by JA Huss
And I see it all over her face as she processes. She understands what’s happening. She knows this is it. The moment we split apart forever.
“I was nine.”
“What?” she says, her voice low and throaty. Like she needs to clear it. But that’s not what that voice means. She’s going to cry. I know this, because I know her.
“When my grandfather first showed up during my summer camp.”
“What?” This time the word comes out with a long breath of air. Like she can’t decide if she’s relieved or not.
“Damian Li? Remember him? He used to come around a lot when we were little.”
Rory swallows hard and nods her head. “OK,” she says, giving me permission to keep going.
“I went to Hong Kong that year.”
But she’s already shaking her head no before I finish my sentence. “No. I got a new kitten that year. Pretty Paws. I remember that summer vividly and you went to the University of Southern California for—”
“I lied, Rory. To you. To my mom and dad. To everyone.”
The look on her face is crushing. She deflates before my eyes. Her shoulders slump and even in this low light—just a bit of moonshine coming in the big window above her bed—I can see them get glassy.
“It was a lie. All of it was a lie. My grandfather picked me up at the airport every summer in a private jet and took me to Hong Kong.”
“But your mom and dad? They’d know—”
“They didn’t know.”
“So you… you just lied to everyone?”
It’s my turn to nod my head. “I did.” And then I correct that last part. “We did.”
“Why?” It comes out loud now. Incredulous and disbelieving.
I am not the person she thinks I am. And I have never actually been that person. “Because I was his only grandson. He’s half-Chinese, you know that, right?”
“I…” She stammers, caught off guard with my question. “I never thought about it, I guess.”
“No. Most people wouldn’t. But it means something where he comes from. To be this thing. To be me.” I get up off the bed and take a step towards her.
“I know what he does,” Rory says, her head tilting up to keep my gaze locked in hers as I approach. “I know who he is.”
“Then you can see where this is going,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close one last time. I let her sink into me and rest her head against my chest. I hold this moment in my mind. Brand it into my brain. And it sears me. It hurts me to say the words that have to come out next.
I open my mouth to speak. Because it has to be said and I can’t stand the crushing pressure that feels like the ceiling is coming down on top of me. About to squeeze me until I die. Flatten me into nothingness. I can’t stand the uncertainty, either.
“Do you know why I kept those stars above my bed all these years?” Rory beats me to it and her question is so unexpected, I pause. Then the pause turns into a full stop.
“Why?” I ask, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.
“Because I fell in love with you that day.”
I smile, picturing us.
“You were eight that fall.”
“And you were on your way as well,” I say. Our birthdays are only a few months apart, despite the fact that I was always a year ahead of her in school.
“We met at our usual place after school.”
“The front stoop, out by the yard gates.”
“You always got there first, but not that day,” she says.
“No.” I laugh, lost in the memory. “I had to make a side trip to the art room. It was a Tuesday, so I knew your mom was busy with Belle and I wouldn’t get in trouble.”
“She had her mommy class,” Rory says. “And your mom was always late picking us up those days, remember?”
“My mom.” I chuckle. “She was always kind of a flighty mess when it came to schedules. Always on her own time.”
“Well, in her defense,” Rory says, pulling away from me so she can look up at my face, “she did have to bring those three face-eaters with her.”
God. Those damn German Shepherds we always had when I was growing up. My dad was obsessed with protection dogs.
“And you gave me those stars when we got to your house while I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up. You even typed up an instruction manual on how to hang them, and then printed it out for me to take home.”
I laugh out loud at that. “I’d forgotten that part.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Rory says, her tone soft and serious again. “I didn’t forget a single moment of that day.” She gazes up at me for a few seconds before continuing. “Because that’s the day when I truly realized that you cared, Five. It wasn’t enough to just make me that gift of sparkly stars. You needed to go ten steps further and make sure putting them up was easy. Of course, my dad did it. But he looked at your manual for guidance. To make sure he got it right. And even though I was just a little girl—a little girl who was surrounded by love on all sides, every day of her short life—this was something deeper. This was more than love. It was you being careful about my happiness.”
“Rory,” I interrupt her, wanting to explain everything that’s been happening all these years.
But she places a fingertip on my lips and says, “Shhh. I’m not done yet.”
So I stop. And I listen.
“I went to bed early that night,” she says. “Just so I could look up at the sky you made for me and wish on my favorite star that no one else in the entire world would ever see but me.”
“What did you wish for, Princess?” My throat feels tight. Like there’s something hard and sad in there. And my heart aches just being here with her. Living in the past with her. All the while knowing I’m gonna lose her.
“I wished for you to be as happy as me that night, Five. But I think I should’ve been more specific. Because whoever the Big Man with the Wishes is, he got it wrong, didn’t he?”
“Did he?” I have to take a deep breath to continue. “I was very happy back then.”
