____________

Noriko

 

 

 

Several weeks later…

 

 

Most women faced their first day of marriage with an anxious, giddy excitement. I only felt trepidation scurrying around the insides of my body like a swarm of ants. I was the only passenger in my new husband’s private plane.

Jesus Christ. I had never even been out of the country before…

Now I was hundreds of miles in the air, rocketing at incomprehensible speeds towards Los Angeles where my husband lived.

My husband.

I tried to make myself comfortable but the leather seat I was sitting in was too soft. I smiled nervously at the flight attendant—donned in a smart navy uniform, “Drake Industries” emblazoned across her pocket—and accepted her offer of a flute of champagne, something she called Moët, even though I was still too young to legally drink, both in the country I left and the country I’m headed to.

A private plane.

My own flight attendant.

Champagne.

I could have choked on my own disbelief. There was no point in even trying to pretend that I belonged among such blatant, outrageous luxury such as this. I took a huge gulp, my first sip of champagne, to steady my nerves and coughed as bubbles went up my nose, the fruity taste slightly sharp on my tongue.

Oh my God. I wasn’t cut out for this.

What I wouldn’t give to be back home in our simple house, us three girls all crowded on a single futon bed under a single blanket as father read out from his favorite novels. A pang of homesickness ripped through me followed by an aching longing to be back at my papa’s side.

For my last night in Japan, I lay beside my father on his hospital bed in Kyoto, the closest city to our village. He was going into his first round of radiation tomorrow.

I’d already signed the contracts. No backing out now. Tomorrow I would be carried away to a new life.

My father gazed at me with such despair, his chocolate eyes glossy and wet. “Hime,” his voice broke, “please don’t do this. You don’t have to marry that man for money.”

“Your treatments…”

“I’d give up these treatments, surgery, everything. Just…don’t go. Please, hime.”

“No,” I said, my voice coming out hard to counter how soft I was feeling, the backs of my eyes pricking. “I won’t have you die. Not while I still can do something.”

“My hime.”

“I’ll come back, Father, I promise.” I lowered my voice so that the bodyguards outside wouldn’t hear and report back to my new husband, excitement and hope filling my hushed tone. “I found a loophole. I can leave him and still keep the money. You focus on getting well and I’ll come home.”

“What? Is that legal?”

“He had it written into the contract. I’ll be back in one year. I promise.”

The tiny plane shuddered as we hit a patch of turbulence. I squeezed my eyes shut as the tears threatened to fall. I would not cry. I would not.

My thoughts turned to the secret package in the bag at my feet, the bag I refused to let anyone else touch. The way I would guarantee this loophole.

A sliver of guilt embedded under my skin. It was…deceitful, I know. But I promised Papa that I’d come back to him. My family needs me more than this stranger does.

What kind of man buys himself a wife?

I was surprised when Isabelle called me to tell me that he had singled me out. She showed me my new husband’s clean criminal record and assured me that he was well-respected in his community, that I would be well taken care of.

It didn’t matter how well taken care of I’d be. I wouldn’t stay past a year. I wasn’t the wife for him. I wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s wife.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I missed my family with a soul-deep ache already. They were the ground beneath my feet, the path the sun made across the sky, the predictable ebb and flow of the moon. Now I was on my own, a tiny boat in the midst of an unknown sea.

One year.

Four seasons.

Thirteen cycles of the moon.

I was already counting it down.

 

 

 

The plane landed in a private terminal at LAX, the Los Angeles International Airport. The captain announced right before we landed that it was almost nine p.m. The weather was gorgeous, a beautiful spring night to welcome me to California. As soon as the door opened a man rushed in. He performed my TSA clearance right there on the plane. My brand new passport was stamped and returned to me, the man bowing as he backed out of the plane.

I took the short flight of steps down to the lit tarmac, my feet wobbly even in my simple Mary Jane shoes. My hands were clammy as I gripped the balustrade, my precious bag over my shoulder, the only thing I brought with me.

A black stretch limousine waited for me at the foot of the stairs, a limo with tinted windows so I couldn’t see in. My head spun. I’d only ever seen one of those in movies. Now I was going to be in one and it was going to take me to my new husband.

My new husband.

Just breathe, Noriko. Breathe.

A driver opened the passenger door for me. “Welcome to Los Angeles, Mrs. Blackwell,” he said as he stared forward like an army officer at attention.

It took me a second for my brain to register that he was talking to me. I was Mrs. Blackwell. The name hung about me like an ill-fitting coat.

