Chapter Text
Rumi had been tending to the garden for a good part of the afternoon when Celine came back from work. Her aunt found her perched on a ladder, cutting some of the younger branches of their oak tree, the ones that spread across the hedge and cast unwanted shadows above their neighbor’s vegetable garden.
“You’re back early,” Rumi said, looking at her from her high spot.
Celine offered her a tired smile as she pushed the gate open, a hand clutching her briefcase. Rumi lowered her shears and wiped the sweat beading on her temple with the back of her wrist as she stared at Celine, who was now walking towards the front door of their little house, shoulders slightly hunched. The sight was odd, and it ringed an alarm in Rumi’s mind. Celine always carried herself straighter than an electric pole.
Rumi descended the ladder, maneuvering with the kind of ease and rapidity that came with years of practice. She left her shears and muddied boots on the deck outside and followed her aunt into the house. Celine had her back turned on her, and when Rumi stepped closer to catch a glimpse of her face, her aunt avoided her eyes.
“What’s going on?” Rumi asked, trying to keep the worry at bay.
Celine didn’t answer right away. She fussed around for a few moments, taking her shoes off, setting her briefcase on the kitchen counter, pouring herself a glass of water, sipping at it slowly, as if to delay the conversation for as long as possible. But Rumi was patient, and most of all Rumi was unyielding, the way Celine had taught her to be. So, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
Once Celine had emptied half her glass of water with slow and steady sips, she sighed and set it on the counter. Resigned, she opened her briefcase and took out an envelope, still closed, the paper beige and textured. She kept it in her hands for a few more seconds before handing it to Rumi.
“It’s for you. Another proposal.”
Rumi had already figured so. There was only one type of letter that was sent directly to Celine even though it was meant for her to read. What tightened her throat a little was Celine’s whole attitude. She looked tired, cautious, somehow dispirited. That had never happened before. She had never shown any kind of emotion when handing Rumi one of those letters—always the same, always so formal, so transactional.
Rumi took the envelope, opened it and pulled its content out. The paper was thick and grainy, the letter written with a black fountain pen, the handwriting precise, slightly tilted and written with care. Rumi took her time reading. It wasn’t like the other proposals she had received. There wasn’t any talk about preserving the legacy of almost lost nobility lines, about uniting names that had carried such prestige in the past, about taking this beautiful opportunity to honor her bloodline instead of marrying a commoner—those she had immediately crumbled and thrown in the trash. But there was talk about power, renewal, establishing new and strong traditions, about her presence gracing the family, about the honor it would be if she was to seriously consider this offer. It was intriguing, and Rumi couldn’t help but feel wary. Celine looked too on edge for Rumi to dismiss the proposal like all the others.
What truly caught her eye was the name of her suitor. Jae-Hyun Hong. It didn’t ring any bell, even though Rumi knew almost all of the remaining nobles in South Korea. Even if the official concept of nobility itself had long been abandoned, the families tended to cling to their aristocracy like leeches. They refused to mingle with commoners, marrying only into another Korean or foreign noble line. Even the destitute, these families like Rumi’s that had long lost their wealth, would rather walk into fire than “dishonor” their ancestors by marrying a plebeian. That was the reason why Rumi had gotten so many marriage proposals over the years, despite not having a dime to her name. She was Rumi Ryu, from the Ryu line, one of the oldest in the country, and her name carried a quiet power that she had never used, never really understood. A name was a name. It didn’t speak for her heart. It didn’t pay the bills. It did nothing.
But Celine had raised her to honor it. It was her mother’s name, after all. It carried her memories, and the ones of her mother’s mother before that, and the ones of generations and generations of Koreans who had once shaped the fate of the country. It was because of that, because of her name, that Celine had always refused to let Rumi work. She was a Ryu. Her hands were meant to trace the rim of crystal glasses, not to carry plates of food to disgruntled customers. So, Rumi had filled her days with gardening, playing the guitar, singing, tending to the house as Celine went to work, and all the while she had waited for the impossible, for someone worthy of the Ryu name to propose to her. She knew that day would never come. The nobles showing an interest in her were penniless and powerless. Those who could have matched the past glory of the Ryu name were far too wealthy to even consider her as a match for their latest and least favorite son. Rumi knew all that, because under Celine’s guidance she had studied the remaining noble families in South Korea, had engraved their names and situations into her brain.
Which is why she was now dumbfounded and suspicious, holding this letter unlike any of the others she had received, reading over and over that unfamiliar name, Jae-Hyun Hong.
“Who is he?” she finally asked Celine, who was still avoiding her eyes.
“The only son of the Hong family.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“For good reason.” Celine sighed. “They’re not nobles. The father, Tae-Min Hong, actually comes from a common and very impoverished family. He started as a low-grade office worker, saved enough money and secured a loan to create an import-export company, and from there he built his own corporate empire. His wife, Bo-Mi Hong, is a childhood friend of his. They grew up in the same neighborhood.”
“How do you know so much about them?”
“They sent someone to bring me the letter in person. He introduced himself as a servant of the Hong family and told me they wanted to be sure I safely received the proposal so that I could pass it on to you. I did my research after that.”
Rumi pinched her lips. “They couldn’t have sent him to me instead?”
Celine vaguely gestured in the air. “You know how it is. They’re trying to follow the tradition. I’m the head of the family, so I’m the one who gets the offer first.”
Rumi knew, of course. It had always irked her. She was the one directly affected by this whole thing, wasn’t she? Yet they always sent the proposals to Celine first, as if Rumi didn’t even have a say in the matter.
Rumi stared at the letter again. She sat on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, trying to push down the lump she could feel growing in her throat. This letter was different. This family was different. And she feared, truly feared, that it’d mean her answer had to be different too. She glanced at Celine, who remained rigid next to her.
“What do you think?” Rumi asked quietly.
Celine stayed silent for a while. Her fingers dug a little into her immaculate gray linen pants. Then, she swallowed and, eyes avoiding Rumi’s, she answered, “I think it’s worth looking into.”
***
Mira was late. She made sure of it. She’d be damned before she arrived on time for one of her bimonthly lunches with her family. She walked through the main doors of the mansion as if she owned the place, despite having moved out of there five years ago. She smiled at the two servants who bowed before her and made a beeline to the kitchen. Her parents could wait. There, she found the one thing that had always brought her solace between those cold walls of despair and misery.
“Mira! Right on time!”
“Hello, Bobby.”
“I’m making spicy chicken stew for lunch and you’re the best taster I know! Come!”
Mira chuckled, following Bobby to the stove, on which sat a massive pot.
“I’m the only taster you know,” she teased, too happy to see her favorite person to put any bite into her words.
“Details, details,” he waved his hand in the air before handing Mira a clean spoon.
The stew was delicious, of course, as everything Bobby made was. Mira’s parents had hired him ten years ago as the family cook, and it had brought Mira some much-needed joy and comfort—his food, of course, but mainly his bubbly character, the way he cared, openly, happily, despite her whole family treating her like a black sheep.
Mira complimented him on the food, groaned a Wish me luck that made him laugh, and finally headed towards the dining room.
“You’re late,” was her father’s greeting, same as usual.
“Dance classes ran longer than planned,” she said with a shrug, pulling the chair next to her brother and making sure to drag it with enough strength it screeched on the floor. Jae-Hyun winced, their mother frowned but kept silent—always, always silent, sometimes Mira barely remembered the sound of her voice—, and their father remained impassive. It was a little game Mira and Tae-Min liked to play. She pushed, and he ignored.
Bobby brought the first dish as soon as she sat down, and lunch went on as usual. Silently, aside from a couple of work talks between Jae-Hyun and Tae-Min. Mira was bored to death, as always, but she was grateful to be able to taste Bobby’s food again. He often sent her some new recipes, and she sometimes called him while she was prepping something and wanted his opinion on it, but her cooking, as tasty and delicate as it was, could never rival his.
