Page 565 of Rage

I hold my breath watching as he does. As soon as his bottom touches the chair, I hurry over to serve him. Patiently, I wait, nerves frayed as hell, as he samples every dish from sweet to savory.

“Come sit with me, kirei.” He says with a solemnness that I’ve come to expect. Still, I preen just as I do every time he calls me beautiful.

When I sit, I more than feel his quiet appreciation. Smooth, firm lips press a kiss on the hollow of my neck.

“Taste,” he rumbles near my ear. My mind can’t help going back to a few years ago when he was my ultimate nemesis, making me taste all the food I served him before he’d dare touch it.

I meet his gaze just as I did back then when my lips close over the sweet rice ball of the hanami dango. His gaze fires, smolders, and consumes me, watching as I take the ball from the skewer. The flavor is light and delicate, with just a hint of sweetness.

“Good?” A small smile plays across his mouth, and he watches me.

“Um-hum,” I smile back. Cupping the nape of my neck, he draws me into the sweetest kiss.

“Not as good as you,” he says when he leaves me panting.

“Arigato, little chef.”

“Okay,” I say, looking over my shoulder to make sure he’s not peeking. “You can open your eyes.

Stepping out of his way so he can view his gift, I move to stand at his side.

I watch, and he looks at the portrait of his father I had commissioned.

“How?” He asks, stunned awe packed into the word. Quickly, he looks at me, then back at the portrait. I see him visibly swallow as he takes in the painting of his father standing out against what looks to be a matte black background, but as he steps closer, it becomes clear that there is a myriad of colors inlaid within. Closer still, you see messages inlaid in kanji with the portrait.

We uncovered many of his father’s writings after the death of his mother. Kiyoshi treasures them more than anything.

“Kana and Hisashi helped me pick the best ones,” I tell him in answer to his question about his gift. My Japanese is good but not that good to determine which of his father’s writings were the best to use. So, I enlisted his siblings for help. They were so excited, though Hisashi seemed to be in an intense debate with his Guardian, who wanted to be a little more bloodthirsty. Acquiescing to the fact that his father was not all sunshine and roses; they eventually came to family, art and beauty from Kana. Hisashi chose loyalty, work and sacrifice.

Taking his time to read them all, he moves gracefully from end to end of the portrait?”

“Who did the portrait?” He asks, never taking his eyes off the piece.

“Mai’s brother, Tsuyoshi. I saw one of his paintings when she had me over for lunch, and it was amazing. When I saw it, I knew he would be perfect… and discreet.” I add that last part knowing more than anyone how private my husband is about family matters.

His visible stiffness at the mention of his once-fiancée and my association with her eases when I go into more detail about the process of having the piece made for him. The Yakuza Prince, as he is known, is famous for his discretion as he is for his ruthlessness. What many don’t know about him is his virtuoso artistic talent.

Turning fully to me the first time since seeing the painting, he looks down with all the love he never believed he could have for me. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

Tugging me into his strong arms. He whispers against my curls, “I don’t need gifts when I have you, but thank you. Thank you, Aishiteru yo.”

Now…

I look how I feel. Like a corpse. I could dead-ass be an extra on The Walking Dead with the way I’m looking. My messy bun is totally flopped to the side, hanging in a limp ponytail with a clip looking like it decided against jumping at the last minute and is hanging on by its fingernails.

My eyes are hollow, my cheeks sallow, and my lips look dry with the gloss chewed away by nerves. I’m starting to feel as frazzled as I did when I first got involved with Kiyoshi.

That time was maybe the most fraught time of my life aside from losing my parents a few years prior.

I nearly lost everything. The whole town and some of my family seemed so against me. At the time, I didn’t know Kiyoshi worked quietly in the shadows to support me — not until the very end. Somehow, we made it through. I hope that he stops icing me out and tells me what his deal is.

The urge to use the restroom interrupts my critical assessment of my current dishevelment screaming at me from the mirror.

At least I was given the small mercy of having no one but the most minimal of the Takeda staff present when we arrived. I still kind of miffed that Kiyoshi didn’t bother waking me until the car came to a stop at the entrance. Though it is only mid-afternoon, we were told Akchiro and Flower were indisposed at and could not personally greet us. Like I said, small mercies. It would not be good for the de facto head of the family to see me in such a state, and Flower would certainly have been worried. So much so that she’d reached out to Delightful, my cousin, and her sister-in-law, not to mention my other cousins in Shelby-Love. Then all hell would break loose if Oz thought for a moment that Kiyoshi was mistreating me. Knowing how intense my family is, I cringe at the thought. No, things are not that bad. And I know how to deal with Kiyoshi. He’s mine, and I know who I married.

Pushing the door of the water closet open, I hobble over to the toilet. I’m all but starting to tinkle when the door is shoved open.

“Here,” he snaps with a damning look, whipping out a pregnancy test strip, causing me to jump with a high-pitched “eep”.

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