Summary: AU, takes place in the States, contemporary times. Misao is desperate for money, she needs it now and she needs much of it. Extreme circumstances have driven her to hatch a risky plan, entangled in deceit and manipulation of the most cunning form; masquerades dances, waltzing the fine line between life and death. She needs to con the severely private, ever woman elusive, Shinomori Aoshi into a legitimate marriage. A no nonsense gamble more complicated and momentous beyond her wildest imaginations.

Rating: Pg-13 (subject to change)

Disclaimer: I do not own RK. For entertainment purposes only. n_n

Warnings: Complete AU, much OOCness, and multiple pairings. Um. x_X I think that's it.

Thanks: goes out to Midori {omgosh thanks for the html help} and Kuroiyousei [Edit] and MightyMightyMunson ~! for their kind and supportive words. ^_^

Italics = thoughts

" " = dialogue

Incognito

Slow and rhythmic slowly, slowly still. One, two… she counted her heart rate to the tempo of her footfalls. She needed to blur into the crowd, needed to disappear into the foliage of the city, the faceless people of the city, so that she could breath easily again, attain her regular heartbeat and stride. Clutching the delicate fold of paper a little tighter, Misao swallowed a few shallow breaths. She had spent nearly the last of her money on a disgusting taxi ride. Nervous and taunt with doubt and tension she was ready for the ground to open up and consume her. If she walked away right now...…and...…maybe, maybe she didn't think this out fairly. Maybe there was another way. A job opening at this very moment.


"Shit." She muttered angrily as she stuffed the small, square paper into a tiny purse, forever creasing its crisp impeccability.


This was horrible. Misao didn't think she was a horrible person. Just angry and dirt broke and heartbroken and insane. In fact, she had never done anything truly horrible up to this day. With this she glanced at her purse, imagining she could see the slip of paper right through her bag, crammed guiltily between a tube of lipstick and the little angel that used to sit upon her right shoulder. She had stolen the paper. No use rationalizing it now, not for a person who's never even filched a piece of candy as a child. Never a thief in the hungriest or the bitterest of times when the temptation would bring a man to his knees. Yet, here she was. The stolen invitation at hand, from a poor fellow who wanted to buy her a drink, not counting on a young wide eyed dole to rob him of some fancy, smoosing tete a tet invite.


She tired to place a name to the young man's face. ….His eyes were a pleasant brown, chocolate, eye candy, yes haha Misao, bad pun, good for you laughing, relaxed, an easy target. A carefree guy that after discovering his missing invitation card, would curse himself for misplacing it somewhere, and probably move on with his life. What's an itsy sip of wine and the company of the stuffy to a nice guy like him anyway? God, what was his name…? Something, something with an S.


S....ano? Sano etc.: jobless, well traveled, well off but not well enough to be of use.


Jolted out of her thoughts by a hurrying pedestrian, she resolved to make a firm choice. Quickly smoothing over her jacket of soft, fluid silhouette and cream skirt set, she made an artful inspection of her suit. Still perfect, and returnable the next day.


Dammit, decide now. She told herself. No… a job won't do. Every time she made ends meet, they would move the ends. She forced her feet into mobility, this time faster than the pounding of her heart, racing a mile a minute. She reached the ornate iron welded gates of the terrifically ostentatious summer villa. On an island 4 miles off the southeastern coast of Massachusetts, Misao stood, alone on Martha's Vineyard. Ah, but Massachusetts.... is where all her problems lay, all the bad history and hard times were forever branded into her mind, molding her temperament, her perspective, her reciprocated feelings and attitude towards others -- the world. It was a place dark imagery and tragic innuendoes. So unjustified, so wronged. Yet still, the only kind of love she was ever capable of was felt deeply and tenderly in that clammy, decaying city.


Pulling the muscles of her face into well-disposed smile and softening the corners of her eyes, Misao reached for her card once again.