As soon as they all finished their dessert, Mira patted her lips with her napkin and stood up.
“Well, that was heartwarming as per usual. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
She caught the look Jae-Hyun and their father exchanged, decided she didn’t care and started to walk away. She was at the door when Tae-Min’s voice rose at her back.
“Your brother is engaged.”
She halted in her tracks. Turned around. Stared at her father, then Jae-Hyun, a naive part of her hoping it was an extremely poorly tasted joke. But they remained silent and impassive, Bo-Mi fidgeting by Tae-Min’s side, and Mira knew she couldn’t escape this. She walked back to the table and sat back down next to her brother. She gave him a once-over, not hiding her disdain, before offering an apathetic “Congrats” that had him slightly scrunching his nose with annoyance.
“Who’s the lucky girl?”
Her father ignored the sarcasm in her voice, as he always did. “Rumi Ryu.”
“Great,” Mira shrugged. She had never heard of her before, and she frankly didn’t care to know more about her. Whatever her family touched turned rotten. That girl wouldn’t be an exception. “When’s the wedding?”
“In six months.”
Mira whistled. “A shotgun wedding, uh.”
Beside her, her brother grunted. She couldn’t see it but she knew he had rolled his eyes, and she refrained from smiling at the thought.
“Six months is a conventional amount of time to prepare a wedding,” he groaned.
“And a conventional amount of time for the betrotheds to get to know each other before they officialize their union,” Tae-Min interjected. “And to prove to the rest of society that we are serious and that we want to respect the traditions.”
Ah, there it was. Her father’s everlasting obsession with rising into the upper class.
“This is our chance to show them how earnest and united we are,” Tae-Min continued.
Mira almost barked a mean laugh. Her family was many things. Earnest and united it was definitely not.
“Which is why we’re counting on you, Mira.”
We, he said, as if anything happening in this family wasn’t his doing, his will, his agenda.
“Sure,” she sighed. “I’ll behave during the wedding, don’t worry. I won’t do anything to embarrass my dear, dear brother.”
Her father frowned, almost glaring at her now, and she loathed how it made her feel slightly smaller. But she didn’t let it show. She kept her aloof face on and let Tae-Min’s displeasure roll over her shoulders.
“That is not all we are expecting of you.”
Mira leaned back on her chair, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the way her breath quickened a little. She was starting to feel trapped, except she didn’t know what exactly she needed to run away from.
“As I said, this is the perfect opportunity to show the world our family is earnest and united.” He paused, his sharp eyes spearing into her like harpoons. “We want you to move back to the manor until the wedding.”
No. Her answer was immediate, instinctive, burning on the tip of her tongue, yet she remained silent. This was her worst nightmare. Coming back here, to this place that had almost stripped her of her soul, this place that had made her so small and insignificant and pathetic, this place that had seen the worst of her. She had clawed her way out. Had earned her freedom through tears and screams and sheer rage. She had pushed them, turned herself into a monster until they had no choice but agree to let her go. And now, now they wanted her to come back?
“Jae-Hyun’s betrothed will arrive in two days. I expect you to have moved back here by then.”
No. No. No! Yet she kept her lips tied. She couldn’t say no. She knew this. Her father had asked very little of her these past few years. A bimonthly lunch, an appearance at some gala or random event for the stupidly wealthy, and that was it. In exchange, she had her freedom. She had her apartment in the center of Seoul, her dance studio, unlimited access to her overflowing trust fund. She had a good fucking life, and it was all because of this balance they had found. He didn’t ask much of her, but when he did, she was expected to comply—to bite, to push, but still, in the end, to comply.
She hated this. She hated that he had so much control over her still. She hated that she had no choice, or rather that she was too much of a coward to make a choice, to cut herself off from them for good, to try and make it by herself.
“Fine,” she finally murmured, feeling so utterly defeated that Jae-Hyun’s little smirk didn’t even infuriate her.
She got up on her feet. Her legs felt like cotton. She pinched her lips, stared at her mother, so quiet, so, so quiet, at her brother, still smiling at her like he had won, and at her father, impassive if not for the cutting edge in his eyes. She threw them one last jab—clinging to her pride—before leaving.
“But don’t expect me to babysit her.”
***
Rumi and Celine were bowing at an almost 90° angle, just like the three people before them. The salute lasted five seconds—Rumi had counted—, the longest she’d ever experienced. They all straightened up at the same time, and Rumi could finally, properly look at her hosts for the first time since she had set foot out of the cab that drove her here. They were… pristine, is the first word that came to mind. The woman, Bo-Mi Hong, was wearing an impeccable and austere beige dress, her hair tightened up in a neat bun, her makeup light and on point. She looked around 60 years old and carried herself with a dignity too rigid to feel perfectly natural. Next to her stood a man the same age. Tae-Min Hong, head of the Hong family, a tall and lean man with short salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp jaw. He was perfectly shaved, his suit gray and fitting, his tie navy blue. His face was impassive, but Rumi could tell he was already studying her, eyes calculating. Finally, she looked at the third person there. Jae-Hyun Hong. Her betrothed. She ignored the pit of anxiety that opened up in her stomach, and instead gave back the tentative smile he offered her. Jae-Hyun was the spitting image of his father. Tall, lean, shaved, sharp jaw, keen eyes, yet there was something a bit softer about him. Maybe it was his slightly longer hair, black and shiny, falling over one of his temples, or his clothes, elegant but less strict, a simple gray vest over a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Maybe it was the subtle twitch of his lips, a tell of his own nervousness. Right. Jae-Hyun probably didn’t choose to marry her. He was just like her, forced into something life-altering for the sake of appearances. To honor his own family name.
Tae-Min and Bo-Mi led them into the mansion—massive, modern, not completely tasteless—while exchanging the mandatory banalities with Celine. They asked about their journey while they all took their shoes off in the entry hall. A servant appeared out of nowhere and was putting Rumi’s shoes away before she had even the time to straighten up. Rumi threw one last glance outside, over her shoulder, and saw a couple of people unloading the cab and starting to drag her suitcases towards the mansion. It felt surreal. Her whole life packed in those wheeled boxes, about to get trapped in some strangers’ house. She was really doing this. She was really marrying into this family she’d never even heard of just a few weeks ago.
“They’ll bring your belongings to your room.”
Rumi didn’t startle, per se, but her head snapped towards Jae-Hyun as if she had been caught doing something wrong. He tilted his chin towards the people hauling her suitcases outside.
“If you’d like, I can send someone to retrieve some more of your belongings at home.”
He was trying to be considerate, and Rumi felt some sort of relief at that, gone as fast as it had appeared. Home wasn’t there anymore. Home was here. At the other side of the country. Far from everything she had always known.
“Thank you, Mr. Hong, I appreciate it.”
“Please. Call me Jae-Hyun.” He motioned towards his parents, who were already walking away, Celine at their side. “If you’d like to proceed, Miss Ryu.”
She smiled at the irony, a bitter taste under her tongue as she corrected him, “Rumi.”
He nodded. “Rumi.”
The next hour wasn’t horrendous, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant either. The Hongs were exactly as Rumi had imagined they’d be. Overtly polite, obsessed with manners, and acting like most filthy rich people Rumi had had the displeasure of meeting. They weren’t jerks to their servants, but there was something in the way they asked for things and took what was handed to them. It was like it was their due. And it was, in a way. They were paying those people to serve them. But something about their lack of gratitude, of empathy, about how they barely even looked at the employees coming and going around them to bring them tea, pastries, refills, irritated Rumi like an evasive mosquito would. She pushed the thought aside and focused on the conversation. Banalities, again and again, and some talk about making sure Rumi would be as comfortable as possible here. It felt empty, aside from the smile Jae-Hyun bestowed her, discreet and a bit apologetic. He didn’t seem too bad. She took solace in that.
