“It was,” I say. “The things they exposed needed to be revealed.”
Dad nods. “Then you did the right thing.”
It’s as simple as that for him. His trust in me, in my judgment, is so weighty I almost cry again. I’ve disappointed him—I must have—coming back like this, but he’s accepting the necessity of it because I’ve said so.
I sit cross-legged on the floor, my usual position. When I was younger, I could watch my father from here as he read the paper, did work, or spoke with guests. I still remember a particular evening when my father’s uncle was here, the way he and my father sat together on the couch, talking about things I couldn’t understand, my favorite doll tucked under the coffee table, a toy horse next to me.
My great-uncle is gone and so are my toys, but I still sit in this spot when I’m at home.
My skirt pools around me, the gold velvet stark against the plain beige rug of the living room. I should change, toss aside my blanket and put this dress far, far away from me, but if I do that, the last threads of fantasy will dissolve completely.
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I tried so hard to stay.” I sniffle again but catch myself before I start sobbing all over.
“I know.” My father waves his hand as if shooing all my justifications away. “You’ve always done your best at everything you tried.”
It doesn’t feel that way though. There must have been something I could have done, some way that this didn’t happen.
I only wish I’d told Paul… something. Maybe even that I love him, although if I see him again, that will make things awkward. He’d be too polite to say anything, but I would know.
He was going to tell me something after the gala though. When our eyes met on stage, I felt it, the immensity of what was between us.
Or maybe that was the fantasy. The fear of being taken is seeping into all the memories of the gala, tainting them. Maybe what I think I remember wasn’t there at all.
I put the heels of my palms into my eyes, my leftover makeup gritty on my skin. “I need a bath.”
“And a meal,” my father says. “But first some tea.”
He brings me a cup, steaming and smelling of delicate jasmine. I take a deep breath of the steam and start to slump, the anxiety that’s been holding me up for the past few hours finally dissolving.
“Thank you,” I mumble. I could put my head on the coffee table and sleep right here. I did it as a child, and it looks so inviting now.
“Your mom should be home soon.” Dad has sat back down on the couch in his usual spot. “She went out with some of her friends. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
She won’t, although she’ll hide it well. She’ll be worried, scared, confused by my surprise arrival. Basically all the same emotions churning through me.
I take a sip of tea even though my stomach is very, very unhappy with me, because it would be rude not to. Too much traveling, too much trauma, too much everything in the past twenty-four hours.
My head droops, my eyes closing. I fight the exhaustion because I need to finish my tea, wait for my mother to come home, and somehow contact January and let her know that I’m fine. And Paul…
I’m asleep before I can finish the thought.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Being home again is both agonizing and soothing at the same time.
To be in the familiar rhythms of life here, eating the foods I grew up with, speaking the dialect that was my first language, being among the people who know me best—it’s the exact medicine I need for my broken heart.
But to see the cameras tracking everyone, going onto the internet hobbled by government censorship, being reminded of my great-uncle whenever I catch my father in a certain light, hurts my soul all over again.
In the end, I told my parents everything. About Corvus and Fuchs, and even about Paul. At least the fake engagement part. Not about falling in love with him.
They were shocked and confused and couldn’t understand why I’d do such a thing—and why I’d lie to them about it—but I couldn’t explain it in a way that made sense to them. Yes, I owed Paul for his help, but to fake an engagement? And lie to his entire family?
When they put it like that, shame sizzled through me. I should have told Paul no, that I wouldn’t lie for him.
Except, if he asked me to do it all over again, I’d say yes. Love has turned me into a bad daughter.
In the end, my parents dropped it, probably assuming that my immigration troubles scrambled my mind for a time. They wouldn’t be wrong.
So I’ve come home under a cloud of shame and disappointment. It’s good to be back, but I also feel the weight of my parents’ expectations in a more immediate way. They’re happy to see me—but also very disappointed, even though they’re trying hard not to show it.
Today hasn’t been so bad though. After three days here, I’ve fallen back into the family life quite easily. The fish seller recognizes me now, and yesterday the butcher promised to save me a good chicken for the weekend. I’m walking back with my groceries, having found everything Mother will need for the dinner tonight. The neighborhood bustles and rushes around me, somewhere between a river and creek of humanity, exhilarating but not overwhelming.
An Instagram-ready group of girls passes me, holding up their phones as they chat into them. Behind them, a group of boys about their age watch with awe and longing, as if they can’t believe such lively and beautiful creatures actually exist.
I call hello to the men sitting outside a noodle shop, cronies of my father’s. He likes to sit with them and discuss the state of the world—nothing political, simply observations about young people and the New China.
From an electronic billboard overhead, Paul’s face flashes out at me.
I yelp before I can catch myself. I know it’s not him—he’s ten feet tall for starters—but my heart jumps anyway. I duck under an awning, cutting off my line of sight. The billboard keeps flashing, and I have the terrible suspicion it’s some gossip site talking about Paul’s runaway fiancée and how he’s waiting for the right girl to come along and heal his broken heart.