“Me too,” she says. “But I haven’t been happy for so long now, Five, I forgot what it feels like. Until yesterday when I saw you again. You, Five Aston, are the meaning of happy for me. And I have been kicking myself for six years, cursing the Big Man with the Wishes, for not telling him I want me to make you happy.”
“Oh, Ror. It’s you, babe. You’re the only thing in this entire world that makes me happy. The only thing.”
“Then why are you here tonight, Five? Why did you come up here in my room to tell me goodbye? Just tell me the truth. I can take it, OK? I promise, I can. I will listen. I will be calm. I will let you make your case and you have to let me make mine. But if you still want to walk away from me when all that’s said and done, I’ll let you go. And I won’t be mad, or sad, or hold it against you. Because you’re the kind of prince who gives his princess the stars and then types up an instruction manual just to make sure she gets every ounce of joy out of it she can.”
I just stand there, gazing down into her blue eyes, wondering how the hell I could fuck up something so perfect. We were fated to be together. From day one, I was waiting on her to complete my life. And even though I don’t remember being a baby—I have no recollection of those few months that separated our time here on Earth—I know I was incomplete until she came along. I felt it.
“So tell me now. What did you have to say when I came up here?”
It’s my turn to deflate. Because there’s only one thing in this world that will make me happy and I have her in my arms right here, right now.
And I can’t keep her. There’s just no way I can keep her.
“I have to go to China,” I finally manage. My words are low and my voice sounds just like my mind. Filled with sadness.
“And I can’t come, can I?”
I shake my head. “No, Princess. You can’t come. It’s the kind of place you can’t walk away from once you’re there.”
A tear slides down her cheek. But she wipes it away and draws in some courage with her next deep breath. “OK,” she says. “But I’d like to go on record that I come from a family of badass bitches.”
I laugh. Kinda loud. Even though it’s inappropriate because she’s being totally serious.
“And I can hold my own, Five Aston.”
I swipe a finger down her face to wipe away another falling tear. “I know, Princess,” I whisper. “But what kind of a prince would I be if I rescued you from the tower only to bring you straight to the dragon’s lair?”
She shrugs. “A confident one?”
“A selfish one,” I correct her. “I’d be the most selfish guy on this whole planet, Rory Shrike. And I’d never be able to live with myself. Ever. There’s no time to make an instruction manual right now. There’s no time to be careful with your happiness. There’s just… there’s just…”
“Goodbye,” she says, half sobbing.
I nod my head. And even though I feel like my chest is splitting in half from the heartbreak, I pull away. I pry her tightly wrapped hands from my waist and back away, keeping her at arm’s length.
“I love you,” I say. “And that’s why this is happening.”
And then I turn and walk out, crushing her fairy tale fantasy forever.
PART TWO
Chapter Seventeen - Five
Three Months later
“Excuse me, Mr. Aston?”
I turn in the first-class check-in line at the gate to see who’s asking. Tall, skinny guy. Wearing an airline uniform.
“Yes?” I say, eyeing how fast the line is moving so I don’t hold anyone up.
“I have an urgent message for you.”
Jesus. What fresh hell is this? I stare at the guy, waiting on my message. But he just smiles. “Well, what is it?”
“It’s private, I’m afraid. I’m to escort you to a secure phone immediately.”
I eye the line again, about to ask if this is really necessary, but asking if an urgent message is urgent seems… idiotic. So I step out of line and say, “Fine. Lead the way.”
We walk fast. And I’m not sure if this is for my benefit—so I don’t miss my flight—or if the message is so urgent we should really be running.
Please let it be the first one.
A few minutes later we enter the first-class lounge for the airline and he hustles me into an out-of-the-way corridor. Which means it’s almost certainly the second option.
“Here you are,” the guy says, panning his arms to a room with a phone and a desk. “Your party is already on the line.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching into my pocket to tip him.
But he puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. “I’m your complimentary attendant, Mr. Aston. Tips are not necessary.”
I sigh. Yeah. That’s not what I wanted to hear.
He closes the door behind him and I step towards the phone. There’s one blinking red light, which I push as I pick up the handset and say, “Five Aston.”
And silence.
“Hello?”
A computerized voice speaks on the other end of the line. “Please return immediately.” The line dies and all that’s left is the annoying buzz of a dial tone.
Wonderful.
I get out my cell, push the contact for the company jet, and go through the automated system to set up a flight.
It gives me a place—not here at Heathrow, more wonderful—and a time. Two hours from now. I hang up and check my map app to find that the airstrip reserved for me is one hour and forty-five minutes away.
Something very bad is happening.
I want to call everyone I care about right now. And I do mean everyone. Every family member, every friend, and… Rory.
But calling her is out of the question. Not even in the same universe.
So I take a deep breath and leave the room, walk out of the lounge, walk through the terminal, and trek all the way back to the front entrance to my waiting car.
There will be a car. I don’t even need to think about it. And sure enough, when I finally step outside, there’s a driver holding a card with the airstrip printed on it.
