Page 135 of Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal
A True Son
The following morning, Michael Ward arrived at the Miyabe’s front door in time for breakfast. Kimiko assumed—quite naturally—that he’d come in order to spend time with his daughter before a return trip to Stately House. But a secondary purpose presented itself mere minutes later, when someone else knocked at the front door.
“Amaranthine,” said Michael.
“Dove clan,” chimed in Isla.
Michael innocently remarked, “Small world! Our usual herald is also a dove.”
A significant look passed between Mama and Grandma, and Sakiko flew to answer. That’s when a knowing smile flitted across Michael’s face. Noticing Kimiko’s gaze, he favored her with a wink and a single hand sign—wait.
“One came!” Kimiko’s younger sister returned, cheeks flushed, waving a thick packet with an official seal.
Daddy went to her, but only to retrieve the reaver communique under her arm. His bland smile gave Kimiko the distinct impression that healsoknew what was coming.
Mama bustled forward, wringing her apron. “A contract? Is it a contract for Noriko?”
“We were promised one.” Grandma’s calm wasalmostconvincing. “Well, then? Is the offer worth the paper it’s written on?”
Kimiko poked Suuzu’s leg under the table.
His eyebrows lifted, and he pleaded ignorance.
Akira leaned across him to whisper, “Kinda like requesting a marriage meeting.”
She nodded.
Meanwhile, Mama had seized the envelope and broken its seal. Even from across the table, Kimiko could see the difference between this set of papers and those they’d received up until now. Handmade paper. Elegant brushwork. Multiple crests.
“What does this mean?” Mama exclaimed, confusion snarling her brows. “This part here. Son of a what, now? Is it a foreigner?”
“Let me see, Mama,” Sakiko wheedled.
Kimiko was impressed that Noriko showed no particular interest in the contract. She walked right past the others to fetch the rest of the breakfast things from the kitchen. Kimiko left the table to help serve their guests, eavesdropping the whole while.
“Where is the six-digit number?” Mama asked peevishly. “Is this the wrong form? How are we to know if his numbers are good?”
Kimiko blushed and glanced sheepishly in Michael’s direction. That they usually entertained six-digit offers betrayed the depths to which they’d sunk.
But his gaze spoke only kindness, and his tone was a study in casual interest. “Has a contract arrived for Noriko? How felicitous!”
Reminded of their audience, Grandma waved an impatient hand. “Give it to me, Kikuko. How many of these have we received, and still you cannot make sense of them? I will tell you if this boy has a chance with our Noriko.”
Grumbling the whole while, she perched a pair of reading glasses on the end of her nose and scanned the initial page. And stopped. And began again from the top.
“Well?” Mama demanded. “Is he any good?”
The old woman set aside the papers and her glasses and stood, then moved down to Kimiko’s place at the table.
“Grandma?” she asked.
A soft, wrinkled hand cupped her cheek for several moments, her eyes shining. Then the old woman moved along to Noriko and kissed her forehead. Without a single word, she left the room.
Michael took charge. “Perhaps I can be of assistance? I have daughters, you know. I’m familiar with the whole process.”
No one protested, and the man declared, “Miss Noriko has indeed received a fine offer. The supplicant is a son of Waaseyaa.”
Suuzu asked, “True son or descendent?”
