Haru smoothed out the folds of her black Dior dress and tried not to look as if she was worried. The waiter, a tall, paper-thin man in a black bow tie was eying her again. She studiously avoided his gaze and sipped from her water glass.

She wanted to check the time, but her phone was tucked away in the clutch bag hanging off her chair and she had a feeling checking it would both break some etiquette rule and make her look as forgotten as she felt. Around her swarmed the clinking of crystal glasses, feminine laughter, and the flashing of a thousand diamonds.

God, she didn't belong here. Maybe that was Hanazawa's game: he would stand her up to put her in her place. Stupid little street girl getting ideas above her station, that's what they all thought. Glancing around the room again, she wondered how much of the laughter was directed at her. It seemed however hard she tried they always knew she wasn't one of them.

Sighing, Haru collected her bag and got up. There was no point in staying here getting paranoid.

"Oh, are you leaving? Don't let me hold you up."

A man dropped into the chair opposite her. She barely had time to register that he was as heart-stoppingly beautiful in person as he had been in his picture, before she took in the rest of him and could do nothing but gape.

He was dressed in blue jeans, trainers, and a loose, long-sleeved grey top. Haru, who'd spent an hour painstakingly twisting her hair into a knot and applying just the right amount of makeup, immediately wanted to hit him.

"I didn't think you were coming," she said, forcing herself to sit back down. When he said nothing in response, she tried to start again. "It's good to meet you. I'm Oshihiro Koharu -"

"Can we order?" At once, the waiter was beside them, falling over himself to recommend Hanazawa the best dishes while thrusting a menu at Haru and promptly turning his back on her. "You'll have a salad, right?" Rui asked carelessly.

"What? No, I –

But it was too late, Rui had already pointed out what he wanted and the waiter practically snatched the menu out of her hand before she could object. While Haru was still staring in dumbstruck disbelief, Rui pulled a book out of his pocket and, to her mounting fury, seemed to have every intention of ignoring her.

"Are you trying to be rude?"

His eyes appeared above the book, regarding her with a bored expression.

"Am I not the dashing, rich prince you expected?"

Haru glowered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, set his book down, and swept his eyes over her. He barely took a moment, giving Haru the impression that he considered the whole process a waste of time. Haru's anger spiralled higher.

"You want a rich, upper-class husband, right? And anyone will do. I'm not about to be part of your scheme."

"Scheme?" she spluttered. It was exactly as she'd feared: he thought she was out of line and had come here to put her in her place. "You rich people are all the same." She kept her tone low but made no effort to disguise the disgust in it. "I'm here for my family, to make sure my brother gets an easier life, and you're mocking me for it?"

She snatched her purse and jacket, began to storm away, then swivelled, marched back, and threw enough notes to surely cover whatever the heck he'd ordered. She could feel him staring, but didn't dare look at him.

Turning her back, she managed to get halfway to the door before she was stopped.

"Miss Koharu?"

She stopped dead. The voice was high-pitched and grating; she would have recognised it anywhere. So much for her dramatic exit.

"Miss Koharu?" The woman's voice was more insistent this time.

Well, if Hanazawa-San already thought she was beneath him, it could hardly hurt to prove him right. Haru forced a smile onto her face and turned to face a plump, round-faced woman sitting across from a man with a dark suit and a very thin smile.

"Mrs Asano. Mr Asano. I hope you're well this evening." She bowed her head in a brief respectful move, aware all the time of Hanazawa-San sat just tables away.

Mr Asano nodded stiffly. Mrs Asano, meanwhile, beamed up at her with an inquisitiveness that bordered on nosiness.

"When you said you needed to rearrange this evening's lesson, I didn't realise it was because you were meeting someone. Is it your boyfriend? Your fiancé? Do we know him?" She craned her neck, trying to look around her husband and Haru to see which table she might have come from.

"Mariko." Mr Asano fixed his wife with a steely glare and she pouted.

"I was only being friendly."

"Please," Haru said quickly, "Think nothing of it. I'm sorry, but I have to get going."

"Will you come by early next week?" Mrs Asano said, catching Haru's arm before she could escape. "Mahi has his exams soon you know; he won't pass without your help."

Haru resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder and check whether Hanazawa had heard.

