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Noriko

 

 

 

Drake loved me.

Every time I thought of it, happiness bubbled up inside me.

Until it burst and soured because underneath it was rotten guilt and bad seeds. Because he loved me and I would eventually have to leave him.

When I did, it would destroy him.

Dear God, how my heart ached at the thought. I didn’t want to hurt him; if only I could absorb the pain meant for him into my body. If only I could make him love me less…

I couldn’t stay. I promised my papa. My papa needs me.

So does Drake.

I had hated him on sight. I cared nothing for what he thought. As a consequence, he was the first person I’d ever truly been myself in front of.

If I had only been more vigilant. If I had given less of myself. Held back.

But Drake was a magician. He had removed my shields with deft fingers, distracted me with his enchanted words, drawing all this feeling out of me like a line of vibrant handkerchiefs.

I had to talk to him.

And say what? I had no idea.

A day went by and I didn’t see Drake. Not at dinner. Not afterwards. I stayed awake longer than usual, my ears pricked for his footsteps. But he never came home.

Maybe he had a work emergency? Maybe he had a work trip he forgot to tell me about? He couldn’t be avoiding me, could he?

Two nights and three days went by and he didn’t darken my door.

“Loretta?” I asked her at breakfast the next morning. “Has Drake been away these last three days?”

She looked a little confused. “No.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been coming home and taking dinner in his office down on the second floor. It’s probably a bad time at work.”

“Right. Of course.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t about work. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to do with the words that he said. And the words that I didn’t.

 

 

 

I was still thinking about it that afternoon as I sat in a chair, staring out the window.

The door banged open, making me jolt.

Drake was standing in the doorway looking as beautiful as ever. An aching washed over me, making my stomach wring out warm pain. Now he was here and I had no idea what to say.

He glared at me. “You’re coming out with me. You have ten minutes to change into something smart but comfortable.”

I placed down my paintbrush. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. He spun on his heel and disappeared out the door. I hurried to my room to throw on a crisp knee-length skirt and a soft sleeveless blouse, sliding my feet into ballet flats.

I hurried to the front of the house and found a limo waiting.

I slid in—still not having gotten the hang of it—and Felipe shut the door behind me. Drake was already waiting in the limo. He sat opposite me against the far window, his elbow on the arm rest, staring with stormy eyes out the window.

He didn’t look at me. Not even as the limo set off. Not even as I cleared my throat.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I tried.

He said nothing. Only the deepening of his frown told me that he’d heard me.

“Where have you been?”

“Working.”

Working. Right.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

Apparently one-word answers were all I was going to get out of him. I sank into my seat with a huff. We drove for what felt like forever, Drake staring out the window, me staring at Drake, oscillating between wanting to smack him for being so damn obstinate and feeling wretched because I knew that he was only acting this way because I’d hurt him.

Finally we stopped and Felipe opened the door again. At that point I was fuming. I pulled myself out of the car first without looking back.

I froze.

We were at a private runway at a smaller airport, his private jet sitting there on the tarmac, a TSA official ready to stamp my passport which Drake, now out of the limo, pulled out of his pocket and handed over.

Oh my God.

He was sending me back.

He wasn’t even going to wait the full year. He was sending me home.

The bottom of my stomach dropped down to my feet.

I should be happy that he was ending our contract. I’d get to keep the money for my father and return home a full eleven months early. Why did I feel like I was going to throw up? Why were my guts twisting into hollow, brittle vines?

Drake led me by the elbow to the plane. I was so stunned at this turn of events, at my obvious dismissal, I didn’t protest.

I didn’t even pack anything.

Stupid girl, did you think he would let you take anything with you when he sent you away?

I didn’t get to say goodbye to Loretta.

“Get in,” he said, pushing me up the flight of steps.

My shoe clanked against the first step and I thought I might faint, my breathing growing short and shallow. I couldn’t let him send me away. I turned towards him, my fingers clutching at his jacket lapels. “Drake, I’m sorry. Please, don’t send me away.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

I blinked up at him, hope filling my chest. “You’re not sending me away?”

His distant behavior. His coldness in the limo. We lived in the same house and I hadn’t seen him in three damn days. He’d been avoiding me, I was sure of it.

He let out a snort. “Get in the plane, Noriko,” he said in a softer voice. He still managed to make it sound like a command.

I was too confused to do anything else, so I obeyed.

I stumbled up the stairs and found myself sitting in the same white leather chair that I sat in on my way here from Japan. Drake sat beside me and buckled himself in before reaching over me and buckling my belt around my waist. His fingers brushing at my legs, our first touch in days, sent waves of aching through me. I hadn’t just missed his touch. I’d missed…him.

If he was coming with me, then…he couldn’t be sending me away. Right?

“Where are we going?” I asked as the plane took off.

Drake glanced over to me. “Breakfast.”

 

 

 

We ate a silent dinner on the plane. At some point, I fell asleep in the huge bed at the back cabin of the plane after exhausting myself over trying to get any information out of Drake. He was a steel trap. No amount of chiding, begging, or probing would get him to reveal where we were going for “breakfast”.

In my dreams, I sensed his eyes on me, watching over me. I felt his fingertips brushing my hair back off my face. I felt myself being lifted up by strong hands. I smelled Drake’s fresh cologne and I could have cried with happiness as I pushed my face into his chest, squeezing my eyes against the light. I felt us descend stairs and I was placed gently on a leather couch in the darkness of what I guessed to be another limo. Drake lifted my head and allowed me to use his thigh as a pillow. I mumbled happily and clutched his leg and let myself drift back to sleep.

