DEENA HAD NO idea that something could be both really good and really bad at the same time. But she’d discovered just that when Daichi invited her to his California mansion for the holiday season. He wanted the opportunity to comb through their plans and ensure perfection for what was fast becoming a daunting project. His extended family would be in attendance because of the New Year, as it and not Christmas was the apex of the holiday season for the Tanakas.
It should’ve been cause for excitement. Meeting her boyfriend’s grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins. And it was, except for the fact that they couldn’t know that Tak was in fact her boyfriend. Or that she even knew him.
Two weeks. That’s how long they would be at Daichi’s estate. How long she would be under the same roof as Tak, forced to feign indifference. The thought made her sweat.
Daichi’s sweeping estate was in Encinitas, a cliff-side retreat just north of San Diego. It boasted twelve bedrooms, three floors, five bathrooms, two dining rooms, a private stretch of ocean and a tennis court. Its views of the Pacific were breathtaking, made possible through generous floor-to-ceiling windows and sliding glass doors.
Since Daichi had pressing matters elsewhere, he hired a driver to pick up Deena at the airport. He was a dapper fellow, with white gloves and the lot, and it was all Deena could do not to giggle as he took her luggage and helped her into the back of the Towncar.
When Deena arrived at the estate, she was met by Tak. Her face lit up when he answered the door. At this point, he’d been in Encinitas for four days.
He squeezed her quickly before releasing her and glancing over his shoulder. He took her hand and led her inside.
“Where’s your family?”
He shot her a sneaky smile and brought a finger to his lips. They left the luggage in the foyer and made their way down the hall. Past the reading room, past the den, and past the dining room before he pushed her in a closet and closed the door behind them.
“Tak! Your father—”
“Quiet, Dee. I’m busy.”
He smothered her words with a kiss. She pulled him closer, unable to play at indifference with those lips on her, with those hands roaming her figure.
“You should’ve come sooner,” he said, his mouth at her throat, his hand on her breast.
She didn’t know the moan would escape her, though those gliding, practiced fingers of his never neglected to please. But he had no patience for much foreplay today. She hadn’t been writhing long at all, when, with a guttural grunt, Tak snatched her skirt upwards, fumbled, then lurched, burying in her to the hilt. Deena jerked as a jolt of molten pleasure shot up her. Her back arched in the time it took for her to adjust, body stretching like some wanton cat. When she curled back around him, he began to pump slow, sure strokes into her and through her, it seemed. Fingers scrambling at his back, Deena bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.
“God, Tak. Don’t stop, just—just hurry.”
Not that she really had to say anything; the both of them were far too impatient and much too desperate to keep up any sort of leisurely pace.
WHEN TAK AND Deena parted a half hour later, they veered in different directions, making it only a few steps before hearing Daichi’s voice.
“Deena!”
With a hand on the stair’s railing, she froze.
“I contemplated forming a search party for you. No one seemed to have seen you arrive.”
Daichi folded his arms as he stood at the foot of the staircase. “Now how did you ever manage that?”
Tak stood back, near enough to intervene, yet not sure if he should call attention to himself.
“I uh—I wasn’t feeling well. The flight. Air sickness,” Deena said.
“And are you better now?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” With a clap of the hands Daichi turned to Tak. “Then I’d like you to meet my son, Takumi. Takumi, this is Deena Hammond, a colleague from the firm.”
Tak watched Deena descend the staircase. Would she really stand there, moments after having him inside o her, after whimpering her love for him—after all that, could she pretend that they were strangers?
As Deena extended a hand to him, his stomach turned. He would’ve ended the charade there, had he not been so certain that she would pretend to be confused and leave him looking like a fool.
“Takumi,” she said softly, the smile on her lips not bothering to reach her eyes.
She sensed it too, the insanity of it all, of two adults pretending to be nothing to each other. She had to.
“Deena.”
Tak clasped her hand, his fingers stroking the palm and brushing her fingertips as she withdrew from him. He met her gaze, challenging, daring her to do something about the intimacy of his touch. She did nothing.
DAICHI GRABBED DEENA’S luggage from the foyer and showed her to her bedroom. Once inside, he cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with the intimate quarters of his own guestroom. His gaze swept the confines in appraisal before returning to Deena.
“And how do you find your accommodations, Ms. Hammond?”
Her first reaction to the room had been awe.
“It’s beautiful, Daichi. Everything you make is just so beautiful.” She thought of his son and blushed. “I mean—architecture, of course.”
He hesitated. “Of course.”
