DEJONAE
Deep breaths.
In. Out. In. Out. In—
Crap.
I cringe when I hear the tell-tale sound of fabric getting ripped apart. I guess sucking in my stomach won’t get me back into this dress.
I exhale and the snapping sounds get louder. Releasing the zipper I was wrestling with, I drop my arms and sink my head against the bathroom door.
My nerves are in a tangle. They have been ever since yesterday in Sazuki’s office.
I don’t want anyone else beside me.
That confusing bastard.
After saying something like that, he fell against my shoulder and conked out. What did he mean by it? Was he serious? Was he teasing me?
“Stay calm, Dejonae,” I murmur.
I need to get it together for tonight’s recording. We’ve had no time to prepare our song and I’m freaking out.
He’s the piano legend, Ryotaro Sazuki.
And I’m… a music student with three-quarters of a degree.
The last time Sazuki heard me play, his bodyguards surrounded me and he kicked me off the stage. It left a bad taste in my mouth.
And now the world is going to see me play the piano with him?
A knock on the door shatters my thoughts.
I ease it aside and see Yaya grinning at me. That smile fades quickly when she notices the fraying seams of my dress.
“You said you had a little black dress,” she signs.
“I do.” I jut my hands at the scrap of fabric.
“This dress is begging you to put it out of its misery,” she gestures.
“Is it that bad?”
“When did you buy this? In middle school?”
“I’ll have you know that I bought it for my high school graduation.”
She rolls her eyes. Clamping her lips together, she signs, “Borrow one of my dresses.”
“Your dresses aren’t my style,” I complain.
“Do you have a better option?” Yaya signs.
“Deej,” dad yells from downstairs, “you’ve got a package!”
I sign, “Dad is calling.”
Yaya shifts directions and follows me down the stairs.
As usual, we make a ton of noise as we race each other. Yaya wins by cheating and bouncing me out of the way. I shoot her a dirty look and approach my dad who’s still standing at the door. He’s studying the person outside intently.
Dad has never met a stranger and is known to trade jokes with the pizza guy—no matter how impatient the poor kid is to leave, so the fact that he’s not saying anything is weird.
The moment dad steps aside, my eyes bug.
“Akira?”
Sazuki’s bodyguard is standing on my parents’ front porch with eyes that could kill. As usual, her hair is in a ponytail, her skin is pale, and her lips are blood red. The clash of red, white and black gives her a cold, ethereal aura.
“Do you know her?” dad asks me.
“She works with Mr. Sazuki.”
A hesitant smile spreads over his face. “Hi, there. I’m Dejonae’s dad.”
Akira dips her head but doesn’t speak to him. She hands a package over. “This is for you.”
I accept the box. “How did you know I was at my parents’ tonight?”
“Your sister posted on her social media.” Akira glances past me to the living room where Yaya is watching everything with curious eyes.
Well… that’s not creepy at all.
Akira turns to leave.
“Wait.” I shove the box at my dad. It bounces against his stomach before he can get a good grip on it.
I step onto the porch and close the door. From the corner of my eye, I notice the curtain shifting. Dad and Yaya are probably spying on us.
I edge Akira over to the corner.
She bristles.
“Akira,” I lick my lips, ignoring her obvious irritation, “I wanted to ask you something.”
She taps her foot.
“Has Sazuki ever… played a duet with anyone before?”
“Yes.”
My heart drops like a stone in the ocean. “Who?”
“Niko.”
I glance up quickly. “Just Niko? No one else?”
“No.” She looks at me with cold eyes. “Why is this important?”
“No reason.” I turn toward the door, my mind churning.
Sazuki asking me to play piano means something. It has to.
My heart skips a beat.
“Miss Williams,” Akira calls.
I stop rigidly.
“Mr. Sazuki is not like your peers. He is established in his own right and he bears the responsibility of the foundation as well as his familial duties.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask pointedly.
