by Nadia Lee
Yuna turns in my direction, does a double take, then says something I don’t quite catch.
The men immediately stand back.
I clear my throat smugly. “Told you,” I say as I walk past them.
The men give me identical blank looks. Maybe they don’t understand English.
Time to put on the charm and meet my brand-new girlfriend’s mom.
“What are you doing here?” Yuna says, her eyes wide with surprise. There’s a spark in them, too.
“Hi, Yuna. I was up here and saw you and decided to stop by.” I then turn to her mom and smile. “Is this your mother?” All innocent. That’s me.
“Yes. Mom, this is Declan Winters. Declan, my mother.”
“Nice to meet you.” Her mom extends a small, slim hand. A huge diamond winks under the lights. She doesn’t have a strong grip like Yuna, so I just give a slight squeeze before letting go. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”
“We’re about to have dinner,” Yuna explains. “If you haven’t eaten, would you like to join us?”
Her tone is a little desperate. Whatever they were discussing before I interrupted them isn’t a topic she wants to go back to. I glance down at the photos. There are three of them. The one on the top shows a sharply dressed Asian man. Is he the number one marriage prospect from Korea? If so, her family could do better. The man looks like a lizard. A too-cool smile and even cooler eyes.
Meanwhile, Yuna’s mom glances at me, then Yuna, then back at me. Her dark gaze is assessing. Probably wondering if I’m as awesome as the top-photo guy. She should know I’m much more awesome. Warmer, too. Who wants to hold a reptile in bed?
“Sure.” My priority is Yuna. I take an empty seat next to her, and she smiles gratefully.
A waiter comes over and takes my drink order—vodka. A woman who’s been standing behind Yuna’s mom whispers something to the waiter.
“You aren’t allergic to seafood or shellfish, are you?” she asks me in excellent English.
“No.”
She turns back to the waiter and whispers some more. He goes away and returns quickly with my vodka.
Yuna’s mom waits until I take a sip before she starts her inquisition. “Mr. Winters, how do you know my daughter?” she asks in a neutral tone.
Guess Yuna hasn’t told her mom about me yet. Slightly disappointing, but most likely there was no good time. It’s not like Yuna can just blurt out, “I’m working and sleeping with one of the hottest men in Hollywood.”
An announcement like that is like the punch line to a joke. It requires a proper setup.
Still, I thought Yuna would have at least said something along the lines of how she met a hot-ass model turned actor, but maybe her mom’s spent all this time going over the hundred candidates and Yuna never got a chance.
“Please, call me Declan,” I say with a friendly smile. “Mr. Winters is so formal.”
Her mom’s eyebrows twitch, but she puts on a gracious mask quickly. “And you know my daughter because…?”
“She came to work for me. Still does. Work, I mean.” I glance at Yuna to see if she wants to add to this. Something about how we’re in a relationship.
But she doesn’t get the opportunity.
“Interesting,” her mother says. “She’s never done such work before.” Mild disapproval ripples underneath the smooth words.
What is this about? Does she want to know how good Yuna is? I thought the bet was between her and her brother, not her mother.
Anyway, if this is part of Yuna needing to prove her independence to her family, I can lay it on thick. After all, I don’t want her family telling her what to do. Or who to marry.
“I’m always surprised when I’m reminded of how little experience she has,” I begin. “She’s been invaluable. The best assistant I’ve ever had.”
Yuna beams. “Thank you.”
Yuna’s mom doesn’t look pleased. Not that she looks displeased. There’s nothing overt in her expression, like she’s done so much Botox she can’t quite move the small muscles. But I can tell she isn’t thrilled. It’s a subtle shift in her body language.
“Is that so?” she says. “But if you think she’s that good, her replacement will be even better.”
Her replacement? Did Yuna’s mom not hear what I said?
“Yuna has other obligations,” she adds. “She wasn’t supposed to get a job, and I apologize for the misunderstanding. But I know a good assistant isn’t easy to find. So I’m willing to have Ms. Kim take care of your needs until a permanent replacement can be found.”
