Loving Jiro

by Jordyn Tracey

  This is ridiculous. Ayumi is no lovesick teenager. If only they had given her some freedom. Maybe she just desperately needed to get away. Kiara's art lessons had continually taken a back seat whenever Jiro was not at home. No one valued the art but him, and Kiara had been nervous about starting trouble by telling him. Ayumi hadn't seemed to care as much either. Now Kiara realized it was because of her fascination with Luke. She kicked herself mentally for her stupidity.

  The storm outside raged on, rattling the windows. Kiara rushed away from the angry men to her private bathroom. She dry heaved over the toilet until the last of her energy had been spent. At that point, she rested her head on her arm above the rim.

  The bathroom door opened. She peeked up through slits to see Jiro. Her stomach roiled again.

  "You knew about this?” he asked softly.

  "No.” She focused on the trail of water she had left on the tiled floor and on the carpet in her room.

  "You knew about Ayumi's ... interest in the boy?"

  Oh no! “Yes."

  Without another word, Jiro left the bathroom and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn't slam it as she expected, but snapped it closed with barely a sound. Yet, it might as well have been a gunshot to Kiara. She dragged herself up from the floor, ran bath water as warm as she could stand it and stripped down. A half hour later, she was dressed in dry clothes, but sneezing uncontrollably. She sat on the side of her bed to wait.

  * * * *

  Sunlight warmed her face, and Kiara sat up in bed, realizing it was morning. She looked down to find someone had undressed her and put her under the covers. Pain shot through her skull, and her throat was scratchy. She could barely take in any air through one nostril. A cold. She moaned.

  Pushing her legs over the side of the bed to the floor, she glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. No one had come to tell her whether they had found Ayumi. On unsteady legs, she wobbled to the bathroom only to come to the realization that the person who had undressed her had removed her panties and bra as well. That had to be Jiro. At least if he was angry, he cared enough to put her to bed, unless of course he was avoiding having her death on his hands from pneumonia. She hoped the former was the case.

  Dressed and still not feeling whole, she left her room. The house was quiet. She strolled toward the dining room, hearing voices in that direction. At the slit in the door, she spotted her young student and sighed with relief. Ayumi had two spots of red on her cheeks, and she stared down at her plate, not eating her food. Kiara would have gone in except she heard Grandfather speak. She hesitated. A moment later and Jiro spoke to his grandfather. They were a family, she thought, feeling left out. And she wasn't allowed to join them.

  A tickle started in her throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth and hurried down the hall. She made it to the front door before a cough exploded from her throat, and a stream of sneezes soon followed. Weakness stole over her limbs. Her eyelids drooped, and disoriented, she began thinking of lying down on the floor.

  Someone stepped up behind her. “Miss?"

  Kiara spun around too fast. She swayed. “What?” This was the woman who had calmly put her shoe in her room the night Jiro carried her in there, and the one who had barely said two words at the party when Kiara questioned her. A genius could figure out the woman disliked Kiara, so she felt no compunctions about being anything but rude. Her mood, and her health didn't allow for it.

  "Fuschida-san has asked me to tell you to return to bed, and for me to get you something to eat. What would you like?” The woman meant Jiro, she guessed. Kiara didn't like being commanded to bed, but she figured someone would have to carry her if she didn't go.

  Grumbling, she returned to her room, requesting only toast and coffee. She lay there for fifteen minutes, and then the maid returned with a tray. Kiara watched her prepare the coffee after Kiara had told her how she liked it. Searching her mind for the woman's name produced nothing. Obviously she had never been told.

  "Um, sorry, I don't think I ever learned your name,” she began.

  The woman didn't look up. “Miki,” she mumbled. “Here is your toast and coffee. Will there be anything else?” The question had been asked grudgingly.

  "Yes,” Kiara began but then sneezed five or six times before she could continue. “Excuse me. I wanted to ask if I'm in the doghouse with Jiro."