"Of course." She smiled genuinely this time. Mahi was kind, sweet-tempered, and seemed to forget half of what he'd learned between one week and the next. "He's been coming along wonderfully lately. If he could find a little time to practice between –

She cut herself off before she could get carried away (as Mrs Asano had clearly hoped she would). "I really must go – I'll talk more with you next week." She bowed again and fled to the front desk before anyone could stop her.

All in all, it was a relief to step out into the cool evening air of Tokyo in Autumn. The restaurant Hanazawa, or more likely his father, had chosen for their meeting was on the outskirts of the city, too far out for there to be many other shops for her to waste some time in, and she didn't much feel like going to the fried chicken place across the road in her Dior dress.

She checked her phone. Even with Hanazawa's lateness, she'd been out less than an hour. Much too early to call the chauffer. Haru sighed, pulled her coat tighter around her and set off walking. It couldn't be far into the city centre and her heels weren't that high.

A car sped by her and the driver honked loudly. The people eating outside the chicken restaurant looked over and a group of high school boys wolf-whistled. Haru's face turned hot despite the chilly air and she tugged self-consciously on the hem of her skirt.

Perhaps walking to town looking like she'd gotten lost on the way to an upscale cocktail party wasn't such a good idea. Especially not alone. Haru glanced up the street, looking for a bus stop and coming up empty-handed. She headed back the short way she'd come and perched on a bench outside the restaurant. Perhaps she could take a taxi and hide out at Yumi's for a while… Her best friend might tease her mercilessly but it was better than freezing to death out here for another hour. She was halfway through dialling the number of a taxi when it occurred to her that after the dinner fiasco, she probably didn't have enough cash to pay for one. Typical.

As she fished in her bag for her purse, she heard footsteps approaching and went rigid in her seat. It wasn't a busy street; either it was someone from the restaurant or the chicken shop. Neither option was particularly appealing. Haru bent lower, letting her hair swing over her face, hoping whoever it was might pass her by. It was only when a pair of scruffy trainers appeared in her line of vision that she reluctantly looked up.

It was one of the university students from the chicken restaurant – short, dark-haired with high cheekbones and a cocky expression.

"Do you need any help?" he asked. His words slurred together as only a drunk man's could. Across the street his friends were sniggering as they watched on; one even called out something lewd to encourage the man. Fantastic.

"I'm fine thanks," she answered tartly, looking away from him and back to her phone. She fired off a text to Yumi.

In case I disappear, a college student in red Nikes was the last one to see me.

The student took a seat beside her, uninvited, and laid his arm across the back of the bench behind her in a faux-casual move. Haru slid away to the end of the seat.

Yumi's response pinged back: I thought you were on a date?

"A date, huh?" The boy had slid after her and read the message over her shoulder. "If he doesn't show up, I'll be happy to stand in."

Haru rolled her eyes and made to get up but he grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back down and into him.

She pushed away at once but he didn't relent. "Let me go."

"Come on. Don't be like that!" He leant in closer.

Haru swallowed down her rising panic. She'd had a couple of self-defence lessons in high school but she'd never had to use them before. In fact, she didn't even remember most of them.

"Let me go or I'll call the police."

He snorted, but his laughter was cut off abruptly when she drove her elbow back into his gut. He yelped, releasing her and she leapt to her feet, scurrying away from him.

"You little –

He came after her, face red and eyes flashing.

Fear lurched through her. She hadn't thought beyond getting out of his grip. He lunged for her. She jumped back, colliding with the unyielding chest of a man much bigger than she. The man reached out to steady her and she jerked away, fear spiralling into terror. Before she'd even had a chance to run, to try and fight, the man behind her stepped neatly sideways and swept her behind him with a protective arm around her waist.

The boy stopped short in the face of a more even fight, but he wasn't anywhere near as astonished as Haru was.

"Did you want something?" Hanazawa Rui asked. He managed to sound both threatening and amiable at the same time. Haru gaped, trying fruitlessly to reconcile her saviour with the rude rich boy she'd just been sat across the table from.

"It's not my fault you left your girl all alone." The boy shrugged.

"She's not alone anymore."

They sized each other up for a very long and tense moment before the boy at last stepped back. Since Rui was several inches taller and broader than he was, Haru thought he'd probably made the right choice. Glowering, he slunk back across the road. He was barely out of earshot when Rui grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Slow down!" she protested, not used to wearing heels and struggling to balance with his quick pace.

"What did you think you were doing?" Despite his sharp tone, he shortened his stride.

"Me? What did I do?" He was going to give her emotional whiplash if he kept on like this.

