A/N: Hey guys, it's me. "Akachan" is on brief hold, and will be updated as soon as I can get back into loving Skip Beat again. To help me get there, I wrote this lovely little piece, which had been on my mind for quite some time. What can I say, I love these kinds of stories. And the characters...
Also, I will warn you that you, as the reader, will probably be confused at some point in time. Don't worry; I wrote it that way, to keep you guys disoriented (I love you all, I really do, it's just fun to mess around with your minds...and I mean that with all the love in my heart.) But I promise that I will connect every dot at some point, so really, just keep your eyes on the screen. It will all make sense eventually. Trust me. (And if anyone wants to leave their guesses and theories, feel free to do so in a PM or review. I want to see what you guys come up with. Though I will say that, whether it's because this is poorly written or just the fact that I'm the author, it all seems so obvious to me.) That being said, if you become really confused, then, by all means, PM me and I'll explain away. Also, if you would all mind at least reading to the second chapter, things become much more clear there. This first part is probably the most disorienting of the whole fic. So, please, enjoy. :)
Italicized sentences are thoughts, unless they are in quotations. Then it's emphasized speech.
"I love weddings!" she sang, twirling round, round, round, round the church. Smiling, she danced to a stop in front of the man, slightly out of breath and layered skirt still swirling around her legs.
"Really?" the man said, smiling the gentle, handsome smile that he just knew made her heart beat a little faster and her thoughts a little muddled. Still smiling, he leaned in close, freshly pressed tuxedo crinkling in the action, and whispered in her ear: "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to give you one someday."
She could only manage a breathy, rather girlish giggle as her mind took in so many things at once: the smell of his cologne, the tickly caress of his hair, the color of his beautiful eyes, the promise in his words. Her mind swirled with the combination, her soul sang in triumphant joy. And if she could just reach up a little farther, raise her head a little more, she could kiss his lips, and her whole being would come apart.
As if knowing her thoughts, and knowing the presence of the many, many others in the room, he gave her the chastest kiss that not even a nun could blush at, and pulled his body upright again. Annoyance flashed across her face, and her lips pulled together in a pout. Her thoughts ran in one, rather obvious direction: Stupid man so stuck on stupid propriety. Why can't we kiss now? Who cares who's watching? I love you, so let me kiss you, damn you!
"Dearest," he said, smiling another smile, this time more gentle, less intimate, and infinitely more aggravating, "As much as I love you, even I have to admit that today isn't your day."
Now quite thoroughly annoyed, her pout became more pronounced, and she was a step closer to losing her temper. She'll never forgive us if we cause a scene on her wedding, of all days. His mind raced, fitting together words and phrases that would abort the fit he knew she was about to throw. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. His lips parted, the chosen words dancing on his tongue, when she cocked her head, smiled, and danced the few steps remaining between them, now standing by his side. His hand, fallen from her face in shock, was caught by her small hands, and squeezed with childlike affection.
"You haven't told me, you know."
He looked down, disguising the gesture as a question while looking for signs of discontent, vexation, dissatisfaction, anything that would indicate that she was still lingering on her displeasure. Finding none of those indicators was far more unsettling than he was comfortable with. Either she had decided to forgive and forget (unlikely) or she was merely biding her time before she had just cause to make her grievances known. And then it would be in a loud, window-shattering sort of way.
"What haven't I told you yet?"
"Who this woman is. I don't know anything about her, yet I'm here on her wedding day!" Her eyebrows were furrowed, drawing a rather unattractive aura over her otherwise pretty face (although he would sooner sell his soul than tell her that.)
"You don't need to know her, love. My brother's the one you know who will be married today. It's not important that you don't know her."
She rolled her eyes, then shot him a wounded look. "I am a woman attending another woman's wedding — and I don't know the bride. I'm surprised I even made it this far without God striking me down with holy lightning."