I guessed him to be in his early thirties, wearing a full suit and cap even in this heat, showing only his beautiful chocolate hands and twinkling brown eyes despite a serious set to his mouth.

“Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The driver blinked at me a few times, clearing his throat before saying, “Um, Felipe, ma’am.”

I smiled and bowed, a habit. “Thank you, Felipe.”

Felipe frowned at me for a second before he bowed awkwardly back. Was it just me or did I detect a slight blush to the dear man’s cheeks?

I clambered most ungracefully into the limo, my skirt flouncing ungracefully around me before realizing, to my horror, there was someone already inside. I thought it was empty. It was not.

A broad-shouldered man in a dark three-piece suit sat facing me in the center of the wide leather seat, one arm outstretched across the back, a gold watch glinting on his wrist. This must be Mr. Blackwell.

“Well, this is certainly an attractive option.” His voice was deep and boomed around the cabin, resonating with power, causing a rush of goose pimples across my skin.

Was he calling me an attractive option? I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered. I mean, really, what did I expect from a man who “bought” his wife?

“I don’t care what Deloitte thinks. He’s not the one with his ass on the line.”

I frowned. Then spotted the small clip in one of his ears. He was talking on the phone.

The car door slammed shut, cutting out the wind and rest of the world. I was left alone with him—my husband—the silence between his words deafening.

I placed my bag beside me and leaned back in the seat as the limo pulled away. The seat was firm, the new leather smell still clinging to the overly air-conditioned air. The rest of the interior was wood paneling and chrome.

Outside, through the heavily tinted windows, street lights rolled by as we passed out of the airport. He continued to talk on the phone, his voice animated. I had time to study him.

He wore a tailored suit, open at the jacket to reveal a dark gray shirt underneath with a matching silver tie. I didn’t know clothing brands well, but I could tell it was tailored, clinging to his wide shoulders. He had midnight hair that appeared disheveled, as if he’d run his hand through it a few times, a wide jaw that kept clenching in the pauses between his sentences. His cocoa eyes were hooded, deep-set. He stared right at me, a slight smirk pulling at his perfectly sculpted lips.

I was taught never to stare back; especially to a man I should be showing respect. I’d never been one for conforming. Besides, I couldn’t seem to help it. He was mesmerizing, dark power rolling off him. This was a man who knew what he wanted and would not take no for an answer. This was a man who demanded the world and always got it.

As I watched him watching me, something foreign pricked at my lower belly.

“Call Mike. Ask him where that damn preliminary report for the Forrest takeover is. If he doesn’t have it ready, fire him.”

I frowned. We’d been driving for at least twenty minutes now. Was he going to talk on the phone the whole damn time?

I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes dropped blatantly and unapologetically to my breasts. Small yet perky, they were being pushed together by my crossed arms. Something flashed in his eyes. My chest tingled at his heavy assessment. I wanted to uncross my arms but I was paralyzed, like he’d somehow pinned me with his stare.

“I don’t give a shit. It was supposed to be on my desk by the end of last fucking week.”

His cursing caused me to flinch. I’d never heard such blatant swearing. So foul. So rude. The prickling in my stomach turned…warm. Liquid. How strange.

His eyes snapped back up to my face, his voice growing more aggressive at the unknown person on the other end of the line.

I wanted to snatch that stupid earpiece from his head.

Instead I pressed my lips together, tilted my head and raised an eyebrow at him. I knew I shouldn’t be displaying my disapproval—this was not the action of a good wife—but dammit I was jet-lagged, I hadn’t slept for almost twenty-four hours, and I’d ripped myself from my family and married a stranger who lived on the other side of the world. It might as well have been another planet.

I felt like I might cry. I didn’t want to. Especially not in front of him.

Instead I channeled all of this flurry of emotion into my glare.

“Roger, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting a beat, he ripped the earpiece from his ear and tossed it onto the seat beside him.

His eyes assessed me, his perfect lips pulling into a half smile. I was sure my hair was a mess and I had bags under my eyes, but he seemed pleased with what he saw.

“Noriko.” His voice moving across my name was seductive like bassy jazz.

“Mr. Blackwell, I presume,” I replied in English.

“Please, call me Drake.”

“Drake,” I repeated his name. It felt like power on my tongue. “How good of you to notice I’m here,” I couldn’t help adding.

His dark eyebrow raised in response. “I came to pick you up at the airport.”

“Well, that certainly compensates for not being present at our wedding ceremony.” My lips dripped with sarcasm.

“I had something important arise that I had to deal with personally.”

“So you sent an assistant in your place to pretend to be you in front of the celebrant?”