“There are so many little touches.” She said, eager to press on. Deena scanned the room hurriedly. “The stretched ceilings, for example, are amazing.”
They were polished white and cast a gleaming reflection of the room. The four walls of the room alternated between ecru and a rectangular maple wood grain paneling. A four-paneled eggshell room divider mirrored the queen-sized platform bed and its pristine white linen. All of it was accented by bamboo stalks on either side of the bed that reached to the ceiling.
“And the wood grain paneling is wonderful. The geometric patterns offer a dramatic play of lights and shadows.”
Daichi stared at her. “Dinner is being served in a moment. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Japanese fare, but you’ll find that the Japanese American family is the originator of so-called fusion food.” He flashed a smile. “There’ll be some sushi, which I know you enjoy, probably some teriyaki and tempura, and always a great deal of seafood. As an aside, you’ll find that our vernacular vacillates between English and Japanese. We make every attempt not to do this with guests, but occasionally we err. I feel obliged to apologize in advance.” Daichi paused. “Perhaps I should brief you on etiquette.”
“I’ll be fine, Daichi. You’re not the first Japanese American I’ve encountered.”
Daichi’s lips curled into a smile. He offered a curt nod and then opened the door. As they descended the stairs, Deena spotted Kenji at the bottom. His back was to her as he faced a diminutive man with broad frames and an even broader grin. Deena placed him at thirty.
Kenji turned at the creak of the stairs and his face lit up at the sight of Deena.
“Hey Deena!”
Two steps ahead of Daichi in her descent, Deena froze. Cringing, Kenji looked from Deena to his father.
“You’ve met?” Daichi said.
Kenji’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.
“Dad, I—no, we just…”
Deena turned to Daichi with a desperate smile. “We met earlier. Briefly. Probably when you were wondering how I managed to be so stealthy.”
Daichi frowned. “And have you met my nephew Michael as well?”
He gestured to the slight and awkward creature beside Kenji.
Deena shook her head.
“Michael, this is Deena Hammond, an employee at my firm, and Deena, this is my nephew Michael. He’s a systems analyst with IBM. Attended your alma mater, in fact.”
Michael’s eyes lit up. “A fellow Beaver? What class?”
“2003. And you?” Deena extended a hand.
“2000. The Brass Rat says it all.”
With their hands clasped, Michael turned his fist clockwise, giving Deena a view of the gold ring. The bezel held the MIT mascot, a beaver, the school’s shield and the year of graduation. “Never leave home without it.”
Deena smiled politely. She was not so fond of her days at MIT She found the winters harsh, and the people impersonal. She took away no mentors and no friends, though she suspected that much of it was due to the protective shell she’d formulated for herself long before her collegiate days.
“Do you have your class ring? I’d like to compare the designs.”
Deena hadn’t been able to afford a class ring, but she wouldn’t tell him that, even if he did look like a shrunken and unsightly version of Tak.
“Those rings are far too bulky for me, I’m afraid.”
Michael grinned a grin with too much gum. “You know, William Wang once said that there are three recognizable rings in the world. The Brass Rat, the West Point ring, and the Super Bowl ring.”
Daichi scowled.
“I don’t bring guests here for you to accost them, Michael. Now we are weary and famished. Has your obachan finished preparing dinner?’
Michael nodded, jabbing the bridge of his glasses with an index finger. “She’s been waiting for you.”
“And yet you detain us?”
Daichi pushed his way past his nephew and led Deena through the foyer and into the dining room.
Like the rest of the villa, the dining room was decorated in simple, subdued earth tones. Warm cream and soft browns came together in a streamlined, sophisticated homage to the Orient. The dining room table was sleek and minimalist, made of dark birch wood and was long and narrow, with seating enough for fourteen. Beneath it was a splash of bright in a cream tatami mat that offset the dark table and the ebony wood-paneled walls. Rice screen doors with dark wood trim folded back to reveal broad glass doors, and beyond that, a panoramic view of the Pacific.
“I can see that this room meets your approval,” Daichi said with a teasing smile.
Deena returned it. “If I didn’t know you so well I’d ask who you hired to decorate.”
Daichi rolled his eyes. “Now you simply flatter.”
The Tanaka brood was watching them. Tak sat on one side, sandwiched between John and Kenji. There were two middle-aged men, one that would’ve been striking if not for his widow’s peak, and another, with a gut, comb-over and too-thick eyebrows. Deena was certain she knew which one was Daichi’s brother.
“Deena, might you do a fellow beaver the honor of breaking bread together?”