At some point, Rumi excused herself to go to the bathroom. A servant led her to a room not too far from the lounge, and she had to hold back a wince when she saw how ostentatious it all was. Marble floors, golden layered sinks, a massive potpourri on the counter. When she got out of the bathroom, feeling somewhat better after having stared at her own reflection for a full minute and repeating in her mind You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, she caught a glimpse of dark pink hair. The silhouette disappeared around a corner before Rumi could even see their face. Odd, she thought. She didn’t take the Hongs for the kind of people to allow their servants to dye their hair. Not that Rumi was better with the shiny lavender mane that she had tamed into a French braid, but it was a known fact that the Ryu family had had more than one occurrence of naturally purple hair. If anything, her hair color was proof of her nobility. But she was the only one in South Korea who could say that.
When she came back to the lounge, Tae-Min stood up and offered to show them their rooms. They walked through the house, gigantic, all white and glass designer furniture, a bit insipid aside from some plants adorning the corners and the massive wooden shelves.
“Bo-Mi, Jae-Hyun and I occupy the left wing of the house. You will be situated in the right wing. I am hoping that this will grant you enough privacy, Miss Ryu. If you ever require anything for your bedroom, please tell one of us. We will do our best to accommodate your needs.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hong,” Rumi said with a bow. She knew he was watching her. Analyzing. He had been doing so ever since she had arrived, and it was starting to unnerve her.
The right wing of the manor was, thankfully, way less lavish than the rest of the house. It was more minimal and traditional, with its old wooden floors waxed with care and creaking under their steps, its apparent wooden beams, the large paper doors leading to a beautiful garden outside. It reminded Rumi of hers and Celine’s hanok. It was bigger and showed more wealth, yes, but it still felt like a place she could maybe, eventually call home.
Celine was shown to her room first. It was clean and simple, and more than enough for the one night she would spend at the mansion before leaving the next day. Rumi had hoped Celine would stay longer, maybe a week, but her aunt couldn’t take any more time off work, not after she had had to stay in bed rest for two weeks with pneumonia earlier this year. Rumi’s bedroom was further down the corridor. It was way bigger than Celine’s, with paper double doors leading to the garden. The room was bathing in warm sunlight, the window and patio doors open and letting in a gentle breeze. There was a gigantic bed draped in lavender silken sheets—her hair color, she noted—, a few empty shelves and a long wooden desk against one of the walls. On it sat a gorgeous floral bouquet, purple and blue and white.
“This is lovely,” she said, walking towards it and brushing a petal with her fingertip. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Jae-Hyun said behind her.
She turned around to look at him. He was hovering in the doorway, his father and mother behind him, while Celine was walking around the room, hands crossed behind her back. Rumi knew her aunt was inspecting every single detail and cataloguing it in her mind.
“You must be exhausted from your journey,” Tae-Min finally said. “You should rest for a few hours and, if you feel so inclined, you could join us later this afternoon. Maybe around 5? There are a few things we would like to discuss before your departure tomorrow morning, Mrs. Ryu.”
“Of course,” Celine answered.
If she was pleased with him addressing her that way, she didn’t show it. Celine’s last name was Kim, not Ryu, yet it was widely accepted that Celine was now the head of the Ryu family. Most of the people addressing her would call her Mrs. Ryu or Mrs. Kim Ryu, and Rumi was thankful for it. When Rumi’s mother had died, Celine had been the one who stepped up. Celine had taken care of Rumi, fed her, clothed her, raised her as she would have her own child. Rumi didn’t have anyone else. She’d have ended up in an orphanage, if not for her. It was only fair that, if they couldn’t share blood, they could at least share a name. Even if she knew that, behind their back, all of those nobles would whisper about how, of course, Celine would never be a true Ryu, of course, she didn’t actually have the genes, of course, it was a courtesy that they called her that, out of respect for Rumi’s mother and the bond she had shared with Celine. Rumi never knew exactly what they were to one another, and she’d never ask.
The Hongs left them, and Rumi all but flopped on her bed. She looked up at Celine, but her aunt refused to meet her gaze. Rumi’s throat closed around all the words she wanted to say. She wanted to talk about them. Ask Celine what she thought of them. Ask if she still thought it was a good idea. Ask if she could still backpedal, if Celine would welcome her home were she to run away from this big, unfamiliar house—she knew Celine would never abandon her, but she didn’t know if Celine would be disappointed.
“You should start to unpack,” was all Celine said with a tense voice, eyes on her feet, before leaving Rumi alone in her new room.
*
Rumi did as she was told. She took her time, unpacking and refolding her clothes with military precision. She sorted her clothes by type and color, rearranged the walk-in closet a few times, set her few personal effects on the desk and the empty shelves—it only made them look even emptier. She had brought only the bare necessities. Her laptop, her headphones, a small stack of her favorite books, a picture of her and Celine, another one of her mother, and that was it. How sad, she thought, that her whole life could be pared down to a few small objects. But she immediately pulled herself together. That wasn’t true. This wasn’t all there was. Her life was full of color and sounds, of plants and music. She had left Celine a whole notebook full of instructions to take care of the many, many plants she had left behind. She hadn’t dared bring her guitar with her. She hadn’t been sure the Hongs would look kindly on her playing such a common instrument, and now that she had spent an hour in their company, she knew her hunch had been right. They were too hung up on the idea of power and nobility, too attached to appearances and decorum. It’d have been one thing if she had played the gayageum—the traditional Korean instrument par excellence—, but the guitar was too occidental, too basic, too accessible for an aristocrat like her. She could already feel Tae-min’s hard stare on her. Dissecting her. Judging her. Maybe one day she’d simply not care and bring her guitar here. But as of now, she had to please the Hong family.
So, Rumi stared at her empty room, an odd reflection of her empty heart. It wasn’t long before a servant appeared at her door, a middle-aged woman all dressed in black, hair pulled into a perfect bun, face bare of any makeup.
“Miss Ryu. Mr. Hong, Mrs. Hong and Mr. Hong junior would be delighted to have you and Mrs. Ryu over in the lounge.”
“Thank you,” Rumi said with a small and polite smile. “I just need a moment. I remember the way there, don’t worry.”
The servant bowed and left without a second glance, and Rumi couldn’t help but feel a hint of relief she couldn’t quite explain. She lay on her bed, stared at the white ceiling—freshly painted, it seemed, not a crack or spot on it—and took a few deep breaths. It’d be easier in a few days, she told herself. She’d get used to the house, to the Hong family, to the customs here. She’d get to know Jae-Hyun. She’d find him nice. Kind, even. She’d feel a connection. Maybe not love, but care. She’d find new hobbies. Meet new people. Feel less lonely. She’d be okay. She’d be okay. She’d be okay.
She easily found her way back to the center of the mansion, where the lounge was situated along with the dining room, the kitchen, and a couple of other rooms Rumi didn’t get the chance to glimpse into. The entry hall was empty when she stepped inside, but she could hear some clutter in the kitchen. A roar outside caught her attention, and she glanced through the main double doors, wide open. A car was driving away from the front of the house, so fast it raised a trail of dust in its wake. A Mustang, red, loud, sporting that classy look from 1970 yet taking off to the street with such speed and handling it had to be a recent model. Rumi wasn’t a car enthusiast, far from it. But she’d been around enough collectors to know a thing or two about them. Odd, she thought for the second time today. Maybe a friend of the family came by to drop something?
She didn’t wonder long; she was expected. She crossed the entry hall towards the lounge area, the spacious and luminous room they had sat in earlier today. She was about to enter when she caught a couple of voices.
