that melts even a cold heart like mine.
She’s so strong. Thoughtful. And the kind of person who’s good down to her core.
The final note trembles in the air. Kaori leans in, lips at my ear, her voice soft and certain as she says, “Thank you for being here with me.”
My chest tightens. I turn slightly, brushing my cheek against her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
She draws back just far enough for me to see her twinkling eyes. There’s the distant sound of applause. A tap on my shoulder pulls me back to earth, and suddenly, we’re in the ballroom again. I turn and nearly swallow my tongue when I find the president of Ireland standing beside me.
“May I steal Her Imperial Highness for the next dance?” he asks with an affable smile, already offering Kaori his hand.
Every selfish cell in my body wants to say no. Absolutely not. She’s mine. But this is her night. Her first official solo trip. I can’t be the reason she stumbles.
“Of course,” I manage, passing her hand into his with what I hope is diplomacy and not heartbreak.
The quartet eases into another song. Kaori leans in just before she steps away, her breath grazing my jaw. “I’ll find you as soon as I can,” she whispers. Then she’s gliding across the floor on the arm of a head of state.
I slip toward the sidelines, giving her space, trying not to count the number of steps she takes before she glances back at me. She does. Twice.
A steward appears at my elbow. “Mr. Riverton, sir, there’s a small lounge through that door if you’d like a quieter place to wait. Her Imperial Highness mentioned earlier you might prefer it.”
Even when she has a million other things on her mind, she still manages to take care of me. “Thank you,” I say, following him.
Inside, the lounge is dim, warm, and mercifully empty except for a single window overlooking the city, lights scattered like coins tossed across the dark.
I take a seat and, for the first time tonight, allow myself to fully relax.
My thoughts drift back to the Dancing Crane coaster.
Taking out my phone, I open the notes app and begin emptying my mind.
I don’t know how much time passes, but the next thing I know, I hear, “Theo?”
I jump to my feet. “Right here.”
Kaori covers a giggle with her hand. Her cheeks are flushed a light pink. A few strands of hair have slipped loose, brushing the line of her jaw. The kimono sways around her legs like falling light.
“I’m sorry the president stole me for half a waltz,” she teases.
“Honestly? I was more worried you’d get tired of me embarrassing myself in front of diplomats and decide to trade up.”
Her brows lift. “Trade up? Theo.” She closes the last of the distance between us. “I’d never.” Her fingers graze mine, then slide fully into my hand. She glances at the glow of my mobile screen. “What are you working on?” she asks, voice soft and curious.
“A new coaster,” I admit, suddenly self-conscious.
Before I can lock the screen, she gently pries the phone from my grip. Her eyes flick over the rough sketch—loops arcing like wings, sweeping curves meant to mimic the lift and grace of a crane mid-flight. “The Dancing Crane,” she murmurs.
Heat blooms across my neck. “It’s silly,” I say quickly. “But earlier, I was thinking about how you moved. How you looked in the kimono. And then I started imagining—”
My words trail off as her eyes meet mine. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers. “I love how you see the world.” Her breath catches and the flush deepens. She hands my mobile back, but her fingers linger on mine. “Dance with me again?” she asks, almost shyly.
“You’re not done for the evening, are you?” I say, barely able to form the words.
“Not yet,” she admits. “But right now . . .” She steps into my space, tilting her face toward mine. “I just want to be your Kaori.”
My heart stutters. “And I just want to be the man she chose,” I murmur.
Her smile breaks like sunrise. I shove my device into my pocket, cupping her waist with both hands.
She lifts her arms to rest lightly around my neck.
There’s no quartet in here. It’s just us.
We sway, slow and close. Her cheek brushes mine.
Her breath warms my ear. And then, as natural as breathing, we kiss.
Her fingers curl into the back of my jacket. I pull her closer, careful of the kimono, but unwilling to let even a millimeter of space exist between us. And I know, with the kind of clarity I usually only get staring down a launch track, that wherever this ride takes us next, I’m all in.