“Whether he chooses you or not,” her eyes darken, “you will never be his priority. There will always be something or someone more important than you and this is a truth you will have to live with.”
Annoyance flares in my heart, but I say nothing.
Akira stands tall. “If you cannot handle this, it might be better to find someone of your own age who can grow with you, who bears less responsibility and has no commitment besides making you happy and following you around. If you seek this in Ryotaro, you will be harshly disappointed.”
“Mr. Sazuki and I are just a boss and employee.”
Her eyes remain on mine. “We both know that your relationship has ceased to be so simple.” Akira takes a step toward me. “Which is why I feel it is my duty, my highest obligation, to ask you to stop now. Before Niko is involved. Before Sazuki must face his family again. Before this,” she gestures to me, “gets any further.”
“Further than what?”
“Do not play coy, Miss Williams. If you close the door, he will not walk through it. He will respect your choice. So make the best choice for yourself and for him.”
“I think you’re crossing the line here, Akira. If Sazuki and I ever change our boss-employee relationship to something else, that will be between him and me. We don’t need your intervention. Second, I may be young, but I’m stubborn and I don’t run away from something because of the difficulties I might face. In fact, those difficulties excite me. Maybe that’s why the thought of finding someone my age, someone who can ‘follow me around’ as you said, bores me to death. So thank you for clarifying that I really might be into older men.”
Her bottom lip gets firm. “I have nothing more to say about that matter.”
“Great. Neither do I.”
She moves down the stairs and then turns back. “Sazuki will send a car to pick you up and take you to the foundation this evening.”
“A car? Why? I can get there on my own.”
Akira just gives me a wary look and stalks back to her SUV. I watch her, stunned by the visit and the conversation. Why does she seem so concerned about me and Sazuki getting together? Did Sazuki say something to her that sent her into defense mode?
The moment I step back inside the house, Yaya pounces on me. Excitement glitters in her eyes when she signs, “What was that about?”
“Nothing. We were just discussing work,” I lie.
She narrows her eyes because she knows me better than anyone.
Dad gestures, “Are all your co-workers so scary?”
“No, just her.” I pick up the box and take it to the living room.
The front door opens while I’m pulling out the tissue paper. Mom, who works as a teacher at the local middle school, enters. Dad pops up immediately and takes her bag from her.
“I’m sorry, my love.” He gives her a kiss. “I didn’t hear your car or I would have come out to help you.”
“It’s okay.” Mom smiles brightly. “Hi, girls.”
Yaya waves.
Mom sees the box and stops in the middle of the living room. “Who sent a present? Dejonae’s birthday isn’t until next year.”
“She got a gift from her boss,” Yaya signs. With a wicked grin, my sister picks up the card that came with the box. It says simply ‘From Sazuki’.
“It’s not a gift.” I snatch the card from her. “Sazuki is a control freak. He probably doesn’t want me looking shabby in the recording.”
“I don’t know.” Dad scrubs his chin. “A man won’t go around buying clothes for just any woman. And he certainly wouldn’t buy clothes for an employee.” Dad stabs a dark hand in his chest. “Imagine me gifting something like this to the women in the office. Your mother would have me sleeping on the couch.”
“No, I would have you out of the house immediately,” she says with a wry grin. Sinking into the sofa beside him, mom signs, “Do you think your boss had no ulterior motives in sending this?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Do you want it to mean something?” Yaya signs.
I think about Akira’s warning.
Having an age gap romance is one thing, but Akira was right. Sazuki has giant responsibilities on his shoulders—he’s a father, a son, a businessman.
An ex-husband.
I broke up with Jordan because he cheated, but I’d known that he still had thoughts about his first love. Will Sazuki put me in the same position?
Dad peers closely at my face. “Dejonae?”
“It’s almost time for the performance. I need to get ready.” I pick up the box and make a mad dash for the stairs.
“But we haven’t seen what he bought you,” mom yells.
“I’ll try it on and show you later.” My feet thud as I race up the stairs and lock myself in the bathroom.