Ms. Kim to take care of my needs? Who the heck is that?
“Ms. Kim’s been working for Yuna for a long time,” Yuna’s mom adds. “She’s one of the most capable assistants our family employs.”
Yuna says something to her mom in Korean. They go back and forth for a while.
Hopefully, Yuna’s saying how much she adores me because we’re dating. And her mom’s saying it’s wonderful because Yuna needs a good man in her life.
Okay, so their tone is a bit terse and staccato, but it might be a cultural thing. Koreans could always sound like they’re arguing, even when they’re praising something to the skies.
Should I speak up? Yuna probably doesn’t need my help. She isn’t the type to let people bulldoze over her, and she knows what she wants. She isn’t going to dump me to marry that guy in the picture… If she were the type to give in that easily, she would’ve never left Korea in the first place.
Suddenly, the Korean conversation stops. Yuna’s mother narrows her eyes at me. “You’re dating my daughter as well?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is steady. So is my gaze. I’m proud to be dating Yuna, and I’m not about to hide it. I even add a smile.
For some reason, it doesn’t work its magic on Yuna’s mom. She doesn’t smile back. “I see. It’s best if you terminate the relationship.”
I almost choke on my own spit. Yuna gazes at her mom like she’s gone full Hulk. Well. Her mom is like the Hulk. Not the nice, controlled Hulk that takes photos with kids, but the really mean one that flips cars and smashes buildings because things aren’t going the way he wants.
“Shouldn’t that be up to us?” Who the hell does she think she is, trying to boss us around? If she cuts Yuna off, I’m going to support her one hundred percent and buy her all the dresses and shoes she wants. So go ahead! Make your best threat!
“Normally, yes. But you’re a celebrity.”
So she knows who I am. Guess Yuna must’ve told her during their Korean conversation. Which makes her reaction even weirder—in my experience, women love my fame. And the fortune that comes with it. Yuna’s family not being impressed with my money is understandable. But fame? That’s a valuable currency.
“If my daughter wants love, I can accept it up to a point. But a celebrity? That’s…” She stops. Her lips are pulled tightly shut. She isn’t at a loss for words. She doesn’t want to say more because whatever she’s going to say isn’t going to be nice.
“I assure you, ma’am, it’s my fame that’s going to help me treat Yuna to a nice life,” I say, doing my best to be polite. I don’t quite understand what her problem is here, but maybe there’s some cultural element to it. I’m not going to antagonize her until I know more.
“You could give up your fame today, and Yuna could still live like the princess that she is for the rest of her life.”
Yuna sighs, then finishes her drink. “Mom, that’s not the point.”
And I’m not going to live like an anonymous bum to make Yuna’s mom happy. “I’m pretty sure she prefers a man who has a purpose in life. And contributes to the world.”
“The contribution doesn’t have to be selling his face.”
Jesus. The woman isn’t going to give in. Now I see where Yuna’s determination and stubbornness come from.
“Why don’t we eat?” Yuna says as the waiter brings a gorgeously laid out five-tier seafood platter. “We can agree to disagree f
or an hour or so.”
“There’s nothing to disagree about.” Yuna’s mom’s voice says she’s correct and everyone who doesn’t acknowledge it is wrong. “But of course we should eat. It’s uncouth to debate universally accepted truths on empty stomachs.”
Chapter Forty
Yuna
I pick at my oysters. The conversation is strained, with lots of gaps, which is unusual, because Mom can engage on any topic she wishes with ease. She’s a consummate dinner party hostess, after all. I’m pretty sure she’s doing it on purpose to increase the awkwardness. And it doesn’t help that I can’t think of any other topic for conversation right now. I really want to talk to Mom about what’s going on with the family and the company, but I can’t with Declan around. Plus, I think Mom offended him when she scoffed at his fame and what he can provide for me. Declan’s a proud man, and he’s worked hard to build his career. You don’t get to star in two hit shows on Netflix by lounging around by a pool all day.