“—just left?” Tae-Min was saying, spitting, really.
“She said she had more stuff to get from her apartment.”
“Will she be back for dinner?”
“How would I know?” Jae-Hyun grunted, so much annoyance in his voice that Rumi flinched a little.
She straightened up and waltzed inside the room, her pace steady and deliberate. She smiled at Tae-Min and Jae-Hyun as soon as she saw them, standing a bit further away, by the open glass door leading outside.
“Ah, Miss Ryu,” Tae-Min greeted her.
He and his son had quickly wiped their frowns off their faces, but not quickly enough, and Rumi couldn’t help but wonder what seemed to be frustrating the both of them so much.
“I believe your aunt and my wife are taking a little stroll around the garden. They should be back shortly.”
They all sat on the couches—white, leather, not as comfortable as Rumi’s and Celine’s beaten couch back home—and made some idle talk while waiting for Celine and Bo-Mi. Thankfully, both Tae-Min and Jae-Hyun were good conversationalists. The discussion was bland, but not awkward, and Rumi could ask a few things about the town they were in, a small city less than an hour away from Seoul, nestled between a river, some forests and a few high hills.
Celine and Bo-Mi came back not too long after Rumi arrived, and they joined in on the conversation for a while, or rather Celine joined in. Bo-Mi barely uttered a word, offering only a few polite smiles and nods.
There was the smallest lull in the discussion, and Tae-Min seized the opportunity like an eagle diving on its prey. He stood up, pressed his hands together and offered both Rumi and Celine a curt smile.
“As I said earlier, the Hong family wants nothing more than to make sure Miss Ryu feels as comfortable as possible amongst us.”
He walked towards a little desk tucked in between two massive shelves bending under the weight of leather-bound books and grabbed a black folder, before walking back towards his guests.
“We would love to hire some help for you, Miss Ryu. Whatever you shall need, we want you to have an assistant to aid you, whether it be for some random purchase in town, some help with paperwork, or someone filtering your calls and keeping track of your schedule for you.”
Rumi immediately tensed up and tried her best to not let it show. She bowed towards Tae-Min, who was sitting back on his sofa, and put on a small and hopefully genuine-looking smile on her face.
“Thank you, Mr. Hong. But while I immensely appreciate the gesture, I can assure you there’s no need to go to such length. I can perfectly get by by myself, and I’m certain you, Mrs. Hong or Jae-Hyun would provide me with all the help I need, were I to encounter a complex issue.”
“Please,” Tae-Min said, the word short, almost dismissive. “We insist.” He held the folder towards her and waited until Rumi slowly took it. It was thin and light, yet Rumi could feel its burden carving into her very bones. “We took the liberty of selecting a few high-quality profiles for you, Miss Ryu. We want nothing but the best to accompany you during your day-to-day life, and I believe we’ve found some perfectly adequate candidates. You and Mrs. Ryu should look over them after dinner. I’m hoping to get your answer by tomorrow so I can hire someone as soon as possible. Talents like these are hard to come by, and as you may be aware, they won’t stay available for too long.”
Rumi felt trapped. The gesture in itself was nice, thoughtful even. Yet the lump in her throat kept growing, thick, hard, impossible to swallow. She refused to look at Celine, to appear as if she was silently begging for her aunt’s help. Instead, she placed the folder on her lap and smiled, her voice even as she replied, “Thank you, Mr. Hong. I shall look at those profiles with careful consideration. I appreciate the length you’ve gone to to accommodate my needs.”
Words, empty words, fake words, the kind that sat heavily on her tongue, the kind that dripped poison into her veins. Thank you for so carefully placing my head into your bear trap. Thank you for not giving me a choice. Thank you for already making me regret my decision. Rumi wasn’t stupid. She knew Tae-Min’s intentions were far from graceful. Those “high-quality profiles” waiting in that black folder? Lapdogs. Spies. People who would report every single one of Rumi’s actions to Tae-Min. Maybe even to Jae-Hyun.
“Perfect,” Tae-Min said, his smile satisfied. “Now, if you’d like, our chef has prepared the most amazing meal to celebrate your arrival.”
*
Dinner dragged on forever. It was delicious, one of the best meals Rumi had ever had in her life, but she couldn’t fully appreciate it with the anxiety filling her stomach like gravel. When they all started to move back to the lounge after dessert, Tae-Min having offered to share his personal whisky collection with Celine, Rumi excused herself with an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid the trip has really tired me.”
Jae-Hyun immediately offered to walk her back to her room, and she couldn’t say no. Just like she couldn’t say no to having a “personal assistant” that would shadow her every waking minute of the day. Rumi said her goodbyes, and she and Jae-Hyun walked out of the dining room, Rumi doing her best not to rip into the black folder with how tightly she was holding it.
Jae-Hyun halted in front of a closed door, in the middle of the right wing, a bit before Rumi’s room.
“This is the bathroom,” he informed her. “You shall find everything you need in here, clean towels, soaps, oils, hair products, but please let me know if you’re missing anything else. I shall have someone fetch what you need first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
Rumi started to walk to her room, but Jae-Hyun didn’t follow. She turned towards him and stared at him with questioning eyes while he hovered in front of the bathroom, clearly deliberating saying whatever he was about to say next. Then, he pinched his lips, almost imperceptibly, before frowning a little.
“I feel compelled to tell you that, sadly, you will have to share the bathroom.”
Rumi didn’t let her surprise show, yet her mind was reeling. Share? With whom? Was it the bathroom reserved for the ladies? Was Bo-Mi forced to walk all the way here every day to take her shower or freshen up? Or maybe she was going to share with the servants? She was more than okay with that, but it sounded so out of place, in the Hong household. Jae-Hyun sighed. For a fraction of a second, he looked annoyed. But the shadow darkening his face disappeared as soon as Rumi noticed it.
“My sister will be staying in the manor with us until the wedding.”
“Your sister?” Rumi couldn’t help but ask, and this time her surprise was clear. “I apologize, I—I had no idea you had a sister.”
He straightened up and offered her a forced smile—more of a rictus, really. “Her name is Mira. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon, although when exactly, I can’t say. She’s…a free spirit, let’s just say.”
Rumi heard the restrained disdain in his voice, and suddenly put the pieces together. Dark pink hair, loud red Mustang, frustration vibrating between Tae-Min and Jae-Hyun when they thought no one could hear them. Mira Hong must be quite the character. It was all the more surprising that Rumi never even knew of her existence, despite having looked up the Hong family online for hours.
“I shall see you in the morning,” Jae-Hyun said with another smile, more genuine this time. He hesitated, before looking at his feet. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Really.”
“The pleasure is mine, Jae-Hyun. Thank you for the warm welcome.”
He met her eyes one last time before turning around and disappearing at the end of the corridor. Rumi’s shoulders slumped. She walked to her room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it, head falling back against the hard wood. She wanted to like him. She wanted to believe in his words, his thoughtful little looks and gestures, that he cared. But she was still holding that black folder in her hands, a prison made of cardboard and paper, and she had no way of knowing if it was his idea, or just his father’s. She had no way of knowing if she could trust her own betrothed, and the thought scraped the inside of her throat like claws.
She could still run. She could still cancel the whole thing, turn around, go back home. Nothing was set in stone, not until she signed the marriage contract. You have time, she told herself. Time to figure it out, to get to know Jae-Hyun and his family, to decide if all of it was worth it—if her freedom, her integrity, her happiness was worth it.