Michael was by her side, slender arm already extended. He had donned a Dodger blue t-shirt, bare save for the stylized arrowhead just over his heart. A Master’s degree and five years at MIT told her it was a Star Trek tee. On this evening, he’d paired it with some snug jeans.
Deena glanced at Tak, who made a point of looking away.
“Well? What do you say?”
She turned back to Mike. “I—I guess so.”
“Great!” Mike said, leading her to a seat across from John. Mike sat down across from Tak.
Deena lowered herself into her chair and gave John a sheepish smile. He responded with a short wave that was more fingers than hand. He turned to Tak and whispered something. He whispered back. When John turned back to her, he was all smiles.
He stood abruptly and offered a hand across the table. “John. John Tanaka. Pleased to meet you.”
His gaze was steady, as challenging as Tak’s handshake.
Deena stood, aware of the attention of the entire family. “Deena Hammond,” she said quietly.
“If Michael can rein in his unadulterated eagerness I’d like to offer formal introductions,” Daichi said, taking a seat at Deena’s left hand.
A blush colored Deena’s cheeks as Michael mumbled an apology. She felt as though she were under a firing squad with Tak, John and Kenji all sitting directly across from her.
Daichi glared at Mike a moment longer, as if to ensure his silence, and then turned his attention to the elderly woman at the head of the table.
“Deena, this is my mother Yukiko Tanaka. Okasan, this is Deena Hammond, a colleague of mine.”
She was a regal figure, short and wraith-like, with bone-straight, glossy black hair that ran the length of her back, bronzed skin and wide, expectant eyes. When she spoke, her voice was no surprise—silken and aged, soothing.
Yukiko rose, her diminutive stature leaning over the table, and offered Deena a tiny hand. Deena stood and clasped hands with the woman. Here was Daichi’s mother, Tak’s grandmother. It seemed to Deena that everything she was now was somehow because of this stranger.
“It’s a great honor, Mrs. Tanaka.” She lowered her gaze.
“Likewise, I am sure.”
The old woman found her seat again, careful not to sit on her silken locks. Daichi turned to a fat man with a comb-over at the left hand of his mother. “And this is my brother, Yoshiaki.”
Deena stood, attempting to stifle astonishment. It was this man, with the beer belly then, that was John’s father, Daichi’s brother—not the man at the other end who was in peak physical condition.
Yoshiaki offered a hand. His mouth was stuffed with what appeared to be rice though no one else was eating. He glanced at it, spotted grease, and wiped it on his pants. When he offered it again, Deena took it reluctantly.
Across from him, Daichi glared.
Deena met Yoshiaki’s wife, John’s mother June, a wide-eyed and angular woman with stringy brown hair and a smidgeon of freckles. She had a wide mouth with pink lips and a caddy laugh that she reacted to everything with. She was white.
They had another daughter, a teenage girl named Lauren, as slim as she was solemn. Dark makeup circled her eyes and painted her lips, a gross contrast to her pale pallor. When she greeted Deena she used no words, only a hand, the fingernails of which were painted black.
The man she’d been certain would be Daichi’s brother was actually his brother-in-law. Ken Wantanabe was a microbiologist for the Center for Disease Control. He and Daichi’s sister, Asami, had a five-year-old daughter named Erin, who seemed to simmer more than sit. Deena thought she was adorable.
And she met Tak’s mother. Hatsumi Tanaka was a slender beauty. She had alabaster skin, creamy and polished, sweeping and ebony salon-style curls and mournful gray eyes. She wore a silk white blouse and creased gray slacks. Her makeup was daring yet well-done, shimmering silver above the eyes, a hint of blush for the cheeks, and lips the color of cherries. She was flawless.
It was only when she stood and clasped Deena’s hand that her awe-binding spell was broken. Her touch was cold, and with it came the memories of stories she’d heard. Of neglect and alcohol, of indifference to everything.
Still, she was beautiful.
The spread before them was impressive. She’d never seen such an assortment of fresh seafood in one home. Boiled Maine lobster, raw oysters, and steamed mussels shared space with an assortment of sushi and sashimi, gyoza or steamed dumplings, miso soup and soup of another kind, clear with large prawns in it. There was soba with sliced duck breasts, shrimp and chicken tempura, steamed white rice, fried rice and a few steaming one-pot dishes that Deena couldn’t identify.
“Everything looks so delicious,” Deena said to no one in particular.
“My mother is quite the chef,” Daichi said. “She’s the one to thank for such a lavish meal.”
He lifted the miso soup, ladled out a bit into the porcelain bowl before him, then passed it to Deena. She took some and felt the eyes of Tak and Kenji on her, both of whom knew that she didn’t care for miso soup.