He gave me an odd look, like he was trying to decipher me. I imagined that it wasn’t often that he was met with such blatant disapproval. “My signature on the contracts are real, I can assure you.”

I almost snorted. “Will you be sending an assistant to perform in your place on our wedding night?”

His lip twitched. Now I’d really pissed him off. “That will not be happening,” he growled out between clenched teeth.

“Good to know that you will be present for some things.”

“I’m a very busy and important man,” he said as if he was telling me a truth, not bragging at all.

“And so humble, too.”

“I’m just telling you how it is.”

“I’m not surprised you think so. You seem to surround yourself with people who are all at your beck and call.”

His lip lifted into a scowl. “Do you even know how much that telephone call that I cut off for you was making me? Do you even realize how much my time is worth?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I muttered.

His eyes flared. Before I could react, he reached across the divide with his long arms, grabbing me by the wrist. His grip was firm, on the verge of hurting me, but not quite. He yanked me across to where he was sitting. I landed, sprawled across his lap. I let out a yelp and stiffened.

He was close. He radiated heat even through his suit; I felt my own body growing hot. He smelled heavenly, of expensive cologne, fresh and clean like a sea breeze.

His lips brushed my cheek sending tingles down through my body. What the hell is this?

“Forty thousand a minute,” he said in a low voice, his deep tone vibrating through my cheekbone. “So the fact that I’ve taken time out of my evening to meet you at the airport and am choosing to sit here arguing with you, my dear wife, instead of on the phone with my CFO is a big fucking deal.”

Forty thousand dollars a minute.

I didn’t know what the equivalent was in yen so I had no idea what that meant.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t seem impressed.”

“Sorry, should I swoon or giggle insipidly at you?”

“I expected some sort of positive reaction, especially considering the conditions I pulled you out of.”

I stiffened. The conditions…? As if my family lived in squalor. Okay, we were poor, but there was nothing that we wanted for. “Typical western man,” I spat out, “you think money is the answer to all your problems.”

He leaned in closer. I could feel the heat of his breath on my ear. “Money is the answer to all problems. Your father’s problems were certainly solved with my money.”

I sucked in a breath. He knew about my father? Of course he did. He probably had me researched before he picked me out. “Well,” I said, “I hope you get your money’s worth.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” he muttered under his breath. “I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.”

…you Japanese girls…

I should slap him.

But my stomach jumbled with fear, overriding my anger. I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.

I had almost given myself away. Mr. Blackwell thought he was getting a perfect little Japanese girl as a wife. Instead he got me. If I wasn’t careful, Mr. Blackwell would annul the marriage and take back the money meant for my father.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I forced myself to bow my head. “Mr. Blackwell, I do apologize. I didn’t sleep on the plane. I’m delirious. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Lying to me already, dear wife?” His voice was a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

I tensed. Finally, I had the sense to remain silent. I’d already pushed my luck tonight. I knew I wasn’t making a good impression on my new husband. I was surprised he didn’t throw me out of the moving car. Damned if I was going to let him get away with treating me like another one of his staff.

“What?” He shot me a smug look. “Nothing snarky to say back?”

I shook my head slightly, remembering myself. I was here to be his good wife. In exchange for the money my father needed for his experimental treatment.

I caught him studying my features, my eyes, my cheekbones and finally my lips. “As least you are beautiful to look at.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Well done.”

“For what?”

“You’ve managed to compliment me and insult me all in the same breath. You certainly are talented.”

His stare grew intense and heated. Something shivered down my spine. “In so many ways, wife, as I’m sure you’ll soon find out.” He grabbed my hips, tugging me closer. I gasped when the sensitive place between my legs pressed up against the hardness in his pants.

Oh. My. God.

Suddenly I was all too conscious of how I was sitting, straddling his strong thighs. Suddenly I was all too aware of how a man and a woman fitted. A liquid heat began to pool in my lower half.

His head dipped to my neck. He nipped at my ear, sending a rush trickling down my body. “I could take you right here in this limo.”

I flinched. He wouldn’t, would he? “B-But you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

A shudder ran through me. I didn’t know whether it was from fear or anticipation. Could it be…both?

Mr. Blackwell grasped my chin forcing me to look at him. This close I could see the flecks of lighter brown and amber in his chocolate eyes. “I own you, little girl. I can do what I like with you…” his fingers trailed down my neck, over one of my breasts, “…with this body.”

Real fear gripped me. I couldn’t move. He was right. I was alone in this new country. I knew no one. I had no money. My family could not help me. No one could.