She set the folder on the little desk, grabbed her toilet bag and made her way to the bathroom. She opened the door, turned on the light and stood in shock for a few seconds, taking it all in. It was more like a whole Korean bathhouse than a bathroom. There was a shallow pool in the center, big enough for five, maybe six people, filled to the brim with steaming water. The poolside was entirely made of wooden benches, aside for the stairs leading into the water. The far wall of the bathroom was hidden by tall and shiny green bamboos planted in a long wooden trough. To the side was a shower stall and a few shelves with white towels, fluffy robes and rows of lotions that probably cost more than Rumi’s and Celine’s house. The whole place screamed money, but not in an obnoxious way like the other bathroom she had visited earlier.
“Well, damn,” Rumi murmured before closing the door behind her.
She had rubbed shoulders with wealth. Because of her name, she was regularly invited to events and parties thrown by nobles all over Korea, ones that Celine made them go to without fail, and the hosts never missed a chance to flaunt their riches in particularly ostentatious ways. Rumi had always disliked it. Found it ridiculous, childish even, to want to show off like that. She had grown scornful of wealthy people, even if she knew not all of them fit in the same mold. And now here she was. Standing in the middle of elegant luxury, about to literally bath in comfort, knowing that if she went through with this marriage, she would own all of this someday.
She took a deep breath and started to undress. Those were thoughts for later. For now, she’d get to wash the day away and seep in scalding water until all of the tense knots in her back and shoulders disappeared. She twisted her long braid in a loose bun, took a quick shower, scrubbing herself from neck to toe, and finally dipped into the bath with a sigh. Holy fucking shit did that feel good. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the hot water with a long groan. When was the last time she even went to a bathhouse? A year ago? Maybe two? She should have done it more often. What a great way to end a rather less than great day.
Rumi had been in the bath for less than two minutes, fighting to clear her mind of any stressful thoughts, when the door opened. She jolted a little, eyes snapping open and immediately darting to the person who walked into the bathroom without a care in the world. A woman. Dark pink hair. Tall. Mira Hong, Rumi immediately knew, and she curled a little into herself, bringing her knees against her chest as she eyed the other woman warily. Mira didn’t even look at her. Maybe she hadn’t noticed her, but Rumi found that hard to believe. The bathroom was big but not that big, and Rumi stuck out like a sore thumb with her purple hair wrapped above her head.
She watched as Mira started to take her earrings off one by one—four on the left ear, three on the right—, wondering if she should say something. But just as she was about to utter a determined and polite Hello, Mira started to unbutton her top—white, sleeveless, silky, slender fingers dancing on gold buttons—and Rumi’s voice caught in her throat. She kept staring, silent and rigid, as Mira popped open the third button, revealing a hint of black lace. That’s exactly when Mira decided to acknowledge Rumi’s presence, and she threw Rumi an inquisitive look that made Rumi’s eyes snap back at her own knees. Shit. She’d been caught staring. Why was she staring? Rumi dipped a bit more into the water, now reaching to her chin, and prayed that her blush wasn’t too visible. She could hear the sound of a zipper getting pulled down, the rustle of clothes being discarded, then the quiet hush of the water pouring out of the shower head. She allowed herself to glance back up. Mira had disappeared into the shower stall.
It took all three minutes for Mira to shower and for Rumi to compose herself. Whatever intimidation technique Jae-Hyun’s sister was trying to pull on her, she wouldn’t let it affect her. So, she kept her eyes on the tip of her knees, which were slightly emerging from the steaming surface of the water, and she didn’t flinch when a pair of—long, so fucking long—legs appeared in her peripheral vision. A foot slowly sank into the water, right in front of Rumi, then another, and when Mira finally sat down in the bath, Rumi lifted her chin and looked at her. As soon as she met Mira’s eyes, she bowed as deeply as she could without drowning herself. Mira didn’t move. There wasn’t a ripple in the water, not a movement in Rumi’s field of vision, and Rumi knew, stomach sinking, that she was waiting for a bow that wouldn’t come.
“So proper.”
Mira’s voice was low. Rumi straightened up and caught Mira’s unwavering gaze on her, the tiniest amused smile on her face.
“You must be Lady Hong,” Rumi said, neutral and polite.
Mira all but snorted in response. “Call me Mira. I wouldn’t want you confusing me with my mother.”
Rumi nodded, the ghost of another bow she couldn’t quite repress.
“Mira.”
She was her betrothed’s sister. She was her future family. Rumi would not antagonize her, no matter how disrespectful Mira seemed to be.
There was a silence, during which they both studied each other. Mira had pulled her hair up in a messy bun, a couple of strands escaping it and framing her face. Her eyes were as sharp and piercing as her father’s, but unlike him, her face was pointy, her cheekbones high, her lips full and pink. Rumi had to stop herself from looking further down, to her long neck, her chiseled collarbones, her—No. She anchored her eyes onto Mira’s face, feeling herself blush so hard she couldn’t even pin it on the searing water.
Mira blew a little puff of air through her nose, looking entertained, before shaking her head.
“They’re going to eat you alive.”
That struck a nerve. Rumi squared her shoulders, chin held a bit higher, suddenly on the defensive.
“Why would you think that?”
Mira leaned back against the poolside, so damn aloof it was starting to piss Rumi off.
“Because that’s what they do,” she answered with a shrug. “You’ve met my family. They use whatever they have at their disposal to mold the people around them and turn them into their perfect little Hong soldiers.”
“Clearly, it doesn’t always work,” Rumi jabbed, tone a bit more cutting than she had intended it to be. But, really, could you blame her? Mira was being insulting. Basically calling her malleable. Weak.
Mira cocked an eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard?” She leaned towards Rumi, lips tugged in the hint of a smirk, her voice dropping a note as if to confide a secret. “I’m special.”
Despite herself, Rumi felt a smile stretch on her own face, just a little, just enough to distract her from the blood suddenly humming in her veins. She didn’t lean as Mira did, but her voice lowered as she replied, “Maybe I’m special too.”
Mira’s smirk widened, morphing from barely perceptible to something akin to pleased. She lifted her arm, a hand emerging from the water. Slowly, confidently, she took Rumi’s chin between her thumb and her index and tilted it upward. Gentle. Certain. Her eyes stayed on Rumi’s face, razor-sharp, appraising, as if studying a piece of art and wondering if it was worth buying it. Rumi tensed but didn’t recoil. She held Mira’s gaze, strangely wanting to prove herself to this woman she had never met before in her life and who had been nothing but rude to her ever since they’d met five minutes ago.
Mira hummed, a deep, low sound rumbling in her throat, and Rumi ignored how her thighs slightly clenched at the noise.
“Maybe you are,” Mira murmured, before letting go of Rumi’s chin and leaning back against the poolside.
She closed her eyes, her shoulders relaxing, and just like that the conversation was over. Rumi didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t know what to make of Mira’s nonchalance, bordering on arrogance, of Mira’s casualness, of how Rumi’s body had reacted to the way she had caught her chin between her fingers—it had tensed, tensed, tensed, and it had warmed up too. So, she focused on Mira’s words instead. They’re going to eat you alive. Was it a threat, or a warning? Mira was the antithesis of the rest of her family. Blunt, unbothered, so unconcerned with manners it was jarring. She had never seen Rumi before in her life, and now she was sinking into the bath and unbending as if they had shared this kind of intimacy their whole life.
Rumi kept her eyes away from her. Mira didn’t seem to care if Rumi was eying her, yet it still felt wrong. Maybe what was truly wrong was how hard it was for Rumi to not stare. To not sneak a peek. The water was so clear and still, Rumi knew everything would be in full view. She had never struggled like this before, when she had bathed with other girls. She had been there to wash herself and to relax, nothing else. But there was something about Mira. Something magnetic in her carefree yet confident posture, almost like a silent invitation; Watch me. I do not care. But Rumi cared. Rumi didn’t want to be improper. Rumi didn’t want to want to watch her. So, she kept her eyes on the knees tucked against her chest or counted the wooden beams in the ceiling.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when Mira sighed and stirred. Rumi glanced at her and watched as she opened her eyes. They immediately sharpened when they met Rumi’s, and Rumi had to avert her gaze, almost embarrassed, as if she had been caught staring—which she wasn’t, she had been so determined not to. After a few seconds, Mira stood up. It wasn’t abrupt. It was the opposite. Languid, as if she had all the time in the world. Rumi kept her eyes resolutely on her knees.