“I find it fascinating that you’re an architect,” Michael said suddenly. “It isn’t a field with a lot of women, let alone beautiful women.”
Daichi’s spoon clattered to the table.
“Will you force her to listen to your nonsense endlessly? Even sweatshops allow lunch breaks.”
John snickered into his hand.
“But I was just making conversation, oli.”
Daichi returned to his soup. “Well, do a better job.”
They ate in silence, and after the soup, passed around trays of seafood and sushi. People plucked at random. Deena took some of everything so she wouldn’t seem impolite. She also took only a little, as taking the last of anything was also rude.
Michael slid a one-pot dish towards Deena. “This is especially good, if you like beef.”
Deena nodded. Peering into the dish, she spotted soba noodles, firm tofu, slices of beef, cabbage and mushrooms.
“It’s sukiyaki. You know, there’s a great fable about sukiyaki and a medieval nobleman. It goes like this. One day a nobleman—”
“Michael, maybe you should let her get some before it gets cold,” his mother, June, suggested.
Again, John snickered.
“Could you not have quite so much fun?” Tak murmured.
His cousin turned serious with the scolding.
Deena grabbed bits of the sukiyaki with the back of her chopsticks and shot John a warning look. He returned it with wide-eyed innocence.
Yukiko cleared her throat. “And how is your art these days, Takumi?”
Tak’s glare melted. “It’s good, baachan. A few weeks ago I had a gallery showing in Manhattan, the most profitable to date.”
His grandmother beamed. “Your art inspires people. Even your grandfather said so.”
Tak shrugged. “There’s always room for improvement.”
“And your music? Do you keep up with that?” Yoshi asked.
Daichi scowled at him. When Tak was a boy he had music lessons three days a week—piano and violin. One summer with Yoshi and the boy returned with a knack for the drums and a need for a guitar. When Daichi refused to buy him either, his uncle did, and Tak taught himself.
“You know I practice.” Tak simulated a guitar riff and Yoshi grinned. His mouth brimmed with rice.
“So, you studied architecture at MIT huh? A difficult program to get into,” Michael said. “But then again, aren’t they all?”
His chortle was obnoxious.
Deena shrugged. “I suppose so.”
She brought white rice to her mouth with chopsticks.
Michael laughed. “You suppose so? You must be a sharp one. But I knew that already since you work for my oli.”
Deena massaged her temple tiredly.
“So, were you an active participant in the social scene?”
“No. Not really,” Deena said.
“Funny. I would’ve pegged you for a folk dancer, easily.”
This time it was Tak’s turn to drop his utensils. Michael glanced at him and turned back to Deena.
“I was very active with the Science Fiction Society and the Model Railroad Club. You probably had friends in one or both.”
Deena sighed. How was it that Tak and John and Kenji could all be so—so warm and funny, and this guy—this guy could be so…awful?
“You know, there are times when I find myself missing MIT,” Michael said, dunking his gyoza in soy sauce before dropping it in his mouth. “Are you the same way?’
“No.” Deena glanced at him and suddenly felt bad for her curtness. “It was…too cold for my tastes.”
Michael grinned and nodded as though he were privy to some great inside joke. “Indeed, indeed. Still, there are times when I wish for that old school spirit, you know?”
Deena scooped a sliver of beef out of her dish and ate it. She had no idea what he wanted her to say.
“We should’ve crossed paths on campus at least once. And I know we didn’t, because I would remember a face as pretty as yours.”
Daichi and Tak scowled at him.
“What?” Michael said.
Deena met Tak’s gaze. He was pissed. At Michael, at Deena, and at himself. She could see it. She shot him a look of pity, hoping to convey that she was suffering as much as he was, but he met it with a hard glare.
“Perhaps you would allow Ms. Hammond to enjoy her meal instead of feeling obliged to humor your fruitless advances,” Daichi said.
“Hey, don’t start, Daichi.”
That was Yoshi.
Daichi turned to his brother. “You’ve something you’d like to say, Yoshiaki?”
“No. He does not. And neither do you,” their mother said.
Everyone fell silent.
“Maybe after dinner I can show you some of the sights here,” Michael offered.
Deena could feel Tak’s eyes on her.
“Um no. Tak—Takumi has volunteered to do that.”
“Oh?” Michael looked from Deena to Tak, paused at the thinly veiled annoyance on his cousin’s face, and then turned back to her. “Okay. Maybe some other time.”
