“What wedding?”
“Our parents.”
She thought back. It had been a small affair, limited to the immediate Campbell family, Akira, and those friends of both sides who hadn’t disapproved of the couple’s headlong rush into marriage one month after the pair had met at a golf tournament.
Angry and young—God, so young—Akira had still been prone to hurt feelings over not being invited to the ceremony, only the reception, so she had sashayed in once she’d pregamed with shots of vodka in the back of a limo.
She couldn’t recall the food, but she was certain it had been exquisitely catered. Tasteful hors d’oeuvres, specially prepared entrees, sumptuous desserts. Her mother wouldn’t have had it any differently, even if she was celebrating her uncharacteristically tacky rushed marriage.
There hadn’t been any Chinese food, for sure. “I don’t remember,” she admitted.
“Think back to the first time you and I met.”
She drew in a breath, the moment coming back to her in crystal clarity. Even drunk, she could remember the instant she caught sight of gangly, awkwardly large Jacob. He had been standing near his family, but somehow apart, half his attention on ensuring his snickering teen brothers didn’t commit a social faux pas in the luxurious setting they were obviously unaccustomed to, the other half on politely declining the handful of women on the prowl who had been sucked in by his messy hair, green eyes, and loosened tie.
Women like her. She had glided up to him, exaggerating her drunkenness because she was certain her mother was keeping an eagle eye on her. “Hello,” she slurred. “You must be one of my new brothers.”
“Uh. I’m Harvey’s oldest.” His big paw stuck out between them. “Jacob.”
“Akira.” She had taken his hand limply. At that age she hadn’t quite mastered a strong handshake.
He grasped it, and a zing traveled through her arm, shocking her into dropping contact with him. His head snapped back, and he looked at her, really looked at her. Took in the inappropriate wedding outfit she wore of a halter top, miniskirt, and stilettos—clothes she would normally never wear unless she was busy aggravating her mother or going to a club. His gaze dipped down over her legs and arms and breasts, and then he came back to her face.
He had frowned. Such a simple facial expression, a matter of fine muscles contracting. In that frown, even tipsy, she had been able to read it all, didn’t need to speak to him anymore to understand how disappointed he was, how he disliked her, how he had examined her and found her wanting.
Out of the corner of her eye she had caught a flash of blue silk. Her mother. Acting on evil impulse, she’d stroked her hand up his arm, to his shoulder. Squeezed his strong, young flesh and leaned in, until she could breathe in his mild cologne. “Let’s get out of here, Brother Jacob. I know a great Chinese restaurant not far from here. We can grab some takeout. Head back to my place. Get to know each other.”
She hadn’t heard his response because her mother had taken a hold of her and led her away. The rest of the evening was a blur. She might have flashed the party at some point.
Akira squinted. Nope, she had definitely flashed the party.
She couldn’t remember what had prompted partial nudity. But she could distinctly recall the exact expression on Jacob’s face when he had weighed and judged her.
Her breath was coming faster. She swiveled in her chair and stared out the window, the distant view of the lush park in the setting sun, the happy families milling about, not calming her in the slightest. “You looked at me like she did.”
“Like who?”
“Like my mother.”
The sharp inhale from behind her was her only response.
It was easier to speak when she wasn’t staring at him. “That’s how you’ve always looked at me. Judging me. Like I’m some weak, worthless person. An intrusion.”
“I never thought you were worthless, or weak.” His quiet voice carried so much conviction, she almost believed him. “I’m sorry I treated you the way your mother did. She wasn’t right to do that.”
The blunt criticism of Mei was unexpected but not unwelcome. Since the woman had died, she had listened to countless stories of Mei’s grace and wisdom and love, qualities she had never shown her only daughter.
It was sick she needed someone to corroborate the dead’s unkindness, but she’d long since been accustomed to being sick.Tell me my mother was in the wrong. Tell me I’m worthy of all the things she didn’t give me.
“You should have taken me up on my offer,” she murmured now, half to herself.
His response was immediate. “Yes.”
She set her teeth, as if that might keep the plaintive words lodged there. No luck. “Why didn’t you?”
A long beat. A pressure was exerted at the top of her chair and it turned around. He dropped to his knees so his face was on level with hers, his familiar serious expression almost grave, his skin drawn tight, as if he had lost weight…or was grieving. “I don’t know. I was…scared.” The word was low, like he didn’t enjoy admitting it.
Appropriate, because she hated hearing it. So scary, she was. So terrifying to all the poor little men. When she’d been young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, she’d confessed to a girlfriend that she didn’t understand why men found her difficult to be around. “They’re just intimidated by you,” her friend had consoled.