“Well, Rumi Ryu.” Rumi flinched. Looked up—past the long legs, past the dark patch in between, past the flat stomach, past, past, past—and met Mira’s gaze. “It was a pleasure to officially meet you. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon enough. With us being neighbors and all.”
“Neighbors?” Rumi blinked, keeping her eyes on Mira’s face—don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.
“They didn’t tell you?”
Rumi stayed silent.
“My room is right next to yours.”
And with that, she tossed Rumi one last smile, as she would a bone to a dog, and she turned around. Rumi refused to stare at her back—or lower. She anchored her eyes on Mira’s bun as if she had wanted to bore a hole in the back of her head. It was safer, that dark pink color. Much, much safer than anything else about her. Mira put on a long, white robe, gathered her clothes and left the room without so much of a glance to Rumi. Rumi dipped into the water all the way until it reached underneath her eyes. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t know why.
When she got back to her room, having finally taken some time to relax in the hot bath, she noticed a ray of light under the door next to hers. She swallowed, her steps faltering a little, before straightening up and locking herself into her own bedroom. She put her clothes away in the laundry basket, slipped out of her robe and into comfy pajamas, and finally sat down at her desk, looking at the black folder with a hint of despair. She gathered her strength, opened it and found a stack of resumes inside. Right. Back to real life.
She had been studying the CVs for more than an hour now, which was a lot of time considering there were only five candidates. But Rumi was nothing if not diligent, and she had done exhaustive research for each of them, scouring the internet for social media, achievements, articles, notes at the bottom of a company presentation. The Hongs didn’t lie; each of the profiles was exemplary. Outstanding education, valuable work experience, impeccable appearance and an extremely well-curated presence on social media. These people were meant to lead, not to follow, and Rumi had to wonder exactly how much the Hongs were willing to pay in order to have such impressive profiles at their disposal. It didn’t sit right with Rumi. Looking at these CVs made her shoulders tense and her lungs constrict around thinner air. Again, she felt trapped. Backed into a corner, forced to choose the weapon that would slowly drain her blood. She’d have eyes on her all the time. Did they not trust her? Did they just want to assert control? To make sure she always stayed in line? Or maybe, just maybe, she was overreacting. Maybe they truly had her best interests at heart. Maybe they weren’t asking her to choose her own spy, but her assistant.
She felt sick, all of a sudden. She stared at the resumes laid on her desk until the words blurred, before taking a sharp breath. She gathered the papers, stood up and, without a second thought, she walked out of her room. Light was still spilling under Mira’s door. Rumi knocked. Two hits, soft, that resonated in the silence of the dark corridor.
There was a beat, and then a muffled voice. “Come in.”
Rumi opened the door, refusing to let doubt creep up her spine. The light was dim, coming from the nightstand. Four suitcases were crammed into a corner. The room felt bare, almost as empty as Rumi’s. Mira was wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt and sitting on her bed, legs crossed, back pressed to a pile of pillows pushed against the headboard. She set her phone down on the mattress and stared as Rumi approached her and handed her the stack of resumes. Mira cocked an eyebrow as she took the papers, eyes never leaving Rumi’s.
“If you were to pick an assistant for yourself, who would you choose?”
Understanding flashed in Mira’s eyes—hazel, cutting despite the soft light in the room—and her answer was immediate. “None of them.” She moved as if to hand the resumes back to Rumi, but Rumi stood still.
“And if you had no other choice but to pick one?”
Mira held her gaze for a moment, before spreading the CVs on her—naked—legs. It took her one second and a half before she tapped on one of the papers.
“This one.”
Rumi leaned and looked at the resume Mira was pointing at. It was one of the two women amongst the five candidates, her picture showing a middle-aged lady with round glasses and a ponytail. Graduated from Seoul National University with honors, worked for nine years in one of Seoul’s top law firms as a paralegal. Again, it rubbed Rumi the wrong way. She had no use for someone like her. And that woman would gain nothing career-wise from working for Rumi. Maybe the most annoying part was how transparent it all was. Did the Hongs think her so stupid and naive she wouldn’t realize what was actually going on?
“Why her?” she asked, eyes still fixed on the resume, trying to find a detail that might have escaped her, something that would set her apart from the other four remarkable profiles on Mira’s lap.
“She’s hot.”
Rumi flicked her eyes back on Mira’s, almost shocked by the answer. Mira’s lips stretched in a slow smirk, and Rumi couldn’t help but stare at her mouth, so soft looking yet so crude. Rumi snapped out of it, gathered the documents with curt gestures and took a step back.
“Thank you for your help,” she said simply, voice neutral, heart spiking in her chest.
Mira’s smirk kept growing.
“I’m here all night long,” she said, voice low and amused. “If you ever need anything else.”
Rumi left the room without saying good night.
*
Rumi had gone to Celine as soon as she had woken up. They barely had time to talk; Celine had to finish getting ready, share breakfast with the Hong family and jump into a cab that would drive her to the train station in less than two hours.
“I don’t want this,” Rumi had said, dropping the stack of resumes on Celine’s bed while her aunt was combing her long, raven hair.
“An assistant could be useful.”
“Except it wouldn’t be an assistant. It’d be a spy.”
Celine had stopped, long enough to throw a look at each one of the CVs.
“I need my freedom, Celine,” Rumi had said, voice firm, not betraying how thin the air felt in her lungs.
Celine had stared at the papers in silence for a while, before resuming her combing.
“I’ll figure something out.”
Now, they were eating breakfast with the Hong family, minus Mira. Rumi was hiding her nervousness well, politely smiling, sometimes contributing to the dull conversation and exchanging quick glances with Jae-Hyun while eating her kimchi eggs—exquisite, really, she had to find and praise the chef.
“Did you have time to look at the profiles we have selected for you?” Tae-Min asked as they were all finishing their bowl.
Rumi kept her shoulders as relaxed as possible, eyes fixed on Tae-Min.
“I have, yes. They all seem to be very talented people.”
She was internally begging Celine to come to her rescue. Her aunt knew how to navigate the upper-class way better than Rumi ever could, and Rumi wasn’t in any position to refuse the “help” the Hong family was so generously offering anyway.
“Thank you for going through the trouble of looking for such talent.”
She was trying to buy time, forcing herself to keep her eyes on Tae-Min and not throw a desperate glance at her aunt. Thankfully, that’s when Celine decided to intervene.
“If I may, Mr. Hong.”
Tae-Min looked at her, face impassive as usual.
“I also took the liberty to look at the resumes. And while they are indeed very remarkable, I’m afraid they wouldn’t exactly suit Rumi’s needs. Well, no. That’s not true. If I’m being perfectly honest, they wouldn’t suit my own needs.”
She took a more contrite tone and offered Tae-Min an apologetic smile, and oh, she was good. Rumi had always admired the way her aunt could so effortlessly wrap people around her little finger. She knew exactly the right word to say, the right mask to wear, which buttons to press or not press.
“I’m afraid I don’t fully understand, Mrs. Ryu,” Tae-Min said with a little frown.
“As you know, Rumi has lived in Yeosu her whole life. Coming here is a major change for her, one she gladly accepted, of course, but major nonetheless. She’ll be living away from her hometown for the very first time, away from me for the very first time, and while I know there’s nothing she can’t face, especially not amongst such gracious hosts, it’d bring me peace of mind if I knew she could have someone familiar by her side, at least until the wedding.”
