Temper: Deference: Book One of the TEMPER Saga

by Lila Mina

  “Hm, Frank, don’t freak out, but I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

  “Oh! Go ahead, shoot! Anything as long as it’s not too illegal,” he said with an exaggerated wink. She repressed a burning need to eye-roll.

  “Nah, but could be a bit of a bother, pompous and all. I’ve got a wedding coming up two weeks from now, and no date. Would you be fine coming with me? If you’re free, of course. You mentioned dating someone from accounting a couple of months ago...”

  “It’s your lucky day because I broke up with her last week. And a wedding sounds cool!” he grinned. “I’m always down for parties with pretty girls everywhere, and decent food and drinks! Send me the details later on.”

  “Oh, that’s great! Let’s do this.” Lana gave him a warmer smile this time, relieved to have solved her problem so easily. “I have to get back to my desk now, but let’s talk about this later, okay?”

  “No problem! Thanks for the invitation.”

  Admit it, his smile is cute. As she sat behind her desk, Lana stared at the impressive cityscape outside her window. At her feet, the streets of the Roppongi business district crawled with the morning crowds as small as busy ants. This view was the only nice thing of her small office; that and the fact it had a door, a blessing in a country where most employees worked in an open space. Lana felt a bit bad and manipulative toward Frank but shrugged it off and dug back into her reports.

  Later, Gabriella knocked at her door for their daily lunch date.

  “Ciao bella, here is your fix of delicious bento box!” She put down heavy plastic bags on Lana’s desk.

  “My, my, thank you,” Lana exclaimed, pushing aside her keyboard and two piles of documents she had yet to get through. She closed her curtains so that her friend wouldn’t get blinded by the bright sunlight. “What day is it? Monday? So, I guess it must be zaru soba and shrimp tempura?”

  “Yes! I finally recovered from my fried-food overdose. Can’t believe it took me two weeks to get over that mountain of food you stuffed me with.” Gabriella unbuttoned her gray business jacket, kicked off her high heels, and kneeled on the guest chair opposite to Lana’s cluttered desk.

  Lana swirled in her chair and snorted. “Oh, it’s my fault now? How about that awful mix of cocktails you gulped down? Blame the cute barman who wanted to help you celebrate properly! But my shoes don’t thank you!” They erupted in giggles then busied themselves eating their lunch in companionable silence.

  “So, you remember the wedding invitation I got?” Lana pushed away her empty tray with a sigh of satisfaction. “Well, I've decided to go with Frank. I figured it could be a good way to solve my no-date problem."

  “Frank… Frank Dubois?” Gabriella asked between her last two mouthfuls.

  “Yes, from the IT department. The guy who transferred from Belgium last year I think. Quite tall and athletic, gray eyes, brown hair.”

  “Not bad looking, but I don’t like the vibes I get from him. Be careful.”

  “Should I be afraid for my virtue?” Lana grinned.

  “Tsk, virtue, what’s that, girlfriend? No idea what he’s worth in bed, but he’s dubious good date material.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I saw him snap at our office ladies for no reason. And the other day, he was quite the arrogant ass during an in-house training session about our new CRM.”

  “Well, as long as he doesn’t embarrass me in front of my dojo comrades and the rest of the school, I can manage him for one evening. Otherwise I’ll just strangle him on the spot!”

  “That’s my Lana!” Gabriella laughed. Turning serious, she leaned forward, a spark in her eye. “Now, are you finally ready to spill it?”

  Lana winced, and her good humor went down several notches. “You never give up, do you? No, like I told you already twenty times now, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Come on! You’ve been ruminating and on the edge since February. I’m all good with giving you slack, but I’m getting worried! Clamping down like this isn’t your style. So yeah, I feel I’ve got to turn all pitbull on you.”

  “Cara mia, calm down. Nothing bad happened, I told you. It’s too weird, personal and… emotional, I guess, so I want to process it on my own. Not the guy’s fault, mind you. But you’re right, it’s been too long already, I have to snap out of it.” She gave her best friend a strained smile. “I’ll tell you about it over a drink sometime. Let me get this wedding thing behind me, okay? Douche or no douche, hanging out with Frank will help get me back on track.”

