by Rica Grayson
He gives me a considering look. “And what’s your favor?” he asks gravely. So serious. Maybe he’s thinking it’s going to be something awful. I hide a smile.
But I close my eyes. I picture pink petals dropping on the ground, and I declare, “I want to see cherry blossoms.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, so I crack an eye open. Bemused, “That’s it?” he asks. He mulls over my request. “You want to see cherry blossoms?”
I snort. “I’m kidding! That was just—”
“Consider it done.”
What? I look up at him, searching for signs that he’s pulling my leg. My smile drops. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “You’re joking.”
He gives his head a small shake when he sees my face. “No.”
“You don’t have to do that. Ryan—”
“How does a trip in two weeks sound?” he continues, ignoring me.
My brows draw close. Infuriating man. He won’t listen. But before I can voice my thoughts, his phone begins to ring and his expression shutters. “Gotta take this call.”
I sigh, somehow feeling like I hadn’t won this round. I might try to reason my way out of it later, maybe after his call. “Sure.” Unable to stifle a yawn, I rest my head down on my round coffee table. “I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.”
I don’t fight the heaviness of my eyes anymore. My eyes shut, and before long, my breath steadies. The murmur of conversation in the background fades. In the back of my mind, curiously, I can’t help but feel safe. Protected. And then I drift off, wondering why of all people, I felt it for him.
Chapter 11
Blaire
I wake up in my bedroom, my heart-patterned blanket over me. The last time Ryan went anywhere near my room, I swore to myself my ridiculous childhood crush would end. This is stupid. Not sane. Not logical. And most importantly, temporary.
A horrible thought occurs to me. I shove my blanket aside and throw open my walk-in wardrobe and check to see if my boxes are still packed up. Everything’s still in place. Relief fills me. He hasn’t seen it, then. Good. He doesn’t know.
It’s like my hands have a mind of their own, because I find myself reaching for the box and opening it—the first time in years. My hands shake as I set the lid down.
I can’t make myself throw them away. It’s cowardly, but it’s the truth. As my finger brushes over one of the old tickets I bought for his tour, the feelings return with a vengeance. It’s as if I can’t breathe. The first time I went to see him on tour. Back where it all started. One of his signed guitars also sits by the corner. A poster peeks out of the box. I spot one of the guitar picks he gave out before, too.
Stop it. No good will come out of revisiting what I long buried. I stuff them all back inside in a hurry. I need to do the same with my feelings and seal them there. This time, for good.
“Someone’s at the door,” Chris says. He came over earlier to ask me for feedback about the music he’s been working on.
“Blaire Mendes?” the delivery man asks. It’s a small package. I sign for it and weigh the box on my hands. It’s surprisingly light.
I frown. “I didn’t order anything.”
I use one of my small blades to rip the tape and gently pry the box open. A rectangular, white box sits inside with a pearlescent finish, covered in plastic wrap. No one says anything, the room oddly still. I pull it out from the plastic wrap carefully.
Wow. My fingers trace over the golden edges surrounding the box. Whatever’s inside probably cost a lot. I flip open the magnetic flap. Inside, the box reveals a golden chain necklace, a square-shaped pendant resting at the bottom, with small diamond studs surrounding the piece in a netted design.
My brother whistles.
What in the world… At the bottom of the box is a small white envelope. I pick it up and pull the card free.
Keep it. You’ll need to wear it soon.
- Ryan
I reread it again. I have never been a person swayed by shiny things—he knows that. It’s beautiful. It’s delicate, yet it feels heavy in my hand. But I know this must cost a fortune. I don’t know why he would feel the need to get me something like this. He’ll want it back eventually.
When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that he sent me this without this farce of a relationship. But reality creeps in, and it won’t let me ignore his message. You’ll need to wear it soon.
It’s been nearly a week. He hasn’t called me since the night he dropped over some pizza. Now he’s sending diamonds and gold that cost more than my rent. I don’t know what happened since the wedding. He used to use all that energy to piss me off, and now he’s using it to melt me, and I’m scared that it’s working.
“Who’s it from?”
There’s no use in lying. “Ryan,” I answer, still reeling.
The card still in my grip, my brother pulls it from my fingers.
“Chris—”
“Guessing you’re invited to the gala,” he observes jovially. He’s not upset about this at all.
“Gala? What gala?”
“He didn’t say anything?” he asks, surprise pulling his brows up.
“No. Gala?” I ask again, a little impatient.
He only shakes his head. “Ah, he’ll tell you then.”
It’s what I’m afraid of.
Ryan
“This is good.” Levi, one of my producers for the past two albums, claps me on the back, impressed. He happened to be in town, and the first thing he asked me when he called was, “Are you working on anything?”
I told him I was, and we met up at his studio. I played him one of the songs I had been working on the past week. We started with my guitar, then the lyrics came. We ended up with him accompanying the music with the keyboard. It worked better than I’d thought.
