Chapter 17
Seventeen
T his is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. The day all little girls dream of. I’ve spent the last week preparing for this moment. It’s the moment that everyone we know will see me commit myself to Kenzo Nakamura, even though, technically, we are already married.
Thunder cracks outside the window of my bridal suite, an ominous sign of what is to come. My mother sits on the couch, her makeup already done, and she’s already in her dress. It’s gaudy and god-awful. Only my mother would think that peach flatters her overly tanned skin tone.
Kenzo has barely been home since our date at the restaurant. The one that ended in my sleeping alone after seeing the photo that one of the press junkies handed me of him and Saori kissing in the very place we’d just fucked. He didn’t try to tell me that nothing happened. No placating. He simply told me not to worry about it.
When I started planning this wedding with Lizzie, I thought it meant he was trying. That he wanted to make it work, even if he could never love me. That photo and his nonchalance burned that bridge straight into the river. I was giddy about this day when I tried on my wedding dress. Now all I want to do is burn it and watch it turn to ash.
Just like the first time I was waiting to marry him, I don’t feel like a bride. I feel like a cow waiting for slaughter. A sacrificial lamb.
Cora, the stylist, curls one last strand of my hair before dousing it in hairspray. She pins one side back with a large comb that is covered in emeralds and diamonds. I don’t recognize it from any of my things.
“That pin belonged to my mother,” Kenzo’s mother informs me from the other side of the room. She must have seen my questioning gaze. “And her mother before her and so on since the time our family began in Japan. It has changed over time, of course, but it is always tradition.” She stands from her chair and strides toward me, all elegance in her Oscar de la Renta gown. It’s a deep shade of red with an illusion tulle yoke that is embellished with sequined flowers. It has cape-effect sleeves and a floor-sweeping hem that creates dramatic movement as she moves around.
“Thank you,” I whisper in awe as I stare at it in the mirror. “It’s beautiful.” Through the mirror, I can see my mother rolling her eyes and quietly scoffing as she downs yet another glass of champagne.
“Don’t be sour, Charity,” Kenzo’s mother snipes. “It makes you look constipated.” I have to cover my laugh with a cough at Mrs. Nakamura’s words. My mother’s face twists angrily before she stands and stomps from the room.
“Ever the thespian.” Mrs. Nakamura clucks her tongue. She takes another long glance at me in my dress. “I wish my husband were here to see this.” There is a far-off look in her eye that I recognize. It’s longing. I know it all too well.
“Wish my parents weren’t,” I mutter under my breath, but from the half smile that graces her lips, I know she heard me.
“He cared for you deeply, you know,” she tells me, taking my mother’s place on the couch.
“I mean no offense to your late husband, Mrs. Nakamura,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice soft, but there is still a bitter resentment that lives inside of me. He didn’t care deeply. If he did, I wouldn’t be here. “He shouldn’t have set this up at all.”
Kenzo’s mother tips her head slightly, studying me. “Do you think you would have been better suited to someone else?”
I can’t help but scoff. “I think I would have rather gone to college and lived my life the way I wanted to instead of running from a man who clearly doesn’t want me.”
“He chased after you when he didn’t have to,” she points out. “I wanted to nullify the agreement, but it was Kenzo who put his foot down and said no.”
“Your son has made it very clear that he did it for no other reason than for business.” He’s drilled it into my head enough for me to remember. “All he cares about is fulfilling the contract. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
“Sometimes the heart doesn’t know what the heart wants.”
I’m pretty sure her son doesn’t have a heart. “Well, his heart apparently tells him he doesn’t want to be married to me since he’s been photographed kissing another woman.”
Her brows furrow when I tell her that little tidbit, but she doesn’t ask any further questions. Instead, we sit in amiable silence as Cora puts the finishing touches on my makeup.
Three women help me into my dress and shoes, and when I’m fully dressed and facing them, something akin to melancholy washes over Mrs. Nakamura’s face.
“You look gorgeous, dear,” she tells me without any hint of deceit.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Not like a harlot?” The woman smiles at me, and I’m taken aback by how much Kenzo takes after her.
“A test that you passed beautifully, my dear.”
Of course it was a test.
With a humble nod of my head, I offer my thanks to Mrs. Nakamura. She reciprocates the gesture with a bow of her own.
“You can call me Megumi,” she kindly suggests. “Or you can use okaasan , which means mother.”
