Page 20 of Cunning Lies
“Heard you in there,” I say sheepishly.
“That’s nosey.”
I wince, but I want to point out thatshewas the one who practically shouted about her menstrual state, but I don’t. I want her to like me. If she’s Kenzo’s sister, then Ineedher on my side.
“Can’t help it,” I babble nervously. “We’re sisters now, right?” And now I can’t stop; the embarrassing words keep tumbling out: “I’ve always wanted a sister. We girls have to stick together, right? Even if that means giving each other tampons, or whatever. Girl stuff.”
She tilts her head. “This is the first time we’ve met,” she says cautiously.
“Do you have any sisters?” I ask. The information about the Endo-kai is extremely limited online, and everything I found about Kenzo has to do with the Samurai Corporation, not his family.
Her upper lip curls and she steps back. “Uh, no. Grew up with brothers.”
“Me too!”
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “You’re fucking weird.”
“Thanks?” I shrug. I’m acting way too nervous. What’s wrong with me?
She laughs, but it’s clipped. “Thanks for this.” She lifts the tampon and leaves the room.
As soon as she’s gone, I smack my forehead in annoyance.Sisters? You called her your sister?I want to bury myself inside of a hole and never come out.Thisis why I’m on research and not conning. I do dumb stuff like this and make a complete ass of myself. I need Cherry to like me, not to think of me as some weird sister-in-law she tolerates.
The door opens again, and this time, the wedding planner chirps: “You’re walking in five minutes, Miss Vi!”
I gather myself, then head back over to the bride’s quarters. Uncle Jay offers me his elbow, and the two of us walk to the waiting lobby. Patrick must be in the audience already.
In the windows facing the ballroom, rows of people patiently watch as the wedding party walks down the aisle. Nausea swims in my gut, and I try to stay positive. This is nothing. It’s a job. A few more days, and we’ll be gone. This wedding won’t matter.
But that’s a lot of people to lie to. A lot of people totrick.
“You’ve got this, sweetheart,” Uncle Jay says, shuffling some gray-brown hair off of his forehead. He’s not your typical father figure, but he’s always protected me and believed in me. You can’t ask for more from a parent.
Still, nausea rolls through me. “What if they kill us?” I whisper.
“No one’s going to die,” he says. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
But his severed pinky glares at me like a warning. It’s healing, but it seems like proof that he’s wrong. Someonewilldie.
“In two weeks, we won’t even remember this,” he adds. “We’ll be sitting on the beach, laughing about it.”
He’s right. I know he is. If nothing else, I can do this wedding for us. For our family.
I push my shoulders back. If anyone can handle this, we can.
As the wedding planner motions for us to walk, I squeeze Uncle Jay’s arm, and my body quivers with adrenaline. Everyone stands like we’re royalty. Some gawk suspiciously at Uncle Jay, probably because of the bruises on his face. It must not take long to figure out the context of this marriage.
I bite my lip, walking with purpose. There’s a tear in Uncle Jay’s eye, and it brings a tear to my own. He’s acting like I’m really getting married.
We near the altar and Kenzo’s eyes settle on me, sending heat between my thighs. His words echo in my mind:Run away while you still can.
I could’ve run away. So many times. But I’m still here.
The officiant, an older, shorter woman with stocky shoulders and salt and pepper hair, prattles on about the importance of loyalty in matrimony, especially in the traditional family, and I take the opportunity to study Kenzo again. A classic black tuxedo fits his muscular frame, and though he’s dashing and professional, it’s those tattoos on his neck, ending right below his jawline, that tell a different story. A fish swims up the side of his neck, going against the current, and I wonder if that’s what Kenzo is like—always going against the grain. He knocks his fingers on his waist, like he’s getting bored with the lecture on love, and runs his hands through his silky hair. It’s more groomed today than yesterday, but still long, and so different from the rest of the yakuza soldiers sitting on the benches.
The word ‘commitment’ comes from the officiant’s mouth, and Kenzo’s brown eyes hold me still. Stubble lines his jaw, almost like he can never get a close enough shave. I want to run my fingers along it and see if it’s as prickly, but I pinch myself. I shouldn’t want a man like Kenzo. He’s a criminal.
But so am I. And I’ve got a job to do. This is just like anything else. Uncle Jay and Patrick trust me.
