Chapter 1
LAURA
Music is the first thing I notice. Pop hits from the eighties, Madonna’s voice calling out from ancient speakers hanging on each side of the gymnasium.
I look up, searching for the boxes, wondering if they’re as old as I am.
Bright pink and gold flags flutter above our heads, and balloons of the same colors are scattered across the ceiling.
My heart pumps in time with the song. I’ve never been a particular fan of pop, not even the Korean kind, but I admire any kind of music.
I don’t know why, but it makes my blood thrum in my veins in the most beautiful way.
Fingers drumming on my thigh, I hum to the sound of the Queen and get lost in the moment.
For all but one second.
A hand grips my arm, shaking me back to reality. It’s that grip, that tight but restrained grip my father uses in public. He does that when he wants to tell me how disappointed he is without letting people know.
He does this a lot. I disappoint him a lot.
“Pay attention,” Father hisses at my ear, his warm breath making me wince. He’s never been one to hit me, and still, I catch myself avoiding him again and again. Dreading his presence. “Smile. You’re not here to daydream.”
No, of course I am not. I’m here to play my part as a trophy daughter.
Mom came from an all-American, well-off family, but they only ever thought of preparing her for women’s most important duty: getting married and having children.
She used to tell me I had to take my chances.
I had to be grateful my father let me go to school.
Right. As if that wasn’t the bare minimum.
Her father didn’t let her go farther than high school, and just because he always dreamed of having a child who would be prom queen. Thank God Father didn’t share that dream. I would have disappointed him yet again.
Mom had little choice, but I didn’t have loads, either. Dad only allowed me to study what he allowed. He used to tell me how his family came all the way from Korea years ago, the hardships they lived through so he could go to college, and how I should be grateful.
Today, I’m supposed to show the world how grateful I am. Dad wants to show me off to his former colleagues as the perfect daughter.
Obedient. Pliable. Submissive. I do what he tells me when he tells me. He wanted someone to study finance to take care of his business, so I did. He wanted me to work under him, so I did.
My dreams never mattered, as my mother’s never did.
I swallow the knot that grows in my throat every time Dad treats me like this.
Nodding without a word, I follow him into the gymnasium, tonight converted into a high school reunion party.
Several people scatter around the glossy floors, chatting between themselves, moving from side to side with the music, and eating the finger sandwiches served on one of the enormous tables.
My stomach clenches as a couple approaches my father. He smiles wide, the fake, business-ready smile he has for his clients, then shakes hands and greets the newcomers. They talk about old times and update each other. The couple motions for another couple, who join us in a moment.
“Is this your daughter or your girlfriend, John?” a man says, punching my father’s shoulder playfully.
Dad abandoned his Korean name, Jung-Hoon, years ago, changing it for the American John.
I don’t believe in changing yourself for other people, but who am I to judge? I can’t even stand up to my own father.
“John always liked them young,” the other man teases with a smirk.
The words make my stomach flip. My mother was just out of high school when she married my dad—out of convenience, chosen by her family, of course. It was never because of love, but because my dad had made his name and his fortune.
Dad laughs. “My daughter, Laura. I’ve been married and let me tell you, women are too much of a headache to deal with more than once.” The men laugh, and the women croon and giggle behind their hands. I get even sicker.
Mom passed away when I was twelve. The years leading to her terminal illness were the best of my life. I felt loved and cherished, and somehow, in the selfishness of my childish mind, I didn’t notice how unhappy my mother was. She was always poised, in control of herself, smiling.
The memories of her playing piano with me on her lap, her beautiful hands over mine, guiding my fingers. She’s the one who gave me the most precious gift—my love for music. There’s no way to extricate it from the memories of her love for me.
My dad cackles next to me, but his fingers dig into the skin of my arm. “Yes, she got that from her mother. She was overfond of food, no matter how much I warned her off it.”
Heat spreads over my cheeks, down my neck.
I’m not overfond of food, and my mother wasn’t either.
I was born like this. Fuller hips, tendency to get curves.
Why does he make it sound so bad? Why does everyone make it sound like a fault?
I look away. Away from the giggling skinny women and the men sneering at me.
I try to turn away from my father, but his fierce grip won’t let me move.
The music soaks into me, drowning everything out.
A softer song takes over, and my fingers move to the beat, following every note as if I were playing on the piano I’ve always longed to have and was never allowed to own…
I dart my gaze away, willing to escape from my father and this life and everything it entails.
From the prison I find myself in. With no way out.
When I raise my eyes, my gaze locks with gray orbs and I freeze. I become like a stone. The color is a frozen lake in the middle of winter during a stormy morning. Deep, cold. I’m enthralled, sucked in. And it’s only then I notice the gaze belongs to a man.
A huge man. Tall, so very tall, he’s a head above everyone else in the room. He’s so broad he could hide two others in the shadows of his shoulders. My knees quiver, his attention pinning me to the spot. I’ve never felt like this, this awed by a man. But I’ve never met a man like him.
It’s not that he’s big. He’s so much more.
Burly, even, handsome, and scruffy, a five o’clock shadow across his sharp jaw, an angled nose leading up to his fierce gaze.
His dark hair is brushed back neatly, but he’s dressed in a white t-shirt, jeans, and work boots.
Nothing like the suits and dresses the others wear, trying to look composed to their former classmates.
This is a competition. These people are trying to impress the others, pretending they have their lives put together. Everyone but this man. This man doesn’t care. He’s the only one who must be happy with his life.
Unlike me.
My mouth fills with a bitter taste, but I can’t drag my gaze from his.
I get lost in it and wish never to return.
His gaze, added to the music, creates a swirling heat inside me.
Warmth curls low in my belly. My breath comes out shallow, in quick gasps, my heart thundering in my chest under his sharp gaze.
And then he cocks an eyebrow, giving me a once-over that feels too similar to the sneer the other men gave me. With a small tug on his lip, he turns away, breaking our eye contact. My knees shake hard and I almost collapse.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dad hisses against my ear, shaking me slightly.
I turn back to him. “Sorry. It’s warm in here.”
Dad doesn’t see me, though. He looks over my head, in the direction I was looking at. A smile opens across his face, and he raises a hand in greeting.
“Grant! We thought you wouldn’t show up! Come here; I was meaning to tell you about a business opportunity.”
It’s like the earth trembles with every step of the burly man.
I know he’s approaching, and my body reacts by overheating again.
What is this man doing to me? I’ve never had time for dating, for boyfriends, and my father would never approve of anyone he didn’t personally choose.
Yet, my heart beats so hard it’s about to burst through my ribcage and drop at this man’s feet.
And by the distant look he gave me, he doesn’t even care.