  Miki blinked large round eyes Kiara thought meant she was mixed, and rubbed her hands down the front of the plain black dress she wore. She looked like she was about to turn away without a word, but she paused. “Fuschida-san—"

  "Jiro?"

  She nodded. “He is very angry with you. You did not tell him of the problem with Ayumi-san, and he and his grandfather were terrified for her safety. That is a big deal. She is precious to them both, having lost her parents and her other brother."

  Kiara thought about that for a minute. “I'm very sorry for my poor judgment, and if I had to do it over again, I would tell Jiro. I love Ayumi too. Does this mean I will get the colder shoulder than usual?"

  Miki didn't seem to know what she meant by that, so she didn't bother answering.

  Kiara blurted out, “Does this mean, I'll have to wait longer for Jiro to visit me?"

  Two spots of red showed on Miki's cheeks. Kiara wasn't overly sorry for putting them there. The satisfaction she had heard in Miki's tone when she told Kiara that Jiro was angry with her was apparent.

  Miki took her time answering, with a look so superior on her face, Kiara knew it would not be good news. She considered the options. Jiro would move her to the guest house or, he might cut off any relationship she had with Ayumi. Either way, she dreaded hearing anything.

  "Fuschida-chan has been pushing for his grandson to choose a bride.” She paused for effect. Kiara's stomach did somersaults. “In a few days, the women most eligible will arrive, and Fuschida-san has promised his grandfather that he will make his decision within a week after that.” Miki leaned in very close to Kiara, crossing some boundaries, Kiara was sure. “Everyone knows that Jiro-san is a highly honorable man. He will not keep a mistress while he is married.” With those cryptic words, the maid left in triumph.

  Kiara sat on the side of her bed with her toast and coffee even less appealing than it had been a few seconds ago. She was going to be sent away. Not that she didn't want to be independent again, but the fact of the matter was that she loved Jiro. One infraction, and he had written her off. He didn't even have the decency to tell her to her face. When he held a grudge, he held it for real. He had moved quickly to work with his grandfather to bring those ladies here.

  "Or maybe he had been planning it all along. After all, the women would have had to prepare. No woman would appreciate last minute notice that she was being considered as Jiro's wife, although it was no doubt a great match. The man's family was rich beyond any woman's dreams. “And the sexiest, most perfect lover in existence.” Tears sprang to her eyes. I'm not going to cry!

  She did, making breathing much harder. Between the lump in her throat and the swollen membranes in her nostrils, she was a horrible mess by the time her door opened again. Seeing Jiro standing in the doorway, she panicked and flipped over to cover her face. Her tray tilted, and her cup overturned. Hot coffee burned her thigh, and she screeched in pain.

  Jiro closed the space between them in a single stride. He lifted her away from the spill and deposited her onto his lap a safe distance away. With fingers that excited her too much, he lifted her dress and tended to the reddened skin with a cloth.

  The burn wasn't major, just a penny-sized sore spot that would no doubt ache for a day or two and then heal. Jiro dropped the cloth, but continued to explore her soft brown skin. She trembled in his arms. The only barrier to his exploring further along her leg to the warm spot she knew had grown moist, was that she had begun to cough uncontrollably.

  Jiro held her in place with an arm at her waist and patted her back with his other hand. He said nothing, making her wonder if
she was receiving the silent treatment.

  "So is this how it will be until your potential wives arrive?” she asked when the coughing and sneezing subsided.

  He stiffened. She had taken him by surprise. He moved her off his lap. With a hand under her chin, he lifted her head and leaned down as though to kiss her, but paused. She was germy after all. He kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair and walked to the door. A hand on the doorknob, he said. “Stay in bed. Someone will come in to pack your things later."

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Kiara slid her legs over the side of her new bed and glanced around her new room. She had prepared herself to be tossed out in the street for what happened with Ayumi, at best maybe moved to the guest house with the other mistresses. But Jiro had not treated her as the others had been treated. She had been moved to a small cottage still on his property. She would return to the main house to have her meals, but she had her own space where she could relax in a private sitting room, watch TV or even go for walks out of the immediate sight of those in the main house. She was satisfied for now.