He hasn’t contacted me, not that he would know how to find me. I never told him my parents’ address, my phone was smashed by ICE, and I haven’t dared to check my email addresses or social media accounts. Chinese customs wasn’t too happy to hear I’d been deported back. Lying low is the wisest thing I can do.
I got a message out through a university friend to January, telling her I was fine and I’d contact her later, once things cool off. Her silence I was expecting—she’s not going to come all the way here to check on me.
Paul… although there’s nothing he can do that he hasn’t already tried… I still keep hoping I’ll see him. That somehow, someway, he’ll appear, having magically solved all my visa problems.
Or better yet, he’ll ask me to marry him. For real. It won’t solve my visa problems, but it would heal my broken heart. Who needs a green card if you can have Paul?
I sigh, keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally see the billboard. I haven’t got a green card or Paul, so the question is pointless. I’m no princess waiting for her prince to appear with a magical shoe. Or a talking donkey or any other kind of enchanted item.
I suppose he could appear to give me the money he promised me, but that… I bite my lip, hard. The money would help, certainly, and I’m not so stupid as to turn it down, but when he gives it to me, our arrangement will officially be over. No more engagement, fake or otherwise. The fairy tale will be ended.
The billboard stays out of sight for the last few feet to the building door, the grocery bags suddenly heavy in my hands. Tomorrow, I decide, tomorrow I’ll start looking for a job. No point sulking at home when I’m able-bodied and with such a good education. I’m no princess, so it’s time I stopped acting like one.
When I reach the apartment door, I hesitate at the sound of voices on the other side. My parents didn’t tell me we’d have gue
sts. There’s my father’s voice, low and gravelly, weighted with all the years of his experience. And then another voice, a man’s, bright and rich as polished jade.
My heart lurches. It can’t be.
I set my shoulders, force my expression into calmness. It’s not at all who I think it is, and I need to get ahold of myself.
With two fingers and a thumb, I wrestle open the knob. Instead of going into the living room and meeting our guest, I slip into the hallway that leads to the kitchen. I drop the bags on the counter, trying not to hear the voices coming from the other room.
It’s not him; you’re imagining things. Stop this.
My heart can’t take it. I whirl around and march into the living room, determined to face whoever it is and convince my heart of its foolishness.
Only, my heart is right.
“Paul.” It’s all I can say as I stare at him, looking so crisp, so noble, as he sits with my father in my family home.
“Grace.” The expression on his face is hopeful, agonized, open. Like he’s in love and it terrifies him.
I close my eyes. No, no, no. I can’t pretend that I’m seeing what’s not there. “I don’t want the money.”
Ah, I could bite my tongue. Of course I need the money.
“Money?” Father says, lifting an eyebrow.
Paul turns, facing him. “I’m ashamed to admit that I bargained with your daughter, paying her for helping me in my deception.”
My jaw sags open. Paul’s told my father… everything? “What?”
He turns back to me. “I had to tell your father the truth. It was the only way I could ask him to let me marry you.”
My knees are not working anymore, and the floor is rushing toward me. But Paul catches me, guiding me to a chair, kneeling before me and holding my hand. Just like a prince would.
“I don’t understand.”
My father rises, carefully looking past us. “I will go find your mother.”
Before I can even think to call him back, he’s gone.
I wet my lips, looking at Paul on his knees. “How are you here?”
He smiles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but I had some business to attend to. Archie—who called ICE on you—had to be dealt with.”
My skin goes cold. “Dealt with?”
Paul shrugs. “Cut out of the Hong Kong deal and all future family deals. He deserved more, but Mother reminded me he was family.”
“Oh. I suppose it’s always best to be merciful.”
“I wasn’t feeling merciful.” His eyes are cold. “When I discovered what he’d done, I wanted to beat him to a pulp. But that was nothing compared to what I want to do to Arne Fuchs.”
“I can’t tell him who I think the mole is. I just can’t.”
“I know. Your father told me about your great-uncle too. I understand completely.” His gaze softens as he squeezes my hand. “Fuchs won’t bend. But we don’t have to live in America. Give it a few years and we can apply again. They can’t say no to my wife.”
“But… the engagement was fake.”
“It was. Until it wasn’t. I think… I think it was the wrestling. There was this side of you I never expected, and it fit the side of me that I can’t show to anyone else, and I saw… I saw that I could be myself with you. My entire self.”
I sniff because it’s so beautiful and I’m so happy to hear it. “But your mother. She’ll be so angry.”
“She was—is—but she likes you too. Mostly she’s angry at me, not you.”
“I’m not like Amelia. I don’t know everyone, didn’t go to the right schools, my accent isn’t perfect—”
He kisses my wrist, openmouthed, and sends my mind scrambling. “That doesn’t matter. You’re everything I need. Which I why I came to speak to your father today.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I don’t deserve you. That you are the daughter every father would wish for.” Paul’s smile goes wry. “And that if you said yes, he’d give his blessing.”