To his dismay, when I met up with him, I told him it was a ballad. He had more upbeat music in mind, but when I told him I had come up with something else, he was interested. Looks like I’d managed to convince him it’s good. He’s a hardass that way. But he’s a hardass with an admirable work ethic, and one who never attempted to change the style of my music. He only sought to enhance it, to help bring out the sound I wanted to produce. It’s a quality few people I’ve worked with possess, and he’s therefore someone I’ve maintained a friendship with over the years.
He pauses for a moment. “Who is she?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye. We didn’t stay friends for this long without me knowing that one of the driving factors for his work was his curiosity. How we could turn the seed of an idea into something spectacular. “Your new muse.”
I give him a look. “You mean you haven’t heard yet?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck the rumor mill. I’d rather hear from the source.”
“Her name’s Blaire Mendes.” And she’s all I can think about.
It takes him a moment to absorb it. He gives me a long look. “Blaire Mendes…” He taps his finger against the desk. “Does she happen to be related to Chris Mendes?”
Trust him to get it. “His sister,” I answer.
With interest, he asks, “So what’s this Blaire like?”
So I tell him.
Half an hour later, we finish the song.
“Are you talking to me yet?” I ask my sister, Natalie, instilling a measure of calm in my voice. Finally, after I came home from the studio, she picked up.
There’s a short pause. “That depends. Are you done meddling yet?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what you did.”
No, I sure as hell don’t. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I’ll talk to you when you come back home.” The end of the line goes dead. Fuck.
My phone buzzes again and I answer it, frustrated. “Natalie—” I growl.
The other end of the line is strangely silent. “Umm. Sorry, is this a bad time?” It’s Blaire.
Shit. “No.”
“Ryan… Can I come over?” she asks, hesi
tant.
Hell had frozen over.
“Blaire, come in.” She looks a little lost, standing outside my front door.
I see her struggle with some internal conflict before she takes a deep breath to compose herself. “I’m not staying for long.”
Still clinging to her stubbornness, I see.
“Scared?” Come to think of it, she’s never come here alone before.
“No.” She sounds appalled by the mere suggestion.
She lifts her chin higher. Seeing the curve on her spine and steel in her eyes, I brace myself. “Ryan, the necklace—”
Ah, I see where this is going. “I thought you might wear it for an event that’s coming up in a couple weeks. Did you like it?” I ask.
She sighs, pulling her hair to one side, weighing her response. “I’ll wear it, don’t worry.”
I don’t miss the way she avoided the question. I raise a brow. “That’s not what I asked.”
Her cheeks turn a shade of pink. “I do,” she answers softly.
“Then it’s yours.”
“But—” she sputters, and it’s almost comical. Finally, she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they’re clear, evidently undeterred. “Ryan, I can’t.”
I don’t tell her that I sent it because that’s the only way I can get her to accept it. She can wear it to the gala, but she’ll be keeping it after. She just doesn’t know it yet.
But I can be just as persistent as her. “Yes, you can.” I brush a lock of hair from her cheek and her breath hitches.
“But this—this is temporary,” she chokes out. “I can’t possibly keep it.”
Temporary? “We’ll see.”
I can tell this annoys her, and this makes me chuckle. This irritates her even more. I manage to hold it in.
“Since you’re here…” I pull the envelope I saved from a shelf.
I take her hand and place the envelope there, my hand covering hers to drive in the point.
“What is this?” she asks, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Cherry blossoms,” is all I say.
Her eyes go round, but she doesn’t say anything. Good.
“You’re not going to make me waste the money, are you?” I tease. I know it would get her to stop refusing. Not Blaire, who worked so hard to succeed.
To my satisfaction, I’ve rendered her speechless. I watch as she visibly pulls herself together. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I think I like you better tipsy,” I say. “You’re more agreeable.”
She shakes her head, a storm of emotions clouding her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
I bite back a smile. “Say, thank you, Ryan.”
“But—” She stops what she’s about to say and I watch as her eyes soften. “Thank you. But you know, you might regret giving me this.” But there’s no fight in her voice, and I know I’ve won.
“I won’t.” Oh yeah. I’ll take the victories I can get.
Chapter 12
Blaire
For the second time in less than a month, I’m sitting inside a plane. Only this time we’re flying First Class, much to my dismay. Me and Ryan launched into another argument about it earlier, when I told him I could fly just fine in coach. He disagreed. I told him I’d pay him back since this is a luxury. He acted all offended and said if I even tried to, he would pay me back in ways I wouldn’t even know about. He had worn an obnoxious smirk as he said it. He intended to do it, too—I could see it in his eyes.
But whatever I was about to say in protest is forgotten, because I’m acutely aware that the plane is starting to move faster, readying itself for take-off.
My grip tightens on my armrests when the wheels lift off the ground.
I focus on taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Think of something else, think of something else… But the increasingly steep incline of the plane gets to me, and my stomach lurches. We’re high up in the air, a gigantic piece of metal in the sky that keeps rising and rising… My breathing turns shallow. Ahh. I think I’m going to be sick.
I close my eyes, but it’s no use. I can feel the vibrations from the soles of my feet.
