She waves this away. “If you’re not seeing anyone else, then it’s close enough.”
“Hana, I am doing my best, but it’s an adjustment.” Another photo comes in. Jihoon has his jacket open, and he’s wearing a sorry excuse for a shirt, thin lace that covers nothing. I brandish the phone at her to prove my point. “This is not what regular guys do. We’re going to talk about it after the VIP concert.”
“Good.” Satisfied to know there is a talk scheduled, Hana relaxes and leans over me. “Tell him to send one of Kit. Sangjun, too.”
I grab my phone protectively. “Tell him yourself.”
“I’m not supposed to see these, remember? Because they’re under lock and key, but apparently you’ve recalibrated your boyfriend’s give-a-fuck-ometer to zero.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Not officially.
She does ayap-yapmotion with her hand. “Whatever.”
A final photo comes in, a selfie. It’s Jihoon again, same outfit, same incredibly toned lace-covered chest, but he’s blowing a kiss.
In this territory, Jihoon is a visual king, and as a mortal, I can’t compete. I poke Hana, and we make monster faces to send back.
We drive up to what looks like a regular apartment complex, although the Pentagon-tight security checkpoints we need to negotiate indicate it’s not for average people at all. There are three-sixty-degree cameras tucked into trees and mounted on walls, small robots buzzing along the paths, and guards patrolling the grounds. The driver drops us off at a painting-filled lobby decorated with a chandelier ornate enough to grace czarist Russia at its most opulent.
Like a hotel, there’s a concierge who greets us with a friendly smile but whom I suspect is a combat master ready to take down intruders. I wouldn’t be surprised if tucked under the desk is an AK-47 and panic buttons that would cause gates to slam down on all the entrances. Hana deals with the details and soon hands me a fob. “Here. Your key.”
She taps hers against the numberless pad in the elevator, and when we arrive at the floor, it opens right into the apartment. It’s one of those design elements that looks good in movies but feels strange. I need a hallway.
We walk into a foyer with vertical lights hanging from the ceiling, which must be fifteen feet high.
We’re here, I text Jihoon.
His response comes immediately.Home within an hour. Make yourself comfortable.
“They’ve renovated since I was last here,” Hana says as she explores. To call this place an apartment is an understatement. It’s so cavernous it echoes, and it includes a music room with a piano and guitars as well as the multiple bedrooms. The floors are polished stone and covered by pretty rugs. It’s a lot to take in.
“This one is yours,” Hana says, peeking into one of the rooms.
“Why?” I’m in the main bathroom, which has a separate shower and jacuzzi tub, but I go over. “Wow.”
A gorgeous bouquet of primroses and tiger flowers stands on the desk, and orchids decorate the side tables. I check the other room. “This has flowers, too,” I point out.
“Gerberas,” she says. “Pretty.”
“Why did he give me a guest room instead of asking me to stay with him?”
She sits on the bed and stretches her arms back. “I assume this is about Jihoon, and I further assume it was because he wanted you to have your own space.”
“Doesn’t he want, you know.” I make a wiggle motion with my hand. “To be together?”
Hana makes a moue of distaste. “I’m two doors down.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sits up. “Let me check my Jihoon translator.” She rubs her temples and closes her eyes like a fairground psychic. “I’m getting vibes that…let me see…okay, it’s coming through, and the spirits say you should use your words and ask him yourself.”
“Hana, come on.”
“Communication is central to a healthy relationship. I keep telling you this.”
We bring in our suitcases, and I continue to investigate while Hana showers. She joins me while I’m staring into a small fridge I found in the kitchen. After a peek over my shoulder, she pushes me aside to rifle through because it’s stuffed full of skin-care items instead of food. “He’s got the full Beauté Diable line,” she says, pulling out a package with reverent hands. “This is a fifty-dollar sheet mask.”
“Let’s see if they have anything to eat besides retinol serums.” I’m nauseous, but it could be from either anticipation or hunger.