With thick breaths, I unwrap Sazuki’s gift.
It’s a dress.
A wave of butterflies crashes through my stomach.
What are you trying to say to me, Sazuki?
And what should I say in return?
“Oh. My. Goodness.” Mom covers her mouth with one hand when I descend the stairs.
Dad’s eyes bulge. “Dejonae.”
Yaya lifts her chin proudly, her arm on my elbow as she escorts me down.
I already saw her open-mouthed and awestruck reaction to me in the dress. I wanted to show her and my parents together, but it couldn’t be helped. Yaya’s a magician with makeup and I needed her skills.
And boy… does my sister have skills.
After getting caught in her whirlwind of beautification, my eyebrows are primped, my lips painted, and my nose dusted with gold.
I almost topple when I get to the last step, but my sister’s grip on me is firm and I end up regaining my balance. This is my first time wearing heels since high school. These heels are Yaya’s, which means they’re at least three-inches higher than anything I would buy.
But from the looks on my parents’ faces, pairing the shoes with Sazuki’s dress was the right move.
“You look magical,” mom says, getting teary-eyed.
Dad grins. “Do a little spin.”
I sign, “Are you crazy? I’ll fall flat on my face.”
Yaya snorts as I totter to the mirror.
Honestly, I do look hot.
The dress Sazuki picked out for me looks like a black gemstone that got turned into threads. The top has black sleeves that glitter like they’ve been handsewn with crystal.
An onyx skirt starts at my waist and ripples down to the floor, shimmering like a sea of stars. There’s a part to the side that flashes my legs whenever I walk, adding a sense of sultriness to an otherwise modest gown.
This is not just a little black dress.
It is the little black dress.
Fragile as a rare flower.
Delicately woven.
Way more expensive than anything I’ve ever worn in my life.
“We need to take a picture,” dad says, sounding choked up. He looks around for his phone.
I press my lips together in mortification. “Dad, I’m not going to junior prom.”
“Hold still,” Yaya signs. She comes up to me and adjust the teardrop necklace so it’s sitting in the center of my collar bone. Next, she brushes a tendril of my hair away from my face.
My hairstyle is a half-up, half-down swoop with two curls at the front.
“Perfect,” Yaya signs.
I squeeze her hand in gratitude.
Dad takes photos.
And then mom takes photos of me and dad.
And then Yaya jumps in.
By the time we’re finished with our mini-family photoshoot, the car Sazuki sent is waiting outside.
“Go have fun,” Mom says, looking at me as if she’s my fairy godmother watching me get whisked to the ball.
“I swear, it’s like you people forgot that I’ve already been to prom,” I mumble.
“Stop grumbling and enjoy yourself,” Yaya signs.
I wave goodbye to them and step into the night.
I get an odd feeling when I see the bouquet of roses on the backseat. Thinking it’s not for me, I don’t touch it except to slide it across just in case the person it’s really for arrives.
But they don’t.
The driver takes me straight to the foundation.
My eyebrows crinkle when I notice someone is outside waiting for me. I recognize him as one of the suits in Sazuki’s bodyguard ring. It’s kind of hard not to pinpoint a face like his with its long scar. That and the buzz cut give him away.
Did Sazuki hire the bodyguards to keep the videographers in check? It feels a little over the top. It’s not like they’re crazed fans who are going to mob him the moment he steps on stage.
The suit gestures for me to walk inside.
My heart trips over itself.
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand.
The giant keeps moving. After a step, he glances over and sees I’m not with him. His eyes get bigger and he hurries back to me.
“Are you okay?” he signs.
My eyes nearly pop out of my face. “Are you deaf?”
“Partially.” He touches his right ear. “All of my hearing is gone in this ear.”
A sudden thought hits me. “Are all of Sazuki’s guards deaf?”
“That would be foolish.” His sudden smile is charming. “No. I am only one of two. But he gave me a job when I had no other option.”