A sudden lump materializes in my throat, and I fight to hold back the tears that threaten to ruin my carefully applied makeup.
“Thank you , okaasan ,” I murmur, overcome with emotion at this unexpected act of kindness and acceptance. The word “mother” feels foreign on my tongue, a poignant reminder that my family needs a horde of therapists to fix the issues going on within it. My mother has never been fond of me calling her by that title. It is too familiar and makes her feel old.
“All right.” Lizzie claps her hands excitedly, breaking the moment. “Let’s get you married.” She pauses and winks at me. “Again.”
I wait at the entrance to the large room, where hundreds of New Orleans elite will watch me marry the man who already holds the chain around my ankle. There is no escaping him, not anymore. I wonder if it was all an illusion to begin with. We were always going to end up right back here. There is no escaping Kenzo Nakamura.
Taking a deep breath, I nod to Lizzie, who gives me a soft smile as she opens the doors that will take me to my fate. The people stand as I begin my solo walk down the aisle to the man who holds my life in his hands. My father is red faced at the end of the aisle, angry that I requested he not escort me. A father giving away his daughter to the man she is to marry is a sacred tradition that I won’t have tarnished by his greed. He won’t get the chance to hand me off like some prized horse at auction. I refuse to give him that.
As I walk down the aisle, the music fades into the background and the faces in the crowd begin to blur. We’re already married, but somehow, this makes it feel more real. I’m handing my life over to the one man who could destroy it with a snap of his fingers.
A lump lodges itself in my throat as I stride gracefully down the white carpet. All I can focus on is Kenzo at the altar. There is a large, beaming smile on his face that makes him look younger, more boyish. The smile that I’ve come to love seeing on him. He’s wearing a fitted black tux with a blush pink bow. His hands are clasped behind his back, a smirk on his face as he leans in and says something to Wataru and Hiro, the two men he chose to stand at his side.
I have no one that matters enough to fill that position. The only person I would consider is Lizzie, but she is the one running the entire operation, so I went with no one. Something my mother frowned upon, telling me that it reflects poorly on our house that I have no friends to be my maid of honor and bridesmaids.
His gaze lands on me as I take one step after another toward the altar where he waits. His dark eyes lock me in a possessive hold, his gaze overflowing with a hunger that has goose bumps spreading across my skin, but excitement lingers just beneath the surface.
Not used to walking in heels, let alone a pair of Louboutins, I wobble slightly as I take a step up to the dais. Smiling, he reaches down and takes my hand in his, leading me up the last step. Lizzie steps forward to adjust my train as I stand before Kenzo, my husband.
The music stops, and those in attendance take their seats as the priest steps forward. Kenzo’s hold on my hands is tight, no doubt because he’s worried I’ll make another run for it.
Kenzo looks surprised when Chiyo brings out the tray for the sake-sharing ceremony. We never talked about what traditions he or his mother would like present during the ceremony. Besides criticizing my dress, Megumi hasn’t said a word regarding any Japanese customs she might like to add, so I talked with Chiyo about what modern Japanese couples were incorporating into theirs.
The sake-sharing ceremony, also known as san san kudo , is one of them.
Laid out in front of us is a traditional sake set with three cups, each of varying size. The bride and groom drink from the same sake cup, firmly uniting them as husband and wife. Each cup size stands for a moment in time. Small: past, medium: present, large: future. Drinking from the small cup symbolizes that the bride and groom are thankful for their ancestors that raised them and the past they have met. The medium cup symbolized the couple’s aspirations to marry and work together. And the large is their wish to build a happy family and pledge eternal love.
The bride and groom take three sips from each cup, passing them back and forth for a total of nine sips, uniting the families.
“You may kiss your bride,” the priest declares after we’ve finished the sake ceremony. Kenzo runs his tongue over his bottom lip and tugs me toward him, smashing his mouth to mine.
His lips are soft but demanding. There is no lack of passion as he wraps me in his arms, consuming me. For just a single, solitary moment, I forget that I was forced to marry him. That he kidnapped me and forced his ring onto my finger. I forget everything except us, because in this moment, no one else exists.
He doesn’t kiss me like this marriage is a business transaction.
I don’t kiss him like he’s forced me to marry him.
We kiss like the world is ending around us.
Like we are meant to be together.
Until the moment is shattered in a hail of gunfire.