Page 57 of The Queen's Denial

Chapter 29

Chi

The next day is my final meeting with Asuka before we will be engaged.

It’s like I’m floating in a dream. I don’t feel any certain way. I’m just detached. Since there’s no meaning — nothing to hold onto — I’m drifting around with a general idea of what’s necessary for me to do, but no actual emotion in any of it. I know I’m staring at myself like a zombie in the mirror, applying my makeup and styling products to my hair, but I can’t force my face into any semblance of giving a shit.

“Chichi. You will need to smile a bit. Your lips are turned too far down.” Daiki’s tone is admonishing as we walk toward the big reception hall doors. For some strange reason, that tone gives me the first zip of attentiveness I've felt all day. Eager obedience cuts through the numbness. I force my lips upwards in the corners, focusing my effort on getting the stupid smile just right.

I see Daiki look at me again out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly he stops. I stop with him out of habit, my focus waning and my smile falling off my face.

Before I can ask why we’re no longer moving, he takes my shoulders and looks at my face in concern. It would be acceptable for me to meet his eye in times like this, since he is my trusted guard and closest family friend. But I choose to look down instead of facing him.

Daiki looks around the hallway, as though to make sure we’re alone. “Sakura, what is wrong?” he asks me quietly, using my childhood nickname to soothe me.

This blatant concern is my undoing, and I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut against a wave of unbearable pain that threatens to consume me. I feel a tear loosen itself from under my eyelid and fall onto my cheek.

“Tell me what is wrong.” His voice is still low, but more commanding now. I can’t tell him, but I desperately want to. I want to unload it all.

I open my eyes, filled with tears, and I know exactly what I look like: the distressed little shit I never wanted to be. “It’s so much. It’s so much pressure,” I say, as another wave of anxiety crashes over me.

Daiki’s fingers grip into me tighter; it feels like he wants to pull me toward him, and he’s barely holding back. My gaze drifts to his hands, holding me in place. Keeping me grounded, like he has done my entire life.

“You have choices, Chichi-san. This is more than so many other women can say, don’t you know? Your father would give the world for you. So would I.” Daiki takes a centering breath. “Always know, Chichi-chan… always know that you have the final say. As much as your father wants this for you… if you said no, he wouldn’t do it. You are just so obedient that you won’t say no.”

He’s right about that. I am obedient. But he’s wrong that there is another way for me. I can’t bear to let my father down, and he knows that. This is why he never makes things life or death — why he never makes threats. He has never had to. I think of him, trying to get Andy to stay with me despite the fact that it would have been obvious that he was my lover to anyone besides my husband-to-be, and I realize that it’s actually easier this way. I can’t imagine having to see Andy every day and knowing that I could never truly be with him. Not in any way that matters.

In the end, I love my father and appreciate all he has given up for me too much to ever disappoint him that way. So, Daiki is simply wrong. I could never live with myself if I made a final choice that my father disapproved of. We have never had that dynamic, and we can’t have it now.

But just the idea that I might be able to persuade the big, powerful Akio Yan to do what I want gives me some bit of strength that I didn’t have before. Daiki sees the slight relief wash over my features, and he gives me a rare, genuine smile, patting my shoulder ever so slightly in encouragement.

I straighten my spine, take a deep breath, and force a saccharine smile onto my face. “Thank you, Daiki-san. Is this better?”

He smiles back at me and moves his hands from my shoulders to wipe the two small drops of tears from my face. “Yes, Sakura. You look beautiful. You will make your father proud today, no matter what you choose.”

I still don’t think that is quite the case, but the notion gives me the push I need to enter the banquet hall, where Asuka waits at the head of the dining table. The six wooden leaves have been taken out, and the table has been pushed together. There is enough space between us for comfort if Asuka still chooses not to become engaged to me today, but enough space that he can reach over and take my hand.

This would indicate that he is interested in moving things forward. I have little say in this, aside from what I tell my father after our meeting, but I’m glad for the bit of space nonetheless.

Asuka stands and bows his head, and I do so in return. As always, he acts very awkward, looking down the same way that I am instead of staring directly into my face the way most powerful men do. But, like a gentleman, he pulls my chair out for me and pushes it in after I sit.

“Thank you, Asuka-sama,” I say quietly, staring directly at the tablecloth.

“You are most welcome, Chichi-san.” He walks around to his seat and sits uneasily, placing his hands under the table. I know he’s fidgeting under there. It makes him endearing, if nothing else.

“I have been excited to meet with you today.” He says the words too quickly, as though they have been rehearsed.

I force my smile the slightest bit wider. “As have I,” I say, inclining my head again to show my feigned enthusiasm.

“You look… so beautiful today. You look beautiful every day.” He seems to get the courage to dart his eyes up to mine, but then drops them back down again when he sees me do the same thing, and our eyes meet for just a sliver of a moment. I almost laugh. This poor guy is so uneasy; sometimes it’s almost cute. Unfortunately, it’s cute in the same way a child would be cute. I want to give him a hug, some encouragement, and a lesson on how to act in this situation.

“Thank you so much for your kindness, Asuka-sama,” I say, with high-pitched sweetness.

“Please, um, call me Asuka. Just Asuka, unless we’re in Japan, because there you have to use “-san.” But “-sama” makes it sound like we’re not friends.” He looks up again, and even out of my peripheral vision, I see the second-guessing in his eye. “I mean, it is so formal. Like we don’t know each other. But we’ve met and… and I very much enjoyed our time together last time, for lunch. And when we met for tea. And now we’re having dinner.”

It’s plain that he is detailing our entire relationship to display that my acquiescence to meet with him again shows I have settled to be engaged to him. The awkwardness of the blatant meaning behind his words is nearly painful, but what’s more painful is the aftershock of anxiety that seizes hold of my gut at that thought: engagement. It won’t be the sweeping gesture of getting down on one knee and taking my hand sincerely, presenting me with a ring box with the other. This would be seen as demeaning to a man, as if he’s kneeling to me. Despite all the things he doesn’t know, I’m sure someone taught him not to do that.

I see that I’m correct when he stands and clumsily starts rooting around in his pocket for something. I already know what’s coming, but I can’t figure out exactly how he’ll do it. That’s when I see the tiny box he pulls out. Although it’s not a ring box, I know what it is. And I know it’s happening. It’s happening, and I have no choice.

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