Sazuki’s been looking out for the deaf community all over the place.
My palms get sweaty. As fluttery and beautiful as I feel in this dress, I’m starting to realize what kind of man I’ve fallen for. He’s powerful enough to give hope to someone who had lost it all and ruthless enough to hide that golden heart from the world.
Maybe I shouldn’t go into that building.
Maybe I shouldn’t be wearing this dress.
Maybe I shouldn’t look forward to seeing the way those ice-brown eyes will react when he sees me in this dress.
The suit gestures for me to walk ahead of him.
I inhale a deep breath. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about helping the foundation and fixing the mess I made because of my impulsiveness. Even if I crash and burn playing next to Sazuki tonight, it won’t be because I gave less than my best.
I’m going to play my heart out.
No.
Matter.
What.
I gasp when I enter the concert hall. There are giant lights set up on thin poles, their heads bent toward the stage. A semi-circle of unmanned cameras are all pointed at the grand piano.
But that’s not what surprises me.
Rose petals are scattered around the piano, creating the illusion of a vibrant red sea.
My heart picks up speed when I see the lavish decorations.
Do not assume this is for you, Dejonae. Don’t you dare embarrass yourself.
This is a production for The Sazuki Music Foundation. Nothing more.
“You’re here,” Sazuki says.
My heart explodes. I’ve never seen a man look more regal in a tux. His expression is quietly intense, lined in concentration, like an eagle about to swoop in on a mouse. His hair is brushed back to reveal more of his chiseled cheekbones and square jaw.
I can’t breathe.
What is oxygen?
What is reality?
Am I dead or alive right now?
Sazuki’s lips curl up. The way he gazes at me as I stumble closer sets my entire body on fire. He watches me steadily, eyes darkening with desire and unapologetic heat.
Sazuki meets me halfway to the stage. “You look beautiful,” he says softly.
“T-thanks. Y-y-you too.”
Since when did I stutter?
Sazuki holds out his hand. I take it nervously. His hands are so much bigger than mine. It feels like I’m being swallowed by his fingers.
Desperate to fill the electric silence between us, I ask, “Where are the camera operators?”
“They left.”
My eyebrows arch. “Shouldn’t they be here? You know, while we’re recording?”
“Thankfully, our performance is stationary, so they do not need to be present to film.” He lifts a remote. “The cameras will begin recording when I press this button.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why Sazuki wanted privacy tonight. Is it because he didn’t want to give a performance to even the cameramen? Or is there another reason?
He lifts my hand. “You are shaking.”
“The last time I performed was at the Belle’s Beauty gala.”
His eyes go dim. “The night we met.”
“It didn’t exactly give me a thirst for performing again.”
“I am sorry about what I said that night.”
“Wow,” I joke shakily. “An actual apology?”
“A sincere one.” He steps closer to me. The scent of mint and something uniquely him fills my nose and makes me feel like I’m floating.
Crap. I have no idea how I’m going to get through a performance without melting out of my shoes.
“Come.” He leads me to the piano.
I recognize it immediately. “It’s the same one?”
“Your fingers belong on these keys.” His eyes bore into me. It seems as if he’s saying something much deeper.
I approach the piano and slide my finger over the top. It’s glossy and smooth. “It looks a little different. Are you sure you didn’t just put a fancy logo on a regular grand piano?”
I feel more than I see Sazuki approach me. Then one large hand settles on top of the piano. His chest presses in close to my back. His body is a giant wall, half-caging me against the lip of the instrument.
I’m afraid to look at him.
I know if I do, he’ll see how much he affects me.
“No one can counterfeit a masterpiece,” he murmurs in my ear.
I’m too aware of how close he is, his body against mine, almost touching me but not quite.
I force myself to step away. “Thank you for the dress.”
His eyes make another heated sweep over me and I realize it was a mistake to bring more attention to my body. If I get any hotter, I might have to start stripping and that won’t end well.
“Did you see the flowers?”