  As much as she tried to avoid thinking about it, she knew that this peaceful existence was temporary. The women Grandfather had called for to be potential mates for Jiro were still coming. And even if Jiro wasn't an honorable man who wouldn't have a mistress and a wife, she wouldn't stay with a married man.

  She slipped into the shower, for the first time in three days, feeling like she could stand without wobbling or her head spinning. Jiro hadn't been back to her room except to check that she was settled in. As before, he kissed the top of her head, hugged her and disappeared. He had kept his words few, except to give her her new rules. Resentment filled her in memory of it.

  "You will no longer teach Ayumi drawing and painting. I will locate a new teacher for her. It's best that the interaction between the two of you is limited,” he went on.

  "So what you're saying is I am not allowed to speak to her. She can't acknowledge my existence!” she had yelled. “What am I beneath her? Not worthy to breathe the same air as she does?"

  His countenance had darkened. “Do not be dramatic, Kiara."

  She had leaped from her bed and stood in her nightie with her hands on her hips. “Don't be dramatic? Hah! Ever since I got here, I've been treated like a second class citizen. Your servants don't even respect me, and as far as I can tell, they never will!” Her legs ached. She thought she might fall over any second and lose the dignity she tried to maintain in the face of this argument.

  He frowned. “Has anyone been rude to you or refused to help you? Tell me which one, and I will deal with him or her."

  She grumbled. He was missing the point entirely. “You don't get it, Jiro. I'm nothing, nobody! Everyone here looks down on me, and now it's much worse. They all know my time is just about up, and they show it. Not in what they say or even not helping me. It's-It's the look in their eyes, the attitude—"

  At that point, she had taken a nose dive toward the floor. Jiro caught her in time and lifted her to place in the bed. He tucked her beneath the covers and kissed the top of her head. This gentleness on his part was what had made up for all the dislike she sensed in the others. Jiro had obviously flaunted his family's culture and what Grandfather wanted in order to make her his mistress. He had made sure she had everything she could want, and refused to personally put her on level with the other mistresses by not putting her in the guest house. Beyond all this, she still loved Jiro with all her heart. But she just didn't see a future for them.

  Now that she was feeling better and could hold a thought in her mind, she would begin planning where she would go after Jiro chose his new wife. She dressed and headed up to the main house for breakfast. She had waited until ten, hoping everyone had already eaten. Her maid had been happy to tell her that the potential brides had arrived the day before.

  Kiara peeked in the dining room to find it empty. She moved to the opposite doorway that led to the kitchen and knocked. Then she chose a place to sit and dropped into the seat. A few minutes later, a servant took her order and returned shortly after with her plate. For the first time in days, she had something other than soup. Tucking into her buttered eggs, she closed her eyes to savor the flavor. Finally, her taste buds were working again, and her nose was unclogged.

  Half way through her meal, the door opened and a small beautiful woman entered. She was dressed in the traditional Japanese garb, and made the clothes that Kiara had found restrictive look amazing. She stopped just inside the doorway upon spotting Kiara.

  Her glittering dark eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Not a late candidate?” Her gaze swept Kiara from head to toe, taking in her turtle neck and slacks. “I have already examined the others and found them wanting. I have decided that I will be Jiro Fuschida's wife."

  Kiara stared in shock. The woman had balls, that was for sure. But Kiara had to admit, the woman was beautiful, extremely so. Her figure though squat, was perfectly shaped, her breasts full and her hips curved. Her lips held just enough pink and thickness to entice Jiro. She had straight black hair that extended down to her waist. Seeing it, Kiara lifted a hand to her shoulder length hair, which had become slightly kinky while she had been ill. She had intended to ask Jiro to arrange for her to go to a salon soon. Now, in front of this woman, she felt dowdy and ugly.