Mom could’ve been more tactful, even if she isn’t crazy about his choice of occupation. And really, it isn’t like he’s one of those wild-child celebrities who go to orgies and snort drugs and drink alcohol until they need to have their stomachs pumped.
I’m proud of him because Hollywood is super competitive. You need more than just a handsome face. And I hope Mom sees that, too—and soon.
After dinner, we exit the restaurant.
“I have to go to Ivy’s,” I say as Mom and her entourage get off one floor down from Angelina. Hopefully, I can have Declan drive me home. His home.
“But I thought you were going to stay with me now,” she says.
Normally I would, but I don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend fighting off Mom’s attempt to match me with one of the three dossiers. Or be forced to listen to Ryu Taejo’s violin performance and hear her gush like we’re a match made in heaven. If I wanted to marry a violinist, Curtis had plenty of prodigies to choose from.
“I’ll see if I can come by tomorrow,” I say instead.
“You will come by because we have a facial appointment.” She strokes my cheek affectionately. “You work too hard. It looks like you’ve aged ten years since I saw you last month.”
I laugh. I swear, there must be a secret society of Korean moms where they exchange the best over-the-top lines to use on their children. “I doubt that.” Although if I look ten years older now, maybe the dossiers will lose interest. They want a young and pretty wife, not some hag. On the other hand, I don’t want to look old and haggard just to avoid marrying my family’s choice. The love of my life deserves the fresh, beautiful me!
Hell, I deserve to be fresh and beautiful, just because it makes me feel good about myself.
“Good night,” Declan says.
“Good night,” Mom says politely, thank God. It is, however, a good sign she didn’t speak in Korean the entire time and have Ms. Lim translate for her. She does that sometimes with people she doesn’t feel like talking to. Talk about awkward.
Declan and I walk out of the hotel. Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim follow.
“You’re coming with me now?” I ask Mr. Choi in Korean, doing my best to hide my annoyance, since he’s probably just doing what he’s been told.
“Yes, Ms. Hae. Your mother’s orders. She’s worried about your safety. She’s going to ask more members of the security team to fly over to join us.”
“That’s such an overreaction. You’re more than capable of protecting me.”
Mr. Choi flushes a little, but Ms. Kim steps in. “She read the latest crime statistics for Los Angeles and is concerned.”
I sigh. Mom thinks people in American cities go around snarling, “Make my day,” and having shootouts in broad daylight like in Dirty Harry. Hollywood needs to make more realistic movies.
“So. Who are these two?” Declan asks, eyeing my small entourage.
“My bodyguard/chauffeur and my assistant. Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim. They’re great people, but they report to my mom. They speak excellent English, if you’re wondering. And they really report everything to my mom, right down to when I sneeze.”
Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim smile at Declan.
Declan smiles back, although it doesn’t have its usual sparkle. He looks a bit puzzled. And apprehensive. “Are they driving you?”
“No. You’re driving me.” I angle myself so that Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim can’t see my face. So we can talk, I mouth. “They can follow in another car.”
“Ms. Hae, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Mr. Choi says.
“Declan’s an excellent driver,” I say, although I know what he’s really worried about. He thinks Declan and I might do something inappropriate that will upset Mom.
I feel slightly sorry for Mr. Choi. He’s too late, for one thing. Declan and I already did it. And I’m too old to be chaperoned, and this is the twenty-first century. He really has a thankless job.
The valets bring out Declan’s Lamborghini and a black Mercedes for Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim. I climb into the passenger seat, and Declan takes off.
I let out my first easy breath. It’s just comforting and safe to be around Declan. I adore my mother, but she can be a bit much, especially when something’s bugging her. I just wish I knew what it was so I could figure out the best way of dealing with her.
“So, where are we going? Your place or mine?” he asks.