"Why didn't you just call your driver and go?"

"Excuse me?"

"Were you waiting around for something bad to happen? Hoping I would swoop in and save you?"

"No!" She began, outraged, but he wasn't listening.

"You're worse than all the others. At least they understood I wasn't interested."

"Maybe it's escaped your notice," Haru snapped, managing at last to yank her arm free, "but not everyone's obsessed with you. We don't all have the same freedom either," she added bitterly, scowling up at him.

He laughed. Not in a way that was particularly friendly.

"You expect me to believe that? Your outfit's half a year's wages to some people."

Haru tried not to squirm. Just because her family had money now didn't mean she'd forgotten when they hadn't. Or how she had felt then about the rich chaebol children.

"You're one to talk," she snapped back. He might have been wearing jeans, but they were still a designer brand. Not to mention the thick, white wool coat he was wearing now, or how outrageously expensive it must be for him to keep his hair that warm auburn colour.

"I'm not the one pretending to be a beggar," he said.

She huffed. How like a rich boy to assume every problem revolved around money. She tore her eyes away from his hair to look him in the eyes. They were large, dark eyes, and she could feel how inviting they would be if they weren't narrowed in anger. She lifted her chin.

"I never said I was poor. I said I don't have the luxury of abandoning my manners and doing whatever I want. That's reserved for arrogant rich boys like you."

Then she turned and walked away down the street, heels clicking with every step.

Her brother Hakku was sitting on the bottom step of their wide staircase when she came through the door. She hadn't wanted to stay out longer, and after Hanazawa her dad's anger seemed much easier to face. Of course, that had been when she was still a car ride away.

"You're gonna get it," Hakku jeered. The eight years between the two of them hadn't mattered so much when Hakku was young, but now Haru was a fully grow, twenty-year-old woman while he was still very much a child.

"Buzz off," Haru snapped.

Hakku stuck his tongue out at her and ran off up the stairs. Haru could still see his shadow on the landing though; he would hardly pass up the chance to eavesdrop on her being told off.

"Koharu!"

Haru winced. Clearly, she was in even more trouble than she'd thought: her dad almost never used her full name. She shrugged off her coat and handed it to a maid who scurried away at once. It was just to be her and her father then.

She crossed the entryway, passing under the crystal chandelier which had come with the place and hesitating only a moment before pushing open the door to her father's study.

Yamato was sat behind his desk at the end of a long, thin room, lined with warm wood panelling and high bookshelves. He was writing something and didn't look up when she entered, merely gestured to one of the stiff chairs set in front of his desk. Haru sat gingerly on the edge and stared hard at his greying hair. The silence went on for a long minute.

"I suppose this is your way of rebelling," he set his pen aside at last and lifted his head to look at her. "You obey me in the loosest possible way."

Her father's hair might be greying but his dark eyes were as sharp as ever, bracketed by both frown and laughter lines. He set his hard gaze on her now and Haru chaffed under it.

"It wasn't my fault," she began, but her father cut her off.

"You don't whine to me. You're an adult; take responsibility for your actions."

Haru swallowed what she'd like to say to that.

"Hanazawa-San didn't want to be there. He was late and he made it clear he thought I was beneath him."

"And what did you do?"

"I…" She had to look away. "I… told him he was spoilt and rude. But- "

Her father closed his eyes and held up a hand to silence her. "Enough."

They sat in silence again until at last he sighed deeply and opened his eyes again. His expression was heavy with disapproval and disappointment.

"How many times must I tell you to control your temper? It was all well and good when you were the daughter of a tailor but it does you no good now."

"I know, dad."

"Do you?" His lips pressed into a thin line. "Perhaps the lesson won't sink in until I take something that you do care about away. Your piano perhaps? Or shall I prevent you from teaching?"

"That's not fair!" she cried; aware she was proving his point by snapping at him but not prepared to simply accept his punishment. "It wasn't only my fault! I tried!" Her voice wavered. "I am trying. I promise you, I am."

His face softened at last. "I know, Haru."

He stood and came around the desk to kneel beside her chair. "I've asked a great deal of you, and I'm sorry for that. It should be my job to shoulder this family's burdens, not yours. It's been a long, hard day. Will you forgive me for losing my temper?"

Haru flung her arms around him and held on tight. No matter how much they fought, she was never really angry. After her mum, life seemed too uncertain for holding grudges.