  "I am Kiara,” she began, placing her fork down on her plate. “I am Jiro's—"

  "Mistress!” the woman spat. She lifted her nose in the air, turned on her heel and shuffled over to the kitchen door. She knocked. When a servant answered, the woman indicated Kiara at the table. She said something sure to be an insult in Japanese.

  The servant moved to Kiara's side. “Miss, please. If you will come back later, then—"

  "No!” Kiara returned to her eggs and continued to eat. This is America, damn it. She wouldn't stand another second of being treated like crap. Jiro could kiss her ass, and so could his uppity grandfather. She shoveled another bite of food into her mouth.

  The woman gasped, placing a hand over her chest. She turned trembling to the servant and muttered something. The servant hurried from the room. Moments later, the dining room door burst open. The man who had yelled at Kiara the night Ayumi had gone missing flew through the opening.

  "You!” His nostrils couldn't flare any wider, she was sure. “You have been tolerated up until now because Fuschida-chan wants to indulge his grandson, but this is too much. You ignore our culture, dishonor this house! Enough is enough. You will get up from that table and leave here immediately!” He slammed his fist on the table. Her plate jumped, and her glass nearly overturned.

  The man hovered over Kiara, his build bulky, and his face red. She had no idea of the kind of person he was, whether he would lay a hand on a woman, but just by his stance she was reminded of Odell's abuse. All this time in Jiro's home she had stood up for herself in a few tiny instances without fear of being hurt. Now the old fears surfaced, and she could barely move let alone stand up for herself. She waited for the hammer to fall, the pain to follow.

  His face grew mottled. “Did you hear me? I said—"

  "Enough!"

  All eyes turned to the doorway. Jiro stood there with several beautiful women behind him. His face was a mask of anger. The man berating Kiara snapped his mouth closed and took a step back. He bowed, mumbling to Jiro. Her love stepped past the man, practically elbowing him aside. He caught Kiara beneath her chin and lifted it to examine her face. “Are you okay? He didn't touch you?"

  She shook her head. “No."

  "But he frightened you?"

  She didn't answer, not wanting to admit it. The tremor in her limbs made the fact hard to hide. Jiro didn't wait for an answer, he pointed to her plate. “Finish your meal. Then we will talk."

  The man tried to protest, but Jiro silenced him with a look. Kiara was no longer hungry but with all the drama and Jiro sweeping in as her hero, she couldn't actually say so. She choked down the
last few bites and finished off her juice while everyone stood silently watching. Talk about being on display.

  She pushed her plate away after wiping her mouth. Jiro offered his hand. With her head held high, she took it, stood and followed him out of the room with as much dignity as possible. While she didn't spare any of the others more than a glance, she knew they were about ready to combust as angry as they were that Jiro had defended her.

  Jiro escorted her out of the front door and around to the path that would lead them into the trees. After walking for awhile, she figured out that he was leading her toward the place Ayumi had taken her, hidden in the trees. They sat on the bench in the midst of the tiny clearing with Jiro silent at her side.

  Kiara glanced over at his handsome face. She had to admit that she missed him. He hadn't visited her bed for days. She longed to hop on his lap and kiss his lips numb. Jiro put his hand out, and she set hers in his palm. He carried her hand to his lips, kissed her gently and held on.

  "I thought this would work out,” he said.

  She gasped. “Jiro..."

  "Come here.” He held out his arms. She stood and slid onto his lap. Jiro covered her mouth with a kiss that set her body on fire. He ran his hand along her inner thigh and stopped just before her apex. Peppering kisses along her throat, he trailed down toward her breast. When he teased her nipple, she moaned, squirming to get closer to him, but he drew back. His breathing was harsh as he rested his face in the valley between her breasts. “I want to keep you forever,” he muttered almost angrily.

  It was the closest he had come to telling her he loved her. She knew how his people were. While they had a word for love, they almost never used it. Still, her heart longed for him to say it. Just because Jiro felt affection for her or whatever he felt, didn't mean he loved her or that he thought her worthy of being his wife. She longed for him to be like American men, the good ones, but the fact remained that he wasn't. And no amount of demanding it would change him.