  “Never hesitate, all right? We need to take care of each other, especially when it’s tough.”

  Lana squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re right. We’ll get together soon. But let me warn you, it’s not for the faint of heart,” she chuckled.

  “Really? Now you have to tell me! Gosh, and I don’t have a thing to report…”

  “Be careful what you wish for… Anyway, do you have time tonight to help me shop for a dress?”

  “Girl, you’re asking the shopping queen!”

  The day of the wedding came. After spending her Saturday morning cleaning up her two-bedroom, kitchen and living apartment, Lana stood in front of her vanity mirror and gave herself two thumbs up. Her cream and light gold dress fit her curvy figure like a glove. Her favorite hairdresser had outdone herself this time: Lana’s straight hair was now a crown of curls adorning her head in an airy updo, freeing her neck.

  With only light foundation and powder, her natural makeup illuminated her rosy face. She hated lipstick, even for formal occasions, so she went with a simple dark gray eyeshadow and black mascara to highlight her eyes. She counted her blessings, because for once, she didn't have too many bruises on her forearms.

  She frowned at her reflection. Something was missing, some nice final touch. Ransacking through her drawers, she smiled, triumphant, at the gold and white pearl hairpin bought ten years earlier in Rome. It offset her black pearl earrings and necklace perfectly.

  At 4 pm, Frank was at her door to pick her up. When he saw her, he whooped and took a bow.

  “Lana, you look amazing!” he exclaimed with a large grin and a sparkle in his eyes. Lana smiled back. The guy didn’t hold back on compliments.

  “Thank you, Frank. You’re handsome as well.” Frank looked impressive in a formal suit that had a clean cut. Her trained Italian eye told her it wasn’t cheap. He had told her he practiced tennis three times a week. She appreciated the muscles under her fingers when she took his arm.

  “Shall we go, then? The car and the chauffeur are waiting.”

  “Wow, Frank! That’s true VIP treatment.”

  He let her step inside the car first but, to her slight annoyance, sat right next to her on the middle seat. She would have preferred to have more space between them; she wasn’t the kind to cuddle. The car took off to the trendy and high-scale Yoyogi area, between Shinjuku and Shibuya districts, to the five-star hotel where the wedding would take place.

  “So…uh, what movie have you seen most recently?” Lana said to start the conversation. This felt like being a teenager all over again. Still, it was safer to start off on some neutral ground, far from any company gossip.

  “Ah well, I’m a bit of a sci-fi buff,” he replied, excited and animated. “I saw Star Wars a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Ah, yeah, to be honest, I stuck with the original trilogy and didn’t want to watch anything else. I loved those three so much, I always feared ending up disappointed…”

  Frank laughed. “Well, I don’t want to start an endless discussion about that, so let’s agree to disagree. Any interest in the Avengers series?”

  “Sure, now and then, blockbusters are always fun to watch,” Lana replied, while she leaned against the car’s door to put some additional room between them. Frank seemed to like invading her personal sphere a little too soon in their date. “But, uh, how about Japanese-made movies? I’m a samurai drama fan. Did you see Nobunaga Concerto? It was hilarious.”

 
; “Ah, to be honest, my Japanese sucks, and without subtitles, movies are a pain. Also, I don’t know… it’s always the same stories…” Lana struggled not to snort but let it pass. “By the way, your Quebec accent is so cute. I love it when you say ‘oui’. But it’s weaker than… I don’t know… Patrice’s from accounting, for example.”

  Lana sighed and tried to keep her smile in place. Such a typical, Old-Continent, condescending micro-aggression. “I could say the same about yours, you know? You must be from Brussels. I swear, some Belgian people could have been born and raised in Quebec,” she retorted. “But, well, my father spent most of his adult life in Europe. I guess my ten years in Montreal later on made my accent come back.”

  “Woah, don’t fret! That was a compliment. A cute way of saying things in the lovely mouth of a beautiful girl,” Frank replied, hands raised to appease her.