 

 

 

“Noriko,” Drake’s voice broke through my sleep. “We’re here.”

I groaned and stretched before sitting up in the limo and rubbing my eyes. “You damn billionaires.” We’d been flying all night. We couldn’t be in the States anymore. “This is a long way to go for breakfast. It better be worth it.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it was worth it.”

Drake got out of the car first and held out his hand for me. I stepped out after him, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the light. Wherever we were, it was morning. Glancing around, I saw a stone house and a beautiful garden. It all looked familiar. Except it couldn’t be. I’d never been here before.

I heard the limo driving off and it was just Drake and me now.

“Where are we?” I took a step towards the start of a garden path. The place seemed painted in light and magic, drawing me in with its quaintness and too-vibrant colors.

Drake didn’t answer. He held his arm out as if to say, after you.

The garden was in full bloom, growing around a stone house covered in ivy, green shutters flung open. Along the paths grew roses, tulips, lavender and many other flowers I couldn’t name, their fragrances perfuming the air and lifting my heart. It was gorgeous, just like a painting.

Oh shit.

It looked like a painting because it was one.

This was Monet’s house. His fucking house. His garden. There was the lake and the water lilies and the Japanese bridge that he painted. We were in Giverny, France.

Oh my God.

I grabbed Drake’s arm, trying to speak but failing. He had stolen my voice. My head was spinning so hard, I thought I might pass out.

“It’s usually open to the public,” Drake said. “I convinced the trust to let me book it out privately for the day.”

He did this for me.

Suddenly his awkwardness in the car shone under a different light. He wasn’t being distant. He was nervous.

Emotions bubbled up inside me and I clasped my hand to my mouth to try to hold them in. To no avail. Sobs tore from my lungs.

“Noriko,” Drake cried out in alarm, “what did I do?” He cupped his hands on my face, urging me to look at him. He peered at me with such concern, I could only cry harder.

“Oh, Drake,” I said between sobs. “No one has ever, ever, done anything so wonderful for me.” It had always been me doing for others. Me putting my needs and wants aside for everyone else.

Drake blinked at me. “But…but you’re crying.”

I started to laugh through my tears, shaking my head. Tumbling and fluttering inside me like I was a cage full of birds. More tears and more laughing. Until I let out a scream. “Monet’s house! I can’t fucking believe this,” I yelled to the sky, giddiness overwhelming me.

Claude Monet’s house. His garden. Holy shit.

“Did you just swear?”

I turned to him. “You… You, Drake Blackwell, are the most wonderful man.”

He shifted his weight. “Not everyone will agree with you.” How was it that a man so confident it bordered on arrogance, could be uncomfortable with my compliment?

“Whoever doesn’t, can’t see what I see.”

He stiffened. “I’m not perfect, Noriko. Far from it. Just, please...remember this moment when…” he trailed off. When I fuck up, I finished for him in my head.

I took his hand and we walked through Monet’s garden. He led me to a table set up with breakfast goodies like croissants and jam and scones.

I laughed as he pulled out my seat. “What, no waiter?”

“No waiters. No one else is here. I wanted you all to myself.” He flicked out the napkin and laid it across my lap.

I mock-gasped. “Drake Blackwell, how much shall I tip you?”

“Careful, Noriko. My price might be too much for your body to handle.” The glint in his eye had me squirming in my seat.

When we finished breakfast, Drake took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet. “And now…you must work for your breakfast.”

He led me to the lake’s edge where a picnic blanket waited for us. Beside it was a large suitcase and a large bag.

I stood on the water’s edge and let out a sigh. I remembered this exact view from several of Monet’s paintings. He stood right here. Looked over the lake as I did. Tilted his face up to the same sun. Filled his lungs up with the same air. “He painted right here.”

“And so will you.”

Drake opened the suitcase, actually a painter’s suitcase filled with tubes of paint and paintbrushes. From the bag, he pulled out a small framed canvas and handed it to me.

This was all too much. I half-sat, half-collapsed on the blanket.

Was I really here? In Monet’s garden about to paint my own version of his Japanese bridge? Or was this a dream?

Drake lay himself across the grass and flung his arm over his head with a flourish. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

I let out a snort. “Perhaps you should leave that to Kate Winslet.”

He smirked at me. For this moment, I forgot about the secret I was keeping from him. That I would one day betray him. I forgot that I could never return his love.

I tried to focus on my canvas, each stroke of paint done with equal bliss and anxiety. How could I ever compare to the Man himself? How did I even deserve to be here? Drake kept staring at me, drawing my attention to him like a magnet, making it even harder to paint.

I didn’t notice his hand reaching out for a paintbrush until he’d drawn a wet blue line on my knee.

I shot him a glare.

“What?” he asked, his voice all innocence.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He made another mark, and another. Until he’d written Drake4eva on my leg. “I think blue suits you.” He smirked at his “artwork.”

I could only stare at him. Could this playful, lighthearted man be the same cold, arrogant brute I’d met four weeks ago?

Before I could think it through, I’d dabbed a spot of green on his nose. “What do you know? Green suits you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You, Noriko Blackwell, will pay for that.”

He lunged for me and I let out a squeal. We ended up rolling in the grass, laughing, smearing paint on each other.

Somehow the mood turned heated. Our clothes were discarded and our bodies came together, streaked wet with paint, sweat and desire, until we were both crowing each other’s names to the sun.