Page 18 of Love on the Run

I shift. “Ow,” hissing, I look at the attendant silk pressing my hair.

“Sorry.” She says in a crisp, Aussy accent, but I gather from her cattiness she’s really not apologetic at all. She’s tall, lithe, sun bronzed and beautiful. One of those girls who’s biding her time in service until she’s snapped up by a mogul. There’s only one mogul on this yacht though. Mine.

Blinking, I ignore her and say to one of the Japanese attendants.

“Mirror, onegaisimasu,” with a brief smile. “Step back, please.” Taking the mirror, I look at the burn on the left side of my forehead. Great. I wanted to look flawless for this supposed date night when I tell this motherfucker to do his worst because there was no way I was letting him use me as his broodmare.

Other than the bruise my hair turned out fine. Not like my regular stylist who comes in from Tokyo twice a week but close enough. Standing I watch my hair fall to my bottom. It was waist length before Asa but once I had him it got much longer. Akchiro has always loved my hair. I thought to cut it off just to spite him. But I love it too. I don’t punish myself to hurt others. Things for me go much deeper than petty vindictiveness.

The Aussy and others look at me in the silk kimono style robe. Looking from side to side I feel the swish of my hair, it’s beautiful. I will have fun tormenting him with it.

“Thanks ladies,” I say to the attendants. Looking at them all except the wanna-be new Mrs. Takeda over here. She quirks her thin ass, none lips into a sharp, spiteful smirk sauntering out like she holds a secret.

A sick feeling wells inside me. Is he already fucking her? No, I scoff. He’d never dishonor himself with dallying with the help.

When we were apart for year, he never slept with anyone else, nor did I. I was recovering from losing our baby but in that time, he swore he never did, though he had been seen around Tokyo with a myriad of debutants and socialites, he said he’d done that for appearance’s sake because his cousins were attempting to have him ousted as the head of the company. Still. He’s so mad with me. He hates me now.You just said you hate him, silly.A mean whisper hisses in my ear.You better hang on to that. He is out to destroy you.“You in danger, girl,” I say in my Whoopi Goldberg voice, giggling a tad hysterically.

Walking over to the dress they fitted earlier and left for me for our “date night” I stare at it like it’s a work of art. It’s a gorgeous crimson asymmetrical lace bodice with bottom layers of silk chiffon I would have been so proud to be seen in this with him on a rare date night before all this went down. He had several items purchased for me stocked here when I arrived. I’ve lost weight, so they all have to be taken up. He’s dressing me like this is supposed to be a real date on the town in Tokyo, Paris or New York. He’s nothing if not on brand. Put your wife in a gilded cage only to take her out to amuse yourself and impregnate her. He is doing this as some type of sick punishment. I’m not fooled by all the pampering. It’s for his ass. He likes pretty things, thrives on beauty. He’s a beautiful man and knows it. To be in his presence means you must be aesthetically pleasing to him.

I rub my fingers over the flutes of the skirt’s layers. They lift as if they are taking flight.

“Dammit,” pulling my hand back, I watch in fascination as a bead as red as the dress blossoms on my finger. Sucking away the sting, I search through the fabric finding the stray pin.

My heart races. I rush to the bathroom, my heart pushing through my chest. I close the door. There is no lock. I know I don’t have time. They will be in here in seconds. He saw me. He’s always, always watching me. Whether to unnerve me or out of fascination I don’t know. He makes no secret of his obsession.

Sliding my panties down, I sit on the toilet. I have ten seconds maybe less. He’s already called them. I slide the pin into the toilet tissue roll, secreting it there. Elated, scared, terrified really cupping my hands in front of me like I didn’t just hide a pressure release valve for my anxiety away. I just start to pee when there is a polite knock and the doctor pops her head through the door.

“Lady Ta— is everything okay?” She sounds concerned but I don’t trust anyone working for the devil.

“Yes, why?” Voice clipped, I ask allowing the irritation to bleed through. Using none of the Japanese etiquette I normally work so hard to get right. I’m a prisoner, so all of that’s moot now. I don’t have to be anything other what he’s made me, a convict, soon to be concubine.

They don’t even address me as his wife anymore, don’t respect me as Mrs. Takeda. That’s why he has Ms. Below Deck Australia over here trying to disfigure me.

“Well, you rushed out the room. Takeda-sama wanted to know why?” She has the nerve to look chagrined. Yeah, whatever.

Since she won’t close the door, because I guess he figures since she’s a doctor it’s perfectly fine to have her violate my privacy, I finish my lady business washing my hands before turning to her. “I guess you can tell him I had to pee really bad after two hours getting my hair washed and pressed per hisinstructions.” Rolling my eyes, I open the door wider brushing past her into the main suite.

“Furthermore,” I say loudly as she follows me into the room. “He can come see for himself or put cameras in the bathroom as well for all I care, with his stalker ass.” I look right at the tv for emphasis knowing he’s watching from the built-in camera.

For emphasis, I plop down on the plush sofa, hit the buttons on the remote turning the volume high, ignoring the doctor.

When she leaves, I scroll through my list of movies finding Just Forever, the movie about my brother FADE’s life. Tears press against eyes but I don’t have to dash them away they are stuck unwilling to break free, I know I am dissociating. I try to watch for the entertainment value alone but the dark part in the movie the catalyst for all FADE has done — the loss of Justice hits me hard. In the secret, dark never to be acknowledged part I feel satisfaction and relief for the item I secreted away praying the cleaning crew or the attendants he has coming checking behind me never find it. For the sweet relief that will come.

I used to be good at hiding little sharp things, its something no one ever knew about me, something I worked hard to overcome when feelings of overwhelming powerlessness and anxiety got the best of me when Justice died and my brothers made it big in the music business. How dare I be so ungrateful to be upset about moving from Birmingham to New York. Then being enrolled in an elite boarding school that only had five Black girls total and none in my year. It was only when Prosperity came to school, did I form a real friendship. I never told Akchiro. I never will. It will be just another thing he uses against me if he found out. I don’t have to wonder if he would think differently, the way our marriage turned out after I broke after losing our baby showed me enough. I don’t want to give him another way to show I’m not worthy.

ELEVEN

Flower

Slathering the soft butter on a yeasty smelling roll so decadent I almost moan when I bite into it, I allow myself a brief smile. No one has to make me eat this bit of heaven. It is delicious. I wonder at the food. The menu is flame-grilled Kobe medallions, fingerling potatoes, arugula, pecan and beet salad.

Just knowing I have something hidden away to lift the cloud of stress and anxiety makes me almost giddy. And there’s wine. An heirloom vintage of some Keyan provincial that costs nearly fifty thousand a bottle with a rich bouquet. Nice. He’s selected very nice wine for the person he hates.

Shrugging one shoulder I take a sip. Not too much. I need my head clear.

A dark shadow crosses over my view of the bright stars above and the blackened abyss below. I shiver watching as he eases into chair opposite of me. He’s more than fifteen minutes late. He’s never late. He finds it disrespectful no matter the level of worker. For him to be tardy and not bow in apology really says it all. I ignore him drinking a little deeper than I intended.I won’t let him rattle me.I promise myself. Grabbing another roll.

I can feel his eyes raking over me as I don’t acknowledge him in the way he expects, smoothing more butter and biting into the roll. Well, he won’t touch me out here. He’s never hurt me. Even when he shook me, he didn’t hurt me. He stopped himself.He promised he may kill you when he has no more use for you, dummy.That mean, pragmatic voice hisses.

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