  Lana took a deep breath and gave him another strained smile. She was no ‘girl’ anymore, but he was trying to compliment her. It wouldn’t work if her temper got in the way. Gabriella’s words of warning made her too hyper-sensitive. He’s trying. He’s super awkward, but he’s trying. Give him a chance. You jumped into the bed of an overbearing guy with an ego the size of an elephant; you can go out for dinner with a superhero fan.

  “Ah, well, thank you... I’m… not so used to this anymore. It’s been awhile since I was twenty, you know?” She chuckled, hoping he would get her hint that ‘girl’ wasn’t appropriate.

  “Well, you sure look like you are,” Frank said with a large grin. Lana rolled her eyes and forced a laugh, swatting his hand away playfully as it was again a bit too close to her thigh.

  To her relief, thanks to their driver’s impeccable sense of traffic, they arrived ten minutes later. Ten long minutes of heavy flirting that drained her energy and rattled her nerves. Once in the hotel, staff ushered them inside an enormous ballroom, with burgundy walls, a lush, deep red and black carpet, and illuminated by six large crystal chandeliers. Several dozen flower arrangements complemented the opulent settings and the hidden speakers offered low-key classical music. Many guests had gathered around oversized round tables; Lana estimated there were thirty of those.

  Most weddings in Japan were less a joyful celebration for two happy individuals, and more a formal affair joining two families after months of discussions involving third parties. Even in less rigid contexts, priority was given to your boss, colleagues and friends of the parents. Family and friends of the newlyweds were at the bottom of the list. Thankfully, in this case, friends and colleagues were the same; the mood was more easy-going than usual. They found their table, and Lana was happy to see Tim and his wife Yurika already sitting there.

  “Hi, guys! Great to see you’re at our table,” Lana greeted her friends. “Frank, Tim and Yurika are my aikido sempai and good friends. This is Frank Dubois; we work at the same company.”

  Tim extended his hand toward Frank with a large and welcoming smile. “Hi, Frank. Nice to meet you.”

  Frank appeared relieved to find a fellow non-Japanese at their table and shook his hand energetically. But then he winced, and she hid her smile. While Tim was rather short and lean, his strength was above average. As he was friendly and even-tempered, people underestimated him, unaware that under his good-natured attitude was a man with a spine of steel and crushing muscles to match.

  “Delighted to meet both of you,” Frank replied through his teeth, flexing his hand discreetly. Lana frowned; he hadn’t bothered to hide his annoyance. “What do you do besides aikido?”

  “Please excuse me for a few minutes,” Lana piped in before anyone could reply. “I need to find the ladies’ room before settling in.”

  The restroom was at the end of the main corridor outside the reception hall. To her relief, not too many people stood in line. But just as she headed back to the main room, her heart jumped in her throat, and she nearly did a U-turn. Only years of working in a tough business environment kept her from cursing loud and clear. Oh, that’s not fair! Come on, you’ve got to help me here!

  6

  Facing the Truth

  Honda stood a few meters away, blocking her access to the reception hall doorway. That he was also a guest wasn’t a real surprise, but to think it would be like every week at practice had been a terrible mistake.

  On the mats, she could handle it because plenty of other priorities called for her attention. But to her growing horror, seeing him outside the dojo was another story altogether. And what he wore didn’t help. At all.

  He was dressed in a montuki, a formal kimono made of black silk, worn as tradition required with black hakama pants and a matching haori jacket on top. The outfit made him appear even taller and broader. Three white kamon–family crests–at the level of his shoulders testified to the formality of the event.

  A discussion with fellow members of their dojo held his attention. Salt-and-pepper hair neatly cut, his stern face, unlined and tanned, made his air of authority undeniable.

  To her dismay, her treacherous body reacted to this vision of male perfection. Heat flared in her belly and painted her cheeks red. Memories of their fateful afternoon flooded her–not only its disastrous ending but also all the juicy and incredible aspects that led to it.