When dinner ended, John made eye contact with Deena and nodded towards the back door. He stepped out onto the terrace and she followed.
“Quite the show you’ve got going.”
He closed the sliding glass behind them.
Deena sighed. “So, is Tak ready to commit domestic violence or what?”
He grinned. “You’d have to cop to a relationship for it to be domestic violence.”
“Is that your legal opinion?”
“Hey toots, you’re pretty and all, but if this goes down I’m Tak’s lawyer not yours.” He paused, slipped a hand in his pocket. “Tell me something, Deena. You guys have been at this thing awhile now. I mean, formally, for close to three years, and informally—even longer. So how long do you plan on keeping this up?”
Deena frowned. “Now you sound like Tak.”
“No. I just sound like a guy who’s about to get caught between his brother and his cousin—a cousin who happens to be his best friend.”
“I don’t know, John. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just hanging on by a thread—trying to keep everything and lose nothing, when I’m not even sure if that’s possible. I just wish that I could—”
She fell silent when the doors opened and Mike stepped outside.
“So, uh, post-Renaissance, you say, huh?”
Deena blinked at John. “Um, yeah. Post-Renaissance,” she desperately searched for an application to the phrase. “Well, there was more unity in construction back then. And uh—and more consciousness of the surroundings, at least as far as designing was concerned.”
“At least,” John said distractedly, his eyes on his brother.
“Now this is a new interest,” Michael said. “John and architecture.”
John scowled. “Mom and Dad thought the same thing when they saw you talking to a girl.”
Michael’s smile faded. “Pretty enough to tear brothers asunder, huh?”
John sighed. “I’m bailing. Talk later, Deena.”
She watched him go with reluctance.
“Maybe I should go, too.”
She didn’t want to be alone with him.
Michael nodded. “Alright. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”
DEENA SAT IN the window seat of her bedroom and admired her view of the Pacific. The waters were dark and shimmering as the light of the full moon illuminated her face. She’d been certain Tak would come to her when the house was still and it was safe. At least, she thought he would. But it was getting late, nearly one, and still no Tak. When Deena fell asleep, it was with a heavy heart.
When Deena woke in the night, she frowned at the arm draped about her. Thank God, it belonged to Tak.
“When did you get here?”
He shrugged. “One, maybe two minutes ago.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am. I was going to slip in here and steal a little undetected sex.”
Deena snorted.
“Okay. Maybe you would’ve detected after a second or two. But I’ve decided not to be mad since I agreed to do this and since it is your dream to work for my dad and what not.”
Deena gave him a grateful smile. “And that’s why I’m so crazy about you.”
“Yeah, and I know someone who’s crazy about you.”
“I don’t like him, Tak. Not at all.”
Tak grinned. “Yeah, Mike has that effect on women. Now if only we were a couple I could tell him to go away.” He brought a finger to his chin as if contemplating.
“Not mad, remember? Not even passive aggressive.”
His gaze narrowed. “Not sure I agreed to that one.”
“I see. You know, John warned me you might resort to domestic violence. He said that if you do, he’d be willing to defend you.”
“John’s a tax attorney. I’d probably wind up with the death penalty after slapping you.”
Deena giggled. “Good. Keep that in mind when you’re busy being mad.”
They stared at each other, smiling, their noses near touching in the dark. It still amazed her that she could be so comfortable with someone, so close. She hadn’t ever thought it possible.
“Your grandmother is beautiful,” she said. “And your mother, too.”
“Uh huh.”
“And I get the joke now, about John looking like his father.”
“Oh, you do now?” Tak asked. He sat up. “What are you trying to say?”
Deena sat up as well. “Nothing. I just—”
“What? That he’s fat? Ugly?”
“No, Tak. I would never. I just—”
He seized her, tickling as she squirmed, as she giggled her apology. He clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“I can’t believe you’re going to sit here and laugh in my face,” he said.
“I’m not. All I said was—”
“And John, that poor bastard, do you see what he has to look forward to? What he’ll look like in a few short years?”
Deena giggled.
“Again, you’re laughing in my face.” Tak sighed. “And Mike, Jesus, he’s on the fast track there, isn’t he?”
When she laughed, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Tak frowned at her.
“You’re doing it again.”
He paused, as if with a thought. “And poor Lauren. Can you picture her in a few years? With that comb-over and that gut?”
This time when Deena laughed, he tickled her again. “I’m going to teach you some manners, little lady. Right now. Gonna give you some punishment.”
He grabbed her by the wrists and pinned them over her head before kissing her neck. His body was lean and hard, and hers, instantly turned on.