“Mine,” I say morosely. “Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it from Mom because Ms. Kim will tell her.” And right now, I’d rather not have a battle with her, especially when I’m going to be seeing him on Monday anyway.
“Is Ms. Kim the one your mom was talking about? The one who’s supposedly going to replace you?”
“Yup. And she isn’t wrong about Ms. Kim being amazing. She’s very thorough.” Which is why I like her even when she’s spying on me. Sloppy assistants are the worst.
“Yeah, but she’s never going to be as amazing as you are.”
I smile. He doesn’t sound too peeved about Mom’s high-handedness. “Thanks. And thanks for being patient at the restaurant. My mother can be very stubborn.”
“She cares about you.”
“Yes, but…” I sigh. “She wasn’t kind about your career. Sorry about that.”
“Does she have some kind of issue with celebrities?”
“It’s not really her, it’s the family. In Korea, high-profile families like mine don’t like celebrities. We value our privacy too much. Media attention is generally undesirable because most of it is just clickbait headlines, which means most stories tend to be negative. We like to control what goes out and what’s said about us. But celebrities are different. Even if you don’t care for it, you need the attention and spotlight. You want people to talk about you and write about you.”
“But that’s Korea. We’re in L.A., and the tabloids aren’t going to be writing about you.”
“Not the American tabloids. But the Korean media is going to be very, very interested.” A slight headache is developing. It always happens when Mom and I discuss the dossiers. “And they won’t be kind to you, because they want sensational headlines. I should’ve thought about that.”
Declan’s life isn’t for public consumption for amusement and advertising money. Just like mine isn’t.
“No, you shouldn’t. You should always do what makes you happy.”
His left hand is clenched around the steering wheel, but he reaches out with his right and takes mine gently, like it’s a flower. He threads his fingers through and squeezes.
The painful ticking at the base of my skull eases. I’m used to people giving lip service to “You should do what makes you happy” and then turning around and wanting me to do something that makes them happy. And Mom’s no exception. She wants me to marry for love, but ideally from the dossiers. When I told her I was dating Declan and I like him, she said he wasn’t from the right level or class.
It’s so ridiculously medieval. I know about all the dirty scandals of the people fr
om the “right” class. I doubt Declan’s done even five percent of their crap.
“It doesn’t feel like anything right now, but it’s going to be a problem as you spend more and more time together,” she said. “He’s never going to fit into our world. He’s never going to understand the restrictions and norms.”
Well, obviously. Chaebol is a world of its own even in Korea. And Declan being a model and actor is a huge deficit. Chaebol people almost never marry a celebrity. Even when they do…
I can’t think of a single chaebol-celebrity union that ended well. And I don’t recall any of them marrying foreigners, either. So a foreign celebrity is exponentially worse.
But then again, so what? That’s them, and I’m me. Just because I’m a chaebol heiress doesn’t mean I have to live my life a certain way to suit the chaebol norm. Screw that. I’ve only got one time around the track, and I’m not going to waste it trying to make someone else happy.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“My pleasure. And are you going to quit early for real?” he asks.
“I don’t want to. But I have to warn you, if I continue to work for you, Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim are going to tag along. Plus, Mom apparently asked for more bodyguards. They’ll be here in the next day or two.”
“Why do you need so many? Are you in some kind of trouble?” His voice grows taut. “A stalker or something?” He should know all about stalkers and freaks. Just look at his dumb ex and that sister of his. The half one. Given how ugly and foul she is, I don’t think she should count as even half a sibling, really.
“No. She’s just being overprotective.”
“Because of me?” Declan asks. “She wants to make sure you and I maintain a respectable distance?”
“No, it isn’t about you. She’s always like this when I’m in the States.” Not that it always works. I’ve ditched them before, and I can probably ditch them again.
He sighs. “I feel like I’m back in high school with the girl’s parents hovering around and making sure I don’t do anything.”
I laugh at the image, then pull my hand away and pat his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get rid of Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim so we can have some private time.”