Rumi refrained from frowning. She masked her confusion behind the glass of water she was nonchalantly sipping on, trying to figure out exactly where Celine was heading.
“Someone familiar?” Tae-Min asked, eyes narrowing a little. Despite how good Celine was with words, he clearly wasn’t appreciating the turn the conversation had taken.
“Yes. Someone close to the family, close to her.” Celine turned towards Rumi, who was now fighting to keep from clenching her jaw. What the hell was Celine even talking about? “I’m sure one of your friends would love to accompany you on this journey. At least for a little while.” One of her friends?! Rumi stared at Celine, panic fully blooming into her chest, and she had to use all of her self-control not to show it.
“I would really appreciate it if you considered it seriously,” Celine added as she turned towards Tae-Min.
He was displeased, and he was barely trying to conceal it. But before he could reply, Jae-Hyun set his napkin down and gave Celine a small smile.
“That sounds like a lovely idea, Mrs. Ryu. One we would be more than happy to accommodate.”
Both relief and fear shot along Rumi’s spine, all the way from her neck to her lower back. Relief, because Jae-Hyun seemed to genuinely want to help her. Fear, because it meant… Fuck, how would she fix this mess?
“You should come to me as soon as you find someone fitting, Rumi,” Jae-Hyun was saying, fully taking the lead now despite the icy glare his father was shooting at him. “I’ll handle the paperwork.”
“Thank you, Jae-Hyun. And thank you Mr. Hong, Mrs. Hong, for being so benevolent.” Rumi was bowing towards her hosts, soon followed by Celine. Bo-Mi simply smiled, while Tae-Min nodded, a severe expression on his face. Yet he remained quiet, silently agreeing to the new arrangement, and it would have tasted like victory to Rumi except now the whole situation felt like an ever bigger, harder to resolve problem.
Celine took her leave as soon as she finished breakfast. The Hongs accompanied her to the entrance, a servant already dragging her suitcase towards the cab idling in the driveway. They parted ways in a flourish of bows and thank-yous, agreeing to meet again in a couple of months.
Rumi followed her aunt all the way to the car. They hugged, but they were both too tense to put any warmth into it. When Celine settled on the backseat of the taxi, Rumi threw a quick glance behind her. The Hongs were patiently waiting at the front door, out of earshot. She turned back to Celine and leaned towards her, letting her frustration and distress show for the first time.
“One of my friends?” she hissed through gritted teeth while Celine checked the time on her phone.
“Better than one of their lackeys, is it not?”
“I don’t have any friends,” Rumi spluttered in a hushed voice, blushing to the tip of her ears from anger and embarrassment. Celine knew this. Celine was the reason why she didn’t have any friends.
Her aunt put the phone in her cardigan’s pocket and gave Rumi a pointed look.
“Find one,” was all she said before closing the door and instructing the driver to leave.
***
Zoey was having a bad day. A really bad day. One, she had woken up late. Not her fault this time, well maybe a little her fault, she had forgotten to charge her phone and it had died during the night. Which meant she had arrived at her job one hour late. Two, she had spilled tea all over a client’s table—but luckily not directly on them. Again, technically not her fault. One of her shoelaces was untied and she had tripped on it. Three, she had banged herself so hard against the bar counter she could still feel it hours later. Four, she had gotten fired. Five, she had broken down in her favorite milk tea shop and had started crying when the barista had smiled at her and said It’s so good to see you again. The tiniest warmth, from someone she only saw once or twice a week and whose name she’d never know, and it had been enough for her to suddenly turn into a teary snot-fountain. The barista had been startled, but still so very kind, guiding her to a booth and giving her her milk tea without even making her pay.
So, here Zoey now was, trying to wipe the snot off her nose as discreetly as she could, pushing the sobs so deep in her chest it hurt. She had finally calmed down and almost finished her drink when her phone vibrated against her thigh. She took it out of her pocket with a shaking hand. Great. Six, her mom was calling. Zoey stared at her phone with blurry eyes, considering simply not picking up, before caving in. She knew her mother. She’d repeatedly call until Zoey answered. Plus it was already so late for her, and Zoey didn’t want her mother to stay up past her bedtime just to hear back from Zoey. With a sigh, she tapped the green button and pressed the phone against her ear.
“Hi mom,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster. Fuck, her voice was rough.
“Hi honey! Did you finish your morning shift?”
The door of the shop opened and Zoey got momentarily distracted by gorgeous purple hair carefully styled in a French braid. It was the first time she’d ever seen hair that color.
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’ve just finished.”
“Honey? Is something wrong?”
“No, no, everything is peachy, mom! Why would anything be wrong?”
Purple girl stood in line—there were two more patrons before her—and turned her head to glance at Zoey. Oh. Holy wowza was she hot. Zoey immediately darted her eyes to her empty drink, barely registering her mom’s scolding.
“Who do you think you’re talking to? I pushed you out of my own belly, Zoey. I can tell when something’s not right. Now, tell me!”
Zoey groaned and rubbed her temple with her thumb. From the corner of her eyes, she saw super-hot purple girl moving forward as one of the clients got his drink and left. There were still very close. No way she wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation.
“Zoey?”
She sighed, wishing she could have this discussion in English instead of Korean. At least there’d be a chance super-hot purple girl—and all of the other clients around her—wouldn’t understand her. But despite having lived in the United States for about thirty years now, her mother’s language of predilection was still, and would always be, Korean.
“I—I got fired.”
“What? When? Why? Did you sneeze on a customer again?”
“That happened once and I didn’t sneeze on him, I sneezed next to him. In my elbow too!”
“And then you dump his bibimbap on him.”
“I didn’t mean to—I sneezed and the bowl slipped—Ugh, that’s not the point, mom.”
Zoey was trying to keep her voice down, but she knew anyone who wanted to could so very easily hear her. The thought was mortifying.
“Look, can I call you back?”
“After telling me you got fired? No. What are you going to do? How are you going to pay rent? Have you started looking for another job yet?”
Oh, god. Zoey loved her mom, she truly did. But it was times like these that reminded her how good it sometimes felt to have put some distance between them.
“I don’t know, mom. I—It literally just happened. I didn’t even go home yet.”
“Do you have savings? For how long can you keep paying the rent?”
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks? I’ll start looking for jobs online as soon as I’m home. And I’ll drop my resume in nearby shops. Hopefully I’ll get hired soon and won’t be late for rent.”
There was an unusual silence at the other end of the line. Zoey glanced up. Super-hot purple girl was ordering something, face tilted up and to the side to check the gigantic menu above the counter. She was tall. Lean. Her clothes simple but elegant, just a silky blue blouse tucked into a pair of black jeans. She looked so effortlessly pretty. No, not just pretty. Beautiful. The kind of girl that leaves a trail, the kind that shifts the air a little around her.
“You’ll always have a home with me, honey,” her mom finally said, uncharacteristically soft.
It tugged at Zoey’s heart for many reasons. She knew her mom missed her. Hell, she missed her mom too. But hearing her say that felt like she was admitting to Zoey’s failure. Like she didn’t believe Zoey could actually pull it off and fully settle in South Korea. And maybe she was right. Fuck, it’s been what, three months? And already she had been fired. But Zoey would be damned if she didn’t keep trying. She had to find her place somewhere.
“I know, mom. I—I need to do this. Just a little while longer.”
“Of course, sweetie. Of course.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, honey. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Zoey ended the call with a sigh and all but slumped against her chair. Super-hot purple girl was turning away from the counter, hand wrapped around a drink, her gaze immediately falling on Zoey, and Zoey felt herself blush to the tip of her ears. What a great first—and last—impression she was making. The girl’s steps faltered a little as she walked past Zoey’s booth, as if she was hesitating. It lasted all but two seconds, before she tore her gaze away from Zoey and set it on the door of the shop. She pushed it open and disappeared outside, and Zoey crossed her arms on the table and let her head dramatically drop on them. So, on top of everything else, she had completely embarrassed herself in front of the most beautiful girl she had ever seen since stepping foot in South Korea. Great. Absolutely fantastic.