So I’m not even allowed to give my name.
I walk up to the man and nod. “That’s me.”
“Very good, sir,” he says in a clipped English accent as he opens the rear door of the limo.
I slide in, resign myself to a very long journey, and close my eyes to ponder the many dozens of ways this crisis might change my life.
Every time I settle into this life I was given, this happens. Every single time. And I know—I can just feel it—this time will probably be the upending I never saw coming. I’ve never been yanked away from business like this. Ever.
But there’s nothing left to do but go with it. I have been given orders and in my line of work, you follow orders.
Just part of the job.
The drive is long, boring, and doesn’t end a moment too soon. We pull into the airstrip, the limo stops just a few meters from the plane, and the driver hastily gets out to open my door. I allow that to happen since it’s his job, and don’t we all just want to do our jobs?
“Have a nice flight, sir,” the driver says as I turn away and walk to the jet.
“Thank you,” I say politely. But there’s no way this is going to be a nice flight and I don’t need to see the look on Chen’s face to know that. Everything about this cryptic diversion already told me all I need to know.
“Your grandfather is dead,” Chen says.
Except that.
“What?”
“Come inside. We’re ready for takeoff.”
I don’t even know how I get to my seat. I don’t even remember taking off. I just know that Chen has been talking the entire time and I have no idea what he’s been saying and we’re already in the air at cruising altitude.
“Do you know what to do?” Chen asks, apparently having run out of things to say.
“Yes,” comes out automatically. But I have no idea what to do.
Damian Li is dead. The only grandfather I’ve ever known. The man who picked me up from summer camp back when I was nine and told me who I was. What it meant. How it would impact my future.
Damian Li is dead.
The head of the Chinese mob. The Boss. The Man. The King, for all intents and purposes.
Damian Li is dead.
And I’m his prince. His only male heir, because my little brother is way too young. Waiting in the wings to take over where he left off.
“How did it happen?” I ask, letting whatever pointless things Chen was just talking about fade away.
Chen looks at me with sad eyes. He’s half-American, but he’s got way more Chinese blood in him than I do. Damian was only half and my mother just one quarter. I’m… an eighth Chinese, I guess?
They will never accept me. Ever. I look way too much like a spoiled American boy. Way too much like my father. And this is just the start of a very long, uphill battle for a job I never asked for, never wanted, and would do just about anything to get out of.
No, I decide. We don’t all just want to do our jobs.
“We suspect poison,” Chen says.
Of course we do. “What kind of poison?” I ask, looking down at the glass of whiskey one of the attendants put on my armrest, my paranoia beginning to get the best of me.
Chen notices and shakes his head. Which means in no uncertain terms, Do. Not. Drink. That.
I nod, and resist the urge to glance up towards the galley where the flight attendant is fixing something to eat.
Well, this is going to be a very long flight to Hong Kong if we can’t eat or drink the entire time.
“We won’t know until the toxicology comes back,” Chen says. “It’s going up the chain of command at our most trusted medical facility, but we don’t have an estimate yet.”
“OK,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Did anyone call my mother?”
Chen shakes
his head. “We thought you should do it.”
Of course they did.
“But I would advise calling your father privately first.”
Of course he would.
“Did anyone check on my family?”
“We have people in place. There’s no movement.”
“And Rory?”
“That…”—Chen stops, like he’s choosing his words carefully— “will require further discussion.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “We put this plan in place so she’d be safe. You fucking told me that if I got her to walk away, she’d be safe. So just what the fuck does further fucking discussion mean?”
“Calm down, Five,” Chen says, patting the air with his hand. “That plan is still on track. But today—just a few hours ago, in fact—there was a development.”
“Define. Development.” I growl out the words.
“She was invited to a…” He shrugs. “A party. Or something. Tomorrow night.” He averts his eyes. Clearly he doesn’t trust this flight attendant. But I’m not sure how seriously I should take that suspicion, since he doesn’t trust anyone. “We can talk about it when we land.”
“We won’t land for another twelve hours,” I say, getting more pissed off by the second.
“She’s fine. You did everything right, Five. You got her the hell away from you and everything is fine.”
“I want to go see her, Chen. Before Hong Kong.”
“Out of the question,” he says. This time he’s pantomiming a stop gesture with his hand. “If you want to keep her safe you will stay as far away from Princeton University as you can. Hong Kong is the definition of that place. And besides,” he adds, softening his tone, “they’re expecting you. You have known for a long time that this moment would come. You must show up and do your job.”
My job. “Fuck my job, Chen. I don’t care about my job. I care about my people.”
“We are your people. Say anything you want to me, but listen to me, Five. When you get off this plane you will not say anything to anyone other than, ‘Thank you for your condolences.’ Do you understand? This is a very precarious situation and keeping Rory safe depends on you taking power. You do not take power by abdicating it the first chance you get.”