“Blaire.” The rumble of Ryan’s voice catches my attention, and I look up at him questioningly. Seated in front of me, he looks behind and holds up a bar of something small and shiny in his hand. He tosses it to me, and I catch it on reflex. A chocolate wafer?
I unwrap it and take a bite, and eyes closed, I try to focus on deep breaths. It seems to help.
“The flight’s going to take a while. Try not to snore when you sleep and wake up the whole cabin.” My eyes snap open.
What? “I don’t snore.”
“I seem to remember differently.” Amusement glints in his eyes, purposefully goading me, but he doesn’t say anything more.
That can’t be true. No one had ever mentioned anything. I feel the plane starting to slow from its incline.
“You’re lying,” I call his bluff.
He only smiles wider. Argh. “I heard you sleep-walked, too.”
I gasp. How did he know about that? “Chris,” I hiss.
He laughs.
“I’ve only done it once!”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Oh, the smug bastard. “I’m going to kill my brother.”
Trying to smother another laugh, he turns, his back to me.
The plane finally steadies. This I could handle. I can finally breathe a little easier. That’s when it hits me what he just did, and it’s more potent than any effect sweet words could have. He did it on purpose—distract me.
I spent the first half of the flight reading. The other half, I’d slept through. Thankfully, I slept through the plane’s landing, too. I yawn, tired.
A white car waits for us when we get to the pick-up area. I wonder if we’ll take the subway tomorrow. Would be fun to try on foot.
Lights dot tall buildings along the street, a bustling crowd ahead of us. The car starts moving and I watch the outside, my nose almost pressed to the window. I gasp in delight when I see the outline of the cherry blossoms. It’s dark now, but I can still see it. I’m here. I’m really here.
A tiny voice sneaks in my mind—am I making the wrong choice in deciding to silence all those doubts in my head and go with him?
I throw a glance at Ryan beside me. I’m not supposed to get swept into his charms. I won’t. This trip is simply part of his album promo. Part of me shrinks at the thought, but I push that voice away.
In the end, would it really matter? I’m here. Nerves fill my veins. But underneath it all, a thread of excitement is there, too. I’ve never been to Japan. I’ve only seen pictures and gotten souvenirs that my brother brought me.
It all becomes too overwhelming. “Ryan?”
At his questioning look, I beam at him, unable to help it. “Thank you.” Promo or not, I didn’t expect this. He can say all he wants about how I owe him one, but this isn’t something he had to do at all.
“Told you I owed you one,” is all he says.
“No. You didn’t really.” He’s downplaying what he did for me. He’s been different since the wedding. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s as if the line drawn between us dissolved.
The look he sends me sears me to the spot. “You’re welcome, Red.”
I have no defense for this kind of Ryan. The one sitting beside me, who distracted me enough from my fear of flying. One who brought me pizza and danced with me the night of my sister’s wedding, as if we were the only two people in the room. He stormed his way back into my life without any warning, and already I feel the upheaval.
“We’re staying here?” A knot loosens inside me. Another thing I didn’t expect. To my surprise, instead of some ridiculously fancy hotel that probably cost an arm and a leg, we park by a small, quaint house.
“I have a friend,” he starts. Ha. Another friend. “I accidentally let slip that I was coming, and she insisted.”
She. Now I’m even mor
e curious. From what I know about Ryan, he trusts few. I wonder what she’s like and how they met. He must really like her to agree to stay here. I wonder why part of me bristles at the knowledge. It doesn’t matter, I try to tell myself.
“I met her on tour,” Ryan adds.
At his further explanation, I lift a brow. He shrugs, a devilish grin transforming his face into being stupidly attractive. I look away, unable to conceal the heat that crept up my face. “She’s a good friend and my manager’s sister.”
“Oh. Lio’s sister?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
He nods in answer. “Tokyo’s home to her, so she came back here. Ready?”
I stop him, my hand tugging his, still uncertain. “Ryan, is this really okay? I don’t want to be a burden or anything.”
“She insisted.” He pauses, giving me a considering look. “Would you prefer we move to a hotel? There’s Ritz Carlton—”
“No!” I answer, horrified. God, no. “No hotels. Please.”
He cracks a smile, and I know. He outmaneuvered me on this one. Pressing my lips together, I don’t give him the satisfaction of arguing further.
“Oh, Ryan, you’ve brought someone! Hi, I’m Kiara!” The woman introduces herself warmly. Classy in an understated way, her eyes sparkle in delight. Flawless skin, long black hair tied up in a simple ponytail, and laugh lines that crinkle the corner of her eyes—she’s someone that smiles easily and often.
“I’m Blaire. Thank you so much for inviting us to your home.”
Her eyes swing between us knowingly. “This is my husband, Reo. And this is Hina.” A man, a little taller than her, stands behind her, carrying a small girl of around two in his arms.
Oh. She has a family. Embarrassed, I duck my head.
In contrast to her lithe figure, he’s slightly taller, with powerfully built shoulders. A little imposing at first glance, but he has kind eyes.