Zoey pushed herself away from the table. She was about to get up and leave—not without thanking the barista again first—when the door opened and super-hot purple girl walked back in. Her eyes immediately found Zoey’s, who almost shrank into her chair as she watched her walk towards her booth with so much determination it was intimidating. She halted right in front of Zoey, clutching her cup and taking a deep breath.
“May I buy you a drink?”
Zoey was so damn stunned she just gaped at her for a few seconds, before blinking rapidly.
“I—Uh—Sure?”
“What would you like?”
“Um—Strawberry Matcha? Please?”
The girl nodded and turned around, making a beeline to the counter. Zoey lunged at her phone and hastily checked her reflection on the screen. Holy shit she looked awful. Mascara running at the corner of her puffy eyes, nose red, hair tousled and, fuck, was that a stain on her collar? Why was that girl even buying her a drink? Zoey looked miserable, and after her conversation with her mom she couldn’t have given any other vibe but lame. Maybe even pathetic. Probably both. She tried to rub the mascara away from her face. Maybe it was Korean hospitality? Why else? She couldn’t possibly find Zoey attractive or interesting. Or maybe she liked it when girls cried?
Zoey’s train of thoughts came crashing to a halt when the other girl came back, Zoey’s strawberry matcha in one hand, the drink she had previously ordered for herself in the other.
“Here.”
“Thank you,” Zoey said as she grabbed the drink with both hands—a sign of respect and appreciation here, as her mother had taught her just before she had left the US.
As soon as Zoey took the large plastic cup, super-hot purple girl bowed before her.
“I’m Rumi.”
Zoey’s eyes widened before she hastily set the drink on the table and scrambled on her feet. She matched Rumi’s bow, clumsy and flustered.
“I’m Zoey. Thank you again for the drink.”
They both straightened up and stared at each other for a couple of very awkward seconds, before Rumi gestured towards the chair in front of Zoey’s booth.
“May I?”
“Oh, yes, of course! Please.”
They both sat down, and Zoey tried her best not to stare. Rumi made it almost impossible, though. That girl was so. freaking. gorgeous. And now she was sitting here, in front of her. After buying Zoey a drink. Holy hell what was even happening?!
“I apologize,” Rumi eventually started, eyes darting to the cup she was holding between her hands. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”
“Oh.” Zoey let out a very embarrassed giggle, feeling her blush spread to her chest. “Not my finest moment.”
“We all have those,” Rumi said softly, looking her in the eye and offering her a smile, and Zoey felt herself melt a little inside.
Rumi was even prettier when she smiled. But then, the smile disappeared, replaced by a small frown and slightly pinched lips. Rumi’s finger tapped on her drink, twice, and it almost looked like she was nervous. Which was an incredibly stupid thing to think because girls like that didn’t have any reason to get nervous. Especially not when facing a puffy, snotty, freshly fired half American with a very noticeable sauce stain on their shirt.
“I have a job offer for you,” Rumi eventually said, avoiding Zoey’s gaze, and was that a slight blush on her cheekbones? “But it’s—” She winced, still refusing to meet Zoey’s eyes. “—unconventional.”
Zoey didn’t move. She barely dared breathe, at this point. What could Rumi possibly want from her? She knew Zoey just had gotten fired, didn’t even hear the reasons why, and still she wanted to hire her? That seemed fishy. Even more fishy was this “unconventional” part. But instead of raising red flags in Zoey’s mind, it made her all the more intrigued. Damn. Hot girls really made her stupid.
“You’d be generously compensated, and you’d have room and board,” Rumi continued, index finger tapping against the cup again—and what a finger, long, slender, nail short and white. “I—hm. I’d like to hire you as my… personal assistant.”
It was the way she said it that made Zoey drag her eyes from Rumi’s finger to Rumi’s face. Like Rumi wasn’t fully believing her own words, like there was a double meaning, and holy. fucking. shit. Was she—Was Rumi trying to hire her as—No. No. That idea was absurd. Come on Zoey, get your mind out of the gutter.
“But I need you to—” Rumi winced again, cheeks now rosy, eyes boring a hole into the table, and she looked as embarrassed as Zoey felt and jesus christ maybe Zoey was onto something? Why else would Rumi look so damn shy all of a sudden? Plus, if she really needed a personal assistant, a real one, she wouldn’t grab the first sad, wet, stray cat she saw in the streets!
“I need you to pretend to be my friend,” Rumi finally murmured, so quietly Zoey almost didn’t hear her. But she did. She did hear her.
“You—You want me to pretend—”
“Yes.”
Rumi took a sharp breath through the nose, chancing a glance at Zoey before staring at the table again. Her face was now plain red. Zoey blinked. Oh. Oh. So it wasn’t just a sex thing. She was trying to…
“You want to hire me as an escort?” Zoey blurted out, eyes as wide as saucers.
“What?” Rumi’s own eyes snapped back to hers, and she looked so damn shocked that Zoey would have laughed her head off if she wasn’t so, so damn mortified herself. “No! No.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, leave it to Zoey to fuck up everything in less than five minutes, to blow up a chance at an actual job with the sexiest woman alive and shit shit shit shit shit.
“I’m sorry—” Zoey said, voice high-pitched, and really she just wanted to slap herself. “I don’t know why—I shouldn’t have—I—”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Rumi immediately apologized too, gripping her drink so hard the plastic crumbled a little under her fingers. “I was being so cryptic, I—” She stopped, silent for a couple of seconds before chuckling a little, looking almost surprised. Oh. Wow. What a sight. “I can see how it was confusing.”
She laughed some more, and it came from deeper this time, a fuller laugh, quiet but genuine, and Zoey couldn’t help but smile, then laugh along, tension slowly oozing out of her body.
“Oh, god,” Rumi finally whispered, her smile now as bright as her blush. “I’m so sorry. Let me start again.”
“Please,” Zoey giggled. “I’m still so confused.”
Rumi chuckled, and Zoey felt immensely proud to be the reason why such a lovely sound had been birthed into the world.
And then, then, Rumi proceeded to tell her the story from the beginning. It was straight out of a telenovela. There were talks about nobility and dynasty and arranged marriage and wealth and control and spy and when Rumi finally fell quiet, Zoey hadn’t even touched her drink once. She was just straight-up gaping at her, too dumbfounded to speak for a good ten seconds.
“No fucking way,” she finally managed to react. “You’re lying. There’s a hidden camera somewhere. You can’t be for real right now.”
Rumi chuckled, and Zoey’s guts did a little flip. Rumi leaned forward, extended her hand across the table and gently pushed Zoey’s phone towards her.
“Look me up,” she said with a smile—almost teasing, god, fuck, that was so hot. “Rumi Ryu.”
Zoey did. She looked her up. Found a few articles with her picture on it. She was legit. She was a legit noble, talking to her about a legit arranged marriage, offering her a legit job in the legit mansion of a legit filthy rich family, and not even one hour ago Zoey’s boss had yelled at her to grab her stuff and never come back, and she still had that stupid stain on her collar that she could practically feel despite not being able to see it, and her nose was still a bit stuffy from crying, and she had bills to pay, a place to find in this world, but mainly, mainly, Rumi was looking at her with her soft hazel eyes, and Rumi was beautiful, and Rumi was gentle, and Rumi had made her laugh and forget for a while about the shitty day she had had, and really, that was enough for Zoey.
She set the phone down on the table and stared at Rumi, who gave her an almost timid smile, and Zoey grinned back at her.
“I’m in.”