“Those were for me?”
He narrows his eyes. “Who did you think they were for?”
“I thought we were going to pick someone else up. You know, like Uber Pool.”
His dimples flash.
My throat tightens on impact.
“The roses were for you, Dejonae,” he says with an unexpected tenderness.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” His eyes sparkle like the stars.
I can’t do this anymore. “How about we get started? I don’t know how many takes we’ll need before we figure out how to harmonize with each other.”
“We will not need more than one take,” he says confidently.
“You think you’re that good?” I tilt my head back to look at him.
“I think whatever music we create together will be perfect.”
Okay.
A grouchy, reserved Sazuki, I can handle.
A dimple-flashing Sazuki, I can barely survive.
But this?
He’s going to lay me out on the floor before we play the first note.
I fight to maintain my composure. “You’re teasing me.”
“I am being honest.”
“You’re being strange. If this is your way of apologizing for the Belle’s Beauty gala, there’s no need. It happened a long time ago and I understand why you were upset.” I try to sound stern. “There’s nothing left to discuss, Mr. Sazuki.”
“Ryotaro.”
I freeze, hardly believing my ears.
“Call me Ryotaro,” he instructs in a low, husky voice.
“Definitely not doing that,” I mumble, hurrying around the piano.
I take my seat. When Sazuki sits beside me, he gives me a small, affectionate smile that stalls my brain. It takes me a second to remember where I am and what I’m doing.
“Uh… am I playing the melody?” I point to the sheet music.
“You can play the higher keys. I will play the bass.”
My stomach clenches again. Why am I so nervous? Because of the event or because I’m sitting so close to him?
“Miss Williams.” In his thick accent, my last name sounds like something different. Something special.
I look over at him.
“It will be okay.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” My throat is too dry to swallow. “I’m ready.”
He nods once and presses the button to start recording.
I play the opening notes of Faure’s Pavane. It’s a hauntingly beautiful melody, but I’m not focused on it. Sazuki is distracting me and I can’t help peering at him from the corner of my eye.
Everything, from the tall, upright way he sits, to the tilt of his head, to the way his big hands spread over the piano keys, hints at strict classical training.
I try to sit straight too, but I don’t have the same princely air and my hands are much smaller when they expand over the piano keys.
Focus, Dejonae. You have a job to do.
I settle down, letting my fingers tickle the top of the keys. We’re sharing the same bench, his thigh pressing lightly into mine. I’m both keenly aware of him and comforted by his closeness.
The notes ring out in the concert hall, filling the air with something—not heavy but anticipatory. Like someone holding their breath as they wait for their lover to appear.
Sazuki plays the lower notes and a shiver runs down my spine at the way his melody answers mine. Rather than mirroring me, he’s playing the harmony. His notes dance just below mine in an expert cadence.
The music swells, moving steadily toward the climax.
When I look over at him, I see sweat dotting his forehead. He’s bent over the keys, giving himself passionately to the music.
Then he glances at me.
And the world stops.
My hand gets heavy, holding down the chord.
But Sazuki doesn’t let that stop him.
He plays a melody around my sustained chord, filling the air with a light, tinkling energy.
I lift my hands and the chord ends. Throwing myself back into the song, I keep my eyes on him this time and marvel at his exquisite skill. Sazuki’s hands create poetry out of thin air and vibrations.
The music isn’t coming from the piano.
It’s like it’s inside him.
Every brush of his fingers, every stretch of his hand, is creating a story. A movie.
A confession.
It strikes me then.
Because I hear him.
I feel it.
In a way that only music can communicate.
His dimples pop out and he nods once, letting me know I’m right. Letting me know it isn’t in my head.
I stare at him as I play. A part of me feels this moment isn’t real. That I’m going to roll out of my bed at any moment and realize that it was all in my head. It was all a dream.
Sazuki plays the final chord and steps on the suspension pedal for a second, letting the last note ring out in the silence.