He laughed at that – the idea of God taking in interest in the sisterhood of wedding-attending women. Somehow, I think he's just as willing to stay out of that minefield as every other man.
"Do you want me to tell you something of her, so you won't be totally out of the loop?"
"Yes! I've been waiting for that for months!" She was put out now, comically. And now he knew she was play-acting. He felt comfortable looking away from her.
"All right..." Where to begin? The woman is a regular demoness, for Christ's sake. Forget a woman not knowing the bride of the wedding; I'll be surprised if she gets through the doors of the church without bursting into flame. "...she's a businesswoman originally. That's how the met, you know — when their companies negotiated a trade. I don't know how they began seeing each other from there, though. I've heard that they argued pretty fiercely in the meeting rooms."
He glanced back down at her, gauging her reaction. Her eyes were nearly as huge as her earrings, and her mouth was curving into the sweet, naïve smile of a schoolgirl who is listening to some romantic adventure. He took that as a good sign, though he had no inkling what detail had captured her imagination.
"But I do know that he introduced her to our parents last year sometime, and I know that Father has been pressing for a wedding ever since then. Apparently she made quite the impression." Or he just knows that she's ten times more intelligent than his eldest son, and infinitely more crafty. Perhaps he fears that if my brother didn't marry her now, willingly, she'd find a way to force him into one, at the expense of his family name. He gestured to their seats, and she took the hint. After they were seated, he leaned in closer, as if he were merely trying to keep from disturbing the other attendees, a move that no octogenarian Puritan could find fault in, and whispered: "Do you want to know a secret, love?"
"What is it?" she asked, eyes still lost to her own fantasy imaginings of the perfect love she imagined between the soon-to-be-married couple.
"I've heard that her parents are teachers."
"Professors?"
"No. Teachers. High school, public-education, poor-money teachers. She earned her way to an MA in Business Administration through part-time jobs and merit-based scholarships. Since then, she's done well, but look around. How many people do you see from her side?"
Disbelief etched on her face like a masquerade mask, she glanced around the church hall, still rumbling with hushed conversation, still a few minutes before the ceremony began. Slowly, drop by drop, the disbelief faded as she saw how, one-by-one, she recognized every person in the hall, all through the parties and gatherings she had attended as the guest of the man standing next to her. And the place normally reserved for the bride's parents was ominously filled with the groom's elder sister and her brood.
"No...look! That man over there, third pew, green tie! Who's he?"
Turning, he followed her gaze, and smirked when he saw the man she was singling out.
"That's her assistant, from the first business she started in Japan."
"Ha! See, she has someone from her side here," she folded her arms in victory, then asked: "She's Japanese?"
"Yes...I can't remember what city, originally, though I know it wasn't Tokyo. But he's the only one from her side present. Everyone else you see are people who know my brother," He dropped his voice again, this time to a conspiratorial whisper, "So you probably aren't alone in your ignorance."
"But why would her assistant be here and not her family?" she whispered back, too stubborn to let go of a dead topic.
He blinked. "All I know about the assistant is that he'll fly out tonight, but he'll be joining her here in a few months, after he finishes his affairs in Japan. He'll continue working for her in the company my parents are giving her for a wedding present. But, you know, she hasn't said a word about her family at all. Nothing at all. Any guesses as to why, love?"
She turned back to him, surprise and delight shining from her face. She was too good of a soul to recognize the possible scandal involved, to see that this woman may be more than just another blushing bride today...and perhaps that innocence would be a character flaw too great to ignore. Could he marry a woman so utterly without guile or suspicion? Could he marry a child, a child, granted clothed in an adult's body? But, for now, he merely smiled as he would to a co-conspirator, and watched as the answering smile lit up her face.
"A marriage between classes...forbidden love!' she whispered.
Or just one woman's vaulting ambitions.
The organ started, the parishioner glided across the stage-like lectern, and the ceremony began.
Too late to worry about that now. Just smile and act like the groom's brother should.