Jiya…… I'm going to make things right.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Misao hid a frown behind her thin flute of honey colored wine. Eating slowly, with much restraint, on a shaded balcony in Shinomori Aoshi's vacationing home, and sponging his Zinnkoepflé late harvest great classified Gewürztraminer or blahblah whatever the waiter had rattled off wine, was not her idea of saving Jiya… She rapped her fingers impatiently on the table and shook the foot daintily crossed over her leg, furiously. Habits more natural than breathing, were halted, fingers in midair by a single glance from a hawknosed, pearl-toting dignitary. Misao raised her hand regally to push the dark frames higher on her nose, also effectively covering a wrinkle of distaste. Ugh,, how many innocent bunnies had to die to make her look a la Cruella DeVille.

She scanned the inside of the villa for the hundredth thousandth time, from her favorable spot. Where is he? Should she go inside and chitchat to better maneuver around him when he arrives. Or perhaps stay and make a subtle entrance, catch his eye…. Unmindfully Misao was deep in consideration, foot jouncing ridiculously.

"Pardon me, but I don't seem to know you." Floated a glossy, quiet voice from behind.

Misao turned her head and looked strangely at the mysterious man. She narrowed her eyes hidden by sunglasses. He was just about the most ludicrously attractive man she had ever seen. What …… should she make of him? Tall and sinewy wrapped in an exquisitely tailored black suit that accented the contrast of his frost white that slightly curled and barely brushed against the dark of his suit. He stood both lewd and cultured. Eyes liquid and hooded.

Her throat was dry and her stomach sank, either from the sudden panic attack choking off her breath of being discovered or his nauseating beauty, she didn't know. Her mind formed the words, but her mouth stayed slack.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, miss."

Misao's mind froze. No. no, he can't throw me out now. I'm so close. Her anger grew her thoughts from the haze and fear. She stood up bluntly, nearly toppling the narrow, little table. Well, jesus, it's a heavy marble disk proportioned by a flimsy, pencil thin rod of metal; a mild breeze is looking to blow it over..…She removed her glasses to better glare at the horrendous man who was about to ruin lives with a "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Pardon me," she voiced louder than she would have liked, "But I have an invitation and a right to be here as much as anyone else at this party." Not pleased with her even tone, she finished off with an even scowl.

Mr. Universe, flinched not, and continued to bear down at her with irritated amusement.

"You're at my table." He neutrally intoned, pointing at thick, glazed folded sheet, sitting secretly behind a wine bottle. Misao reached out gingerly sliding the bottle aside and gazed amazedly at the elegant bronze calligraphy. Yukishiro Enishi.

There was a long pause. Damn it, speak, apologize, kiss his fucking Gucci's,……

"Oh" She finally managed, with something akin to a "Sorry," preceding it. Slipping on her glasses, she did a turnabout hesitantly and awkwardly made her way inside; stiffening her neck, at the feeling of having a hole burning through the back of her head.

Misao was proud of two things:

1// That she had not buried her face in her hand and tore out of there like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

2// Of the lucked out timing her incident had caused, and that she had walked inside just moments before Shinomori Aoshi had.

A genuine smile lit up her face as she watched Mr. Shinomori tediously nod at and greet different people in the room. She had forgotten, for the time being, the existence of a certain white haired sex-embodiment.

She looked at Aoshi and her pulse accelerated. This is business, no strings attached…Misao ignored the ebbing tide of revulsion from looking objectively at herself now. Finish the job. She needed a marriage from this man, and a clean divorce. She needed him to be mad about her without ever even knowing who she was… he had to fall in love with … Masaki Misao. Shinomori Misao. Mrs. Shinomori……

Time slowed…… then halted completely, the low murmur of the crowd became silent music. Their eyes met nakedly through the light crowd.

Misao's hopes began to sink gracelessly, giving the dead weight of the titanic a run for it's money. This is the man who was to fall in love with her?… no, to fall in love, period. She doubted he could make with a smile for a puppy dog nudging at his feet. When the glance broke, she continued to feel the emitting chill of his presence from across the room. Why can't I ever catch a break…

It's on the short side. I promise to not be so choppy and rushed next time. I don't quite know what I'm doing … so… please bear with me as I try to puzzle together fanfiction. T_T Oh, and if you're wondering about Misao's last name, it's only an alias (a bad one at that). I'm new to fanfiction and would love feedback, comments, questions, criticism, etc. flames are okay if you would like and I have offended you in any way. I will listen to all opinions. Very callow and unfounded ones will probably just give me a heart attack. =] Click the button, make my day. ^_^