Page 34 of Mistletoe Masquerade
I excuse myself from the older woman I’m visiting with and go to Sachi.
“If you were any more stunning, I’d worry for the cardiac safety of the elderly men in this room.”
Sachi drops her gaze as she gives a small laugh. “I suppose it’s good I didn’t let the stylist spend overly long on my hair and makeup.”
“Your sacrifice has saved lives, madam.” I give her a playful, pointed look, then lean in close and whisper, “In all seriousness, Sachi, you are absolutely ravishing.” I place an earnest kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asks in a breathless whisper.
“For hearing me out. For the opportunity to earn a second chance. I made some horrible assumptions about you, and my behavior was an embarrassment. You’d be justified in refusing to giveme the time of day, but I’m grateful that’s not the case, and I promise to do everything in my power to redeem myself.”
Sachi nods. I get the sense she’s choked up and pray it’s a good thing. I’ve said my piece, and now it’s time to follow through.
I step to her side and rest my hand at the base of her spine. “Shall we grab some champagne and take a seat?”
“That sounds perfect.”
The thing about Sachi is, when she smiles, she radiates joy and kindness. Her genuineness is a rare and precious quality that makes me want to snatch her up and keep her all to myself. So rare that my cynicism easily convinced me she was a master manipulator when I saw her at Sante’s apartment.
I hate that I leaped to such a conclusion without any attempt at questioning the situation. I’m a fucking detective, for God’s sake. I work hard not to make assumptions. Every day is spent focusing on facts and evidence. Her presence at his place was hardly concrete evidence of a master plot, yet I had no trouble latching onto the story with a death grip.
It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.
Questions before assumptions.
Curiosity over judgment.
And where Sachi is concerned, always give her the benefit of the doubt. I’d be a fool to do otherwise.
“You carved that?”The older woman with salt-and-pepper hair gapes bright-eyed at Sachi from across the table.
Sachi nods, her cheeks tinged with an adorable pink flush. She’s modest. I wouldn’t say she’s uncomfortable with people praising her talents, but she definitely doesn’t seek the attention. Hopefully, she won’t mind my need to brag on her.
“If you think that’s impressive, you should see what she can do with clay. Absolutely incredible.”
Sachi raises a surprised brow at me.
I return the gesture, confirming that yes, I’ve done my research.
Her answering smile says,I should have known.
I drop my chin a fraction.Indeed.
Oblivious to our silent conversation, the woman across from us continues. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. You know, I went to see the statue ofDavid, and the museum has an amazing display showing the stages Michelangelo would have used to carve it. It’s wild when you see it like that. This giant block of marble, and he somehow chips away until there’s this perfect man—as if David had been there hiding in the stone all along. Absolutely incredible.”
“Well, I’m no Michelangelo,” Sachi hurries to say.
The woman’s husband nudges his finished dinner plate forward and lifts his wineglass. “You don’t have to be Michelangelo to have an amazing talent. Consideryourself lucky. Some of us have the creative wherewithal of a fruit fly. If I didn’t have Leslie here to pick my clothes, I’d probably have to tell people I was color blind.”
His wife waves him off with a delighted chuckle, then turns back to Sachi. “I’d love to hear more about how you learned to sculpt. Is it something you were just born doing, or did you develop a love of it later?”
“Actually, it sort of started with food. My parents came to the US from Japan, where my mother learned Tibetan flower butter art. For her, it was a fun hobby, but I really took to it. I started carving all kinds of stuff in butter. Fortunately, my parents were super supportive and encouraged me to pursue my passions. They sent me to all kinds of art classes, but sculpting has always been my favorite medium.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” She takes out her reading glasses from her beaded clutch purse and opens her phone. “You know I have to look up this butter art. I’m not familiar, and if I don’t do it now, I’ll forget.” She taps at the screen with a single finger while her husband leans in for a look. “Oh, my word, that’s gorgeous! I love the colors. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this before. I can’t wait to tell the ladies at bridge next week.”
A server begins collecting empty plates to prepare for the dessert portion of the meal. The table of eight breaks into several smaller conversations. I take the opportunity to lean over and check in with Sachi.
“You need anything?”
