____________

Noriko

 

 

 

All the next day I berated myself for going into the west wing. The way Mr. Blackwell’s voice cracked, the slip of pain showing from under his façade. The memory stabbed me. I thought of the unloved and lonely state of his mother’s bedroom, imagining this was what the inside of his heart looked like.

My cheeks burned with shame, my chest felt heavy with swollen pity. Thankfully, he never seemed to be around so I didn’t have to face him. Maybe I could avoid him for the entire year?

When I entered the dining room that night, I found I wasn’t the only one eating.

Mr. Blackwell was there, sitting at the head of the table, staring at his phone. He was actually home early enough for dinner.

My nerves began to jumble. Was he still angry? Should I say something? Should I apologize for what I did yesterday?

He looked up from his phone and our eyes met. His dark stare pinned me to the spot and I had to fight to breathe. My insides twisted into a bunch. I didn’t want to fight with him. I didn’t want him to hate me.

“Are you going to stand there all damn night?”

Well…that broke the spell. “As charming as usual, I see,” I muttered.

I sat in the chair to his side feeling very underdressed in my cream linen pants and plain white blouse. Drake was still in his suit, albeit his jacket had been discarded and his sleeves rolled up. My eyes drew to his thick, tanned forearms. What would he feel like under my fingers? Shocked at my thought, I forced my eyes up.

He had slight bags under his eyes. Did he not sleep very well last night? His hair fell across his forehead. I found myself wanting to push it out of his beautiful eyes, his lashes so thick and dark, almost pretty, I found myself envious of them.

I licked my lips, which had gone dry. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was. For invading his privacy yesterday by going into the west wing. I wanted to reach out, place my fingers on the back of his large hand and tell him that I understood what it was like to lose a mother.

The words wouldn’t come out.

“What?” he snapped.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

My cheeks burned. “No, I’m not.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me.

Celeste entered to place our plates on the table, and we were forced into silence. After she set everything out, she bobbed and hurried out. Drake and I were left alone in this vast dining room.

Mr. Blackwell attacked his food with all the enthusiasm of a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. He cut his steak and vegetables into enormous pieces before they disappeared into his mouth. The silence, broken only by the clattering of cutlery, felt like it was swallowing both of us. How could I feel even lonelier with him here? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was so desperate for some human interaction, I was prepared to overlook his coldness, to try to make the best of this marriage.

I cleared my throat. “So…how was your day?”

He looked up from his meal and swallowed. “Excuse me?”

“Well, we are married. We could try to be…civil to each other. Talk.”

“About what?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. How was work?”

He frowned. “Busy.” He shoved a piece of meat into his mouth.

O-kay. “Are you working on anything in particular?” I suddenly realized that I had absolutely no idea what my husband actually did for work.

“Of course.”

I repressed a groan. This was like pulling teeth. At home it was a fight to get a word in edgewise. “What are you working on exactly?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his brows creased. “Why can’t we just eat?”

I sagged into my chair, tears pricking at my eyes, loneliness suffocating me like a too-tight blanket. I didn’t know why I thought that he and I could talk, to be civil at least? I was married—married—to a man who wanted nothing to do with me, whose staff were too terrified to speak to me. I was all alone on the other side of the world in this huge house with no one. I picked at my vegetables, leaving my steak. I wasn’t used to eating so much meat. Besides, I’d lost my appetite.

I realized from the lack of cutlery noise that he hadn’t resumed eating. I looked up to find him staring at me. A strange prickle of awareness skittered across my skin.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice a little too eager.

He didn’t answer.

Hope sank like a stone inside me. I turned back to my plate, trying to ignore the sadness welling up inside me.

When I was younger, I wasn’t sure I would ever get married. If I did, it’d have to be with someone…special. Blame my parents for setting a high standard with their deep, true love. I told myself I’d never settle for anything less than what my parents had. And now…

It’s only for one year, Noriko. It’s not a real marriage.

“I…” Mr. Blackwell began.

I glanced up.

“I’m not used to…” He waved his hand around.

“Being polite?”

He scowled. “Dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not used to having dinner?”

“Dinner with someone. Here. I mean.”

“Oh.”

“I spend so much time talking…at work…”

“Okay.” I focused back on my plate.

He still didn’t pick up his knife and fork again. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He was still staring at me, confusion written across his face. I almost felt sorry for him.

I shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m 34, CEO and majority shareholder of Blackwell Industries, worth billions, graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Business School and with an MBA from Yale, third richest man in America. What else do you need to know?”

I laughed. “You forgot to tell me your driver’s license number and shoe size.”

He frowned. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re mocking me?”

I shook my head and smiled. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?”

His lips pressed into a line before he answered. “If I’m not working, I’m either sleeping or eating.”

Was he serious? “That sounds…”

“Busy.”

“I was going to say…sad.”

His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing. “It’s not sad.”

“There’s more to life than work.”

His frown turned into a glare. He opened his perfectly formed mouth, most likely to argue with me again. Before he could, his phone began to ring. He snapped his mouth shut, staring at his phone screen before scowling. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” He grabbed his phone as he stood. “I am not sad.”

I said nothing.

He scowled and grunted what? into the phone, still glaring at me.

He left the room and I turned back to my dinner.

I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.

Pity was quickly replacing the hatred in my heart. Drake Blackwell might have money, but he was the poorest man I’d ever met.