“His exact words were, ‘You will marry Ken’Ichi,’” she said in a rough imitation of her dad’s strong Japanese accent compared to her almost completely Americanized one.
“Ken’Ichi,” I repeated like a moron. It didn’t shock me, and yet it did. He was in his forties and was old enough to be her father, but he was also the closest thing to a son that Mori-sama had.
Jada pulled herself from me. Before I could stop her, she’d climbed onto the bar top and called the room to order by flinging her crystal glass into a thousand pieces.
“We’re celebrating Armaud Racing’s win at my place. Gates open at nine this evening. If you don’t know who I am or where it’s at, you’re not invited.” Laughter flew through the room because the crowd allowed into the club all knew exactly who she was.
“Jada,” I said, a warning in my tone that she chose to ignore. She was poking the rabid dog.
She stumbled slightly on her way down, and it was Dax who caught her. If I hadn’t been standing right next to them, I would never have heard her whisper, “Hands off, Armaud. Wouldn’t want to taint those lily-white fingers of yours.”
A barb to her word choice that had nothing to do with his tan skin.
She pushed away and headed toward the door, calling back to me, “You coming now, Dawson? Or should I send Kaida back for you later?”
Dax and I exchanged a worried look.
“I’m coming,” I said.
I followed her out to the bulletproof sedan that Kaida Ito was driving. Part bodyguard and part chauffeur, the woman pretty much went everywhere with Jada. She was dark-haired and light-skinned with a gracefulness that spoke to her karate training, but she also had an edge to her that said Don’t fuck with me. She had a gun at her back and a knife in her boot, and Tsuyoshi Mori trusted her to keep his only child safe in a world that might use her for bait.
Jada and I didn’t say a word in the car. We couldn’t. Once we arrived at the villa, I dragged her out toward the pool. We were careful to avoid the cameras, and even then, we spoke in a hushed tone as if a million ears were standing around us.
“Is it a good idea to throw another party?” I asked.
“You need a good reason to be drunk and stumbly, and this might be my last hoorah if OtÅsan gets his way,” she whispered back.
I needed to have an excuse for being loud and obnoxious when I met with Ken’Ichi Matsuda tonight. One that would allow me to get close enough to his phone to be able to clone it and drop a listening device beside it. But I didn’t need Jada risking more for me to do it.
“I don’t need you for this,” I told her.
“In for a penny, in for a pound, right?”
She was staring at me, but I couldn’t really see her eyes because of the sunglasses. I reached up and slid them down her nose. She didn’t object, but she did look away from my gaze.
Her eyes were tired with deep, dark circles underscoring them.
It was my fault.
I’d taken advantage of her friendship with Violet to get close. I’d taken advantage of the way she felt about Dax to pull us all together. I was an asshole.
No good to the core.
I could hear my father’s voice echoing through my head. It seemed to be on repeat lately. Like it had been in those final days leading up to the boat crash in Clover Lake five and half years ago. The one that had almost cost my friend Carlos everything, banished me from my father’s world, and thrust me into my brother’s Coast Guard life in New London.
I’d been out of control, a reckless twenty-two-year-old hell-bent on proving every bad thing his father had thought of him to be true.
It wasn’t me who was out of control now. Instead, it was the situation. The life I’d chosen to lead. The hidden parts that no one but Jada knew about. The risk that was growing in size and shape and form until it was surrounding us both like a black cloak. A weighted one, hanging heavy on our shoulders.
If anything happened to Jada, I’d never forgive myself. Violet would never forgive me either. I pushed that thought aside. I couldn’t think of Vi now. It was never a good idea, but these days, especially. I could only be grateful that her life had pulled her far away from Jada. That their friendship, while still existent, was more like modern-day pen pals. Text exchanges and video chats instead of slumber parties and shopping sprees. Much like how my relationship with Violet now solely revolved around our married siblings and our shared niece instead of stolen moments both simultaneously glorious and painful.
Jada walked away from me while I was still lost in thought.
Standing in the middle of the heavy, exotically scented garden of the villa, I smelled a honey sweetness and saw lilac eyes flashing before me. I shook myself out of the reverie and followed Jada. Nothing beneficial could come from being lost in those memories.
Violet
LIGHTS UP
“All the lights couldn't put out the dark,
Running through my heart.”
Performed by Harry Styles
Written by Styles / Hull / Johnson
“Why don’t you want me to come?” Silas asked, frowning as he watched me pack my bags.
“For a lot of reasons that are hard to explain,” I told him, looking up from the dresser drawer to see him staring at me in the mirror’s reflection.
We were a subdued contrast. His dark hair and tan skin a sharp difference to the almost white tones that made up my image. Even my makeup was a muted palette of silver and gray. It was like looking at an old photo. Grays and blacks and whites. Color was missing. The only non-neutral shade was the purple highlights layered in with my natural blonde hair and the lilac of my eyes.
It was like we were the sterile lab and not the color of the outer office. Was I a horrible person to want both?
“Tell me one reason,” he pushed.
I turned slowly to face him. He was beautiful in a lean, stoic kind of way. I didn’t want to put that stoicism to test by hurting him. But waiting would only make it worse. I took a deep breath and said, “Because I think we should break up, and bringing you with me would feel wrong.”
He took a step back almost as if I’d hit him. “You want to break up? With me?” When I didn’t answer right away, he demanded. “Why?”
I searched for the right words, tugging at my braid. Finally, I breathed out a partial truth out. “Because…I think we want different things.”
“Since when?” he demanded.
“Since always,” I replied before turning back to my packing.
“Violet, I don’t understand. Everything is perfect. I thought you loved me,” he said. “I thought we were going to be a team like my parents. I chose you because you’re smart and vibrant and beautiful.”
I didn’t know what to react to first. The “love,” the “choosing” me, or the fact he wanted us to be little mini-mes of his parents.
I’d never once said I loved him. He hadn’t said it either. In truth, I’d been flattered by his attention because in our three years together at UC Berkeley, he’d barely given me the time of day. He’d been the star of our geeky community: valedictorian of our graduating class, internships with the best scientific research firms, and a set of scientific geniuses for parents. He and his life had been like a shiny image of something I thought I wanted. Science and family rolled together.