  Adding salt to her reopened wounds, Honda had the loveliest Japanese lady at his side. Slightly older than Lana, somewhere over forty. Her extraordinary light blue kimono, patterned with golden cranes and pine tree designs below her waistline, was priceless; her attire also showed three kamon. This was an irotomesode–a type of kimono only worn by married women. Her poise spoke of high education and elite background. Inner grace and beauty shone through her graceful posture and delicate frame.

  His wife. No doubt about it.

  Rocked by a wave of self-consciousness, Lana felt ridiculous, gauche and stocky in contrast. The tag price on her dress didn’t matter; her expertise and degrees could never match a lifetime of polished skills ingrained from birth.

  “What are you doing, stupid cow?” Lana muttered, staring blindly at her smartphone to give herself a semblance of countenance. “There’s no competition. You were never an item, it’s over! You walked out, remember? Get a grip!”

  What were her options? Leave Frank and everyone else behind, claiming stomach cramps or something? Turn on her heels and hide in the restroom and then hope that her table was far from theirs? Or treat the problem like a hostile business confrontation, with the strength Honda had assumed she possessed... until she proved him wrong.

  Fate decided for her. Right then, she glanced up only to meet Honda’s piercing glare.

  With hindsight, she’d sometimes wonder what truly pushed her to jump and meet head-on his silent challenge to stay put. She could have played it cool and safe; she could have waited it out and let them walk inside. But far from making her cower, the dark tempest brewing in his stare ignited something inside her.

  Defiance, desire or something else, unnamed and unseen – she would never be able to explain what compelled her to act that day. And maybe it had nothing to do with him, but with her. The first inkling of an invisible pull. The third piece falling into place.

  And so, on that fateful day, Lana locked eyes with Honda. Chin high, she pasted a confident smile on her lips. Tapping into her inner strength and rebelling against any concept of respectful deference, she walked up to his group. After all, she had every right to join them. No way she’d let him dictate where she could go and what she could do.

  To her smug satisfaction, his jaw tightened, and his eyes widened. Her smart dress was doing its job.

  Lana turned to his companion, who stared right back; to her surprise, the woman seemed to appraise her. Face serene, her discerning eyes traveled up and down Lana’s body.

  Such an open assessment made Lana blush, but she kept her composure, switching to a polite smile. How much does she already know? How much is she figuring out? She can’t miss the pool of sweat at my feet!

  “Sensei, good eveni
ng. How nice to see you here tonight.”

  “Martin san, good evening,” Honda replied in low tones. Not a growl but still different from his usual professional voice. He was as bothered as she felt. For a few heartbeats, nobody spoke. Awkwardness lay thick in the air. “May I introduce my wife, Yuki?” Honda added, as if an afterthought. “Yuki san, this is Lana Martin san, the mudansha at my dojo I told you about.”

  Lana took her most respectful bow, not surprised by his use of honorific in relation to his wife given his conservative behavior. She thanked all local deities she didn’t have to shake hands. Sweaty and cold palms wouldn’t have sent the right message. They exchanged the ritual sentences of self-introduction.

  Now that she was so close to Yuki, her classical beauty took her aback. They were of the same size, but their resemblance ended there. Jet-black hair piled up in a complex hairdo and held in place by silver pins framed her perfect ivory face. A steely strength emanated from her, and Lana would have bet she also practiced a martial art. A delicate perfume surrounded her.

  Lana blinked at the sensual vibes assaulting her senses and she clamped down the need to lick her lips. Something shifted inside her. Uh, what’s going on here, girl? Since when does this fire you up?

  “Martin san, it is a pleasure to meet you. My husband has told me all about you. He forgot to mention how beautiful you are, however,” Yuki said with an enigmatic smile.

  It took Lana the last threads of her nerves and self-control to avoid blushing; she didn’t dare assume anything about what the spouses confessed to each other. Who knew what their kinks were? But even if his wife knew everything, she should be giving her at best a cold shoulder, at worst scornful despite. Not open compliments and warm smiles.

  Unsure of where she stood, Lana went with self-deprecating humor. “Ah, well, I don’t wear designer dresses at the dojo, and the cut of this one would make a bear look slender.”