I raise my hand slightly off the piano. Sazuki says nothing. He only takes out the remote again and cuts off the recording.
As the silence settles, I lurch to my feet, stumbling in my heels.
“Dejonae,” Sazuki says.
I turn around slowly.
He’s standing at the piano under the spotlights, looking at me with eyes that belong in the sky next to a full moon.
“Kimi no koto ga suki desu.”
I close my eyes. It’s my first time hearing him speak Japanese. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
“I tried to fight my feelings,” Sazuki says, “but I have no desire to do so anymore.”
My brain implodes when he walks right up against me. His fingers brush my chin. His eyes drop to my lips.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
My heart is leaping, pounding, a powerful drum that refuses to stay quiet. It knows. A deep, primal part of me knows that this is a moment in my life that is about to change everything.
Because this is Sazuki.
Passionate.
Driven.
Larger than life.
I’m in the presence of a love that’s just as overwhelming as the man who offers it.
My heart beats faster and faster. I’ve had guys send me notes in school. Or send a message with their friends. Or text me at random asking if I wanted to ‘hang’.
But I’ve never had someone go out of their way to make me feel special.
Sazuki isn’t like the boys I’m used to because he isn’t a boy.
He’s a man.
A man with the world on his shoulders.
I breathe hard. “What about Niko?”
“Niko favors you just as much as I do.”
I tilt my neck back to stare into his eyes. It’s a stark reminder of just how tall he is. My neck is going to break at this point.
“What about the foundation?”
“Nothing at the foundation will change because of us.”
“Everyone will think I got out of that scandal because we’re… because you…”
“Because we are now dating.”
My legs shake and lightning zaps from my stomach all the way down to my toes. “Are we dating now?”
“Do you know how much I spent on those roses?”
I burst out laughing.
His dimples wink at me.
And then they quickly disappear when he closes the distance between us. In the blink of an eye, he tilts my head and kisses me.
The push of his mouth to mine turns my world inside out.
My blood implodes.
My heart stops.
I step back, my hand flailing in an effort to remain upright. Discordant notes claw through the air. It’s coming from my fingers that somehow found the piano keys and played a frantic note.
Sazuki eases back and looks down at me, a question in his darkening eyes. Just beneath the heat and the intensifying hunger is genuine concern for me. For my comfort. For whatever I need.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
He folds me into his arms, holding me steady this time. The ground falls away. So does the roof. And the chairs. The cameras. The lights.
It’s only me and him.
There’s not a single inch of resistance in me when his lips press softly to mine again. I mold myself to his broad chest, inhaling his mouth, his scent, his regal charm.
It’s soft enough to break me.
Then the kiss changes.
From sweetly exploring to charged thunder. It’s more gladiatorial than when we clash in real life and yet so much sweeter too—lips tangling, warring.
I’m sure I’m going insane.
But I don’t want it to stop.
His hold on me tightens, his gravity dragging me into him. A blackhole of pleasure.
I’m gone.
Deceased.
Tiny bits of flesh and desire and violent explosions.
My body flattens against the keyboard when he closes in, his arms sliding against the back of my neck as he tilts me for a better angle.
And then he goes deeper.
Fingers.
Tongue.
Fireworks.
Any hint of resistance is wrenched aside, leaving nothing but a need that’s been building between us for so long. Throbbing. Pulsing. Demanding. Now that it has an outlet, it becomes an unrelenting wave. Devouring everything in its path. And wanting more.
So much more.
He’s obscene.
And I lap it up, allow him to sweep his tongue across every corner of my mouth until he knows more about me than I do.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as Ryotaro Sazuki batters me with his lips of pure honey and war.
There are so many reasons why we shouldn’t be together, why our bodies shouldn’t touch, why this shouldn’t feel so right.
But in the moment, none of those reasons matter.
Because I’ve never had a chance to feel love like this.
And even if it might hurt like hell when it’s over…
I want to put my fingers to this dangerous, forbidden piano and play until the song ends.