I must be a princess because my father is an emperor straight out of a saga—wise and just and perfect. I blink away my tears because this is too happy a moment to start crying.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Paul says again. “But now that I am, I have to tell you everything I couldn’t after the gala.”
Oh. I feel my heart melting a bit. He takes my face in his hands.
“I love you.” He says it so simply I know it comes straight from his heart. “I love you, and I want to marry you. For real. There’s no one else I want to walk through life with. So Grace, will you marry me?”
Okay, I tried not to cry, really, really hard, but this is too much. Tears are pouring down my cheeks, warm and salty, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much in my entire life.
“Yes,” I get out, my voice shaking. “Yes, I love you and I want to marry you too.”
His smile is blinding. “We’ll do it right away. No waiting, no engagement.”
I have to laugh. “Yes, we’ve already done that. We’re ready for the next step.”
He kisses me again. I kiss him back, feeling like I’ve finally, finally come home.
“The next step is the rest of our lives,” he whispers against my mouth. “And I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’ve already met Paul’s mom, so I shouldn’t be this nervous.
But this time I know she’s going to be my mother-in-law for real. And that she’s not exactly happy with me.
We’re in one of the sitting rooms in the penthouse of a massive skyscraper Paul owns in Taipei. His mother is supposed to arrive for lunch at any moment. I already know I won’t be able to eat a bite.
After spending a few days in Beijing with my parents—who absolutely fell in love with Paul and forgave him for everything—Paul whisked us off to Taipei. I already love it even if I haven’t had much chance to explore it. The penthouse has a lovely view of Taipei 101, a massively tall skyscraper that makes me smile every time I see it.
“Lucy’s coming in tomorrow,” Paul says. He’s sitting next to me on the low sofa, which is done in creamy white silk. It’s also completely pristine, making me wonder how often people actually sit on it.
“Good.” My voice is squeaky. “I can’t wait to see her.”
Paul takes my hand. “She’s mad at me, not you. Don’t be nervous.”
“She might not be mad at me, but she still thinks I’m unworthy.”
“You’re my choice, which makes you most worthy. I’m the one who’s unworthy.”
I want to roll my eyes even if it is very sweet. He kept saying things like that to my parents, which they loved. The Paul Tsai wanted to be worthy of their daughter—how delightful!
My parents loved it, but his mother will not. “Don’t say that to her,” I warn. She doesn’t want to hear that her son is unworthy of anything.
“I’ll handle her,” he says. “Really, she’s mostly mad about the lying.”
Great, because there’s nothing I can do about any of that. I did lie, quite often and right to her face.
The door to the sitting room opens and I jump. Oh God, I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
His mother sweeps in, dressed in a Chanel suit, carrying her usual handbag.
“Mother.” Paul rises easily, kisses her on both cheeks. Clearly he’s ready for this. “I’ve brought Grace.”
I stand as she looks me over. Her mouth is flat, her expression unimpressed. This is even worse than when I met her the first time.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Best to simply get it out of the way.
“You should be. Didn’t your parents teach you lying is wrong? Especially to your elders?”
Paul steps between us. “We both knew it was wrong. But I asked Grace to do it and convinced her to go along. It was my idea.”
I exhale and step around him. “I lied too. Paul may have suggested it, but the blame is mine as well.”
His mot
her’s chin lifts. “True. I’m glad to see you accept your blame in all this.”
“I do.” I set my shoulders. If I’m going to be Paul’s wife, I need to stand up to his family when necessary, stand beside him. Even when we’re standing against his mother.
“I know you want a wife who will support me, who will help me carry out my duties,” Paul says gently. He gestures to a sofa, asking his mother to sit. She does, positioning herself so that she’s pointing slightly away from him.
When we sit back down, Paul sits too close to me. We’re touching, pressed against each other. It’s… it’s a bit impolite. But I’m so grateful for the physical acknowledgment of his support I don’t move.
“I did.” His mother flicks a glance at me that says she’s not convinced I fit the bill. “You could have simply said that Amelia wouldn’t suit you. You didn’t need to lie.”
Paul did say that to her, often. He told me about it.
“We hurt you and the family when we lied,” I say. “And we are both deeply ashamed.”
“You should be.” But her posture has softened some.
Paul’s hasn’t though. “No matter how our engagement came about, Grace is my choice as a wife. I need a wife who will support all of me. Not only my work, not only my duties to the family. But…” He looks at me, his gaze intent. “But my heart as well.”
Oh. I’m blinking too hard, too fast, but it’s to keep from crying.
He faces his mother. “I’m going to run the company differently than you did. Because I am my own person. And Grace is the one woman in the world who fits me perfectly.”
His mother swallows hard. It looks as if she’s thinking of protesting more. Instead, she says, “I wish I’d had a partner. It’s why I felt so strongly about your future wife.”
Felt. My breath catches as that registers with me.
Paul inclines his head. “I know. But if you want me to run this company, lead this family, then I have to have Grace by my side to do it. There’s no other way.”
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