Page 31 of Love on the Run

“Humph, sounds just like him,” she says, then sighs. “Are you going to stay there and work it out?”

“Yes,” It’s not like I have a choice. I’ll never see my Asa again. I could be pregnant now for all I know.

“Then began by acknowledging what you could have done better. This does not absolve him of what he did but at least you’re standing in the light.” I want to scream hearing her words. Ain’t no way. Nope. Nopity. Nope. Nope

“Mommy,” I drag it out like I’m a whiny child. She’s supposed to be on my side.

“No ma’am, I love you but I’m going to tell you what God loves —the truth. You were wrong for what you did. Your daddy—chile, he would’ve hunted me down too and dragged my tail back here too if I pulled some mess like that. Plus, we taught you to face your problems, and we didn’t raise no cowards. Now you take care of your part and have some faith in your husband to do his. Remember, he's come cross the world twice for you now. He’s a hard man but his anger ain’t no match for the love I saw burning him up when he came here. You broke his heart too.” She almost made me feel like there was hope. Almost.

“Yes, ma’am. How is everyone?” I listen as the regales me on the antics of my little nephew, Justice, and the projects my brothers are doing. “You know Lyric is heading out on a world tour soon? She’ll be in Japan. Maybe you can go see her.” She tells me proudly talking about my brother’s top artist and one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

“I’d love that.” I tell her, not bothering to say that by the time Lyric makes her way to Japan I will probably be big with a babyI didn’t know I wanted right now and probably under constant guard by my sadist of a husband.

We talk several more minutes saying soft goodbyes before I hang up the phone.

I stand, twisting the phone in my hand. He’s still at the window. Lost in thought or having listened to the whole exchange I don’t know. I’m sure it’s the later.

The table was removed by the staff during my conversation with Mommy. The side chairs moved back to their original position. I walk around them making my way to the tall, wiry form of my husband. He stands like a dragon guarding his lair, only I am the only adversary present. I see him tracking my movement as I approach his body tightens as if to strike.

His back is pulled taunt against his dinner jacket. His right arm is reaching above him as he leans in looking out into the night then back at me. There is a tiny space on his left where there is a gap of space. I walk up and wedge myself just there turning into his body to face him.

He cants his head down to look at me. His eyes are pools of emotion — too many to name.

“Arigato,” I slip his phone back into his dinner coat’s pocket. His eyes flare at my boldness, but he says nothing. His jaw ticks and hardens impossibly more.

After a moment and before I lose my nerve, I say what I should have said days ago.

“I’m sorry for leaving like I did and taking Asa. I should have talked to you and kept talking to you until you understood how devasted I was about everything that happened. I dishonored you, me, our marriage, and our family by what I did. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I am sorry.” Eyes never leaving his, I take several steps back, assuming the dogeza position; kneeling, arms extended, face touching the ground. I repeat allI have said in formal Japanese touching my face to the ground three times.

This position of abject forgiveness is so rare and such an act of the humblest submission most people turn away rather than witness it.

Akchiro is no different. No matter how mad he is. No matter the level of his hatred for what I put him through, to witness his wife take such a position deeply aggrieves him.

“Flower, you will stop debasing yourself at once.” His voice is cuttingly sharp. I move to stand, but he is already dragging me up by my elbows to my feet.

Color rides high on his cheekbones. He is livid.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at—” Teeth clenched in seething rage, he grabs me so high beneath my underarms, I rise to the tip of my toes.

“I meant it, Akchiro—” My words are emphatic.

“You are not to use my fucking name.” He cuts me off with a rough shake, his face jutting forward almost hitting mine.

“I mean it — husband.” Tipping my chin up I meet his gaze. Mine unwavering. “I was wrong. I knew it when I did it. You don’t have to forgive me. I know you won’t.” I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “I know it. Still, I mean it.”

I see it then. The uncertainty— him wavering. He looks down and to the side inhaling deep. He exhales then looks back at me, his face a mask of cruelty again.

“You’re sorry?” The corner of his mouth quirks in a boyishness that doesn’t reach the glacial recesses of his eyes.

“Yes.” Not letting him intimidate me I meet him head on, ignoring the hard clasps of his hands on my upper arms. I don’t think he realizes how hard and how close he’s holding me. I can feel every movement of his chest as he breathes. I’m sure my arms will bear witness to his strength tomorrow.

He lets me go so quickly, I’d fallen back if not for his hand tangling into the belt of my robe. He tugs it free then pushes it off my shoulders allowing it to pool at my feet. “Show me just how sorry you are, Flower.”

Unbothered,I step out of the puddle of buttery soft fabric. Reaching out, I unbutton the three onyx buttons of his dinner jacket. I walk behind him, reaching high on my tiptoes pressing my breast into his back, slipping my fingers into the lapels, slowly dragging the fitted material off his shoulders. I push his shoulder making him turn away from the window and face me.

Stepping back, I take the jacket and bend, making sure he has a full view of my bottom as I pick up my robe. Depositing them on a nearby chaise, I turn back to him.

He is as cold and unmoving as an ice sculpture, but it doesn’t unnerve me. If he didn’t want this, he’d leave. Not to mention his dick print is prominent and long pressing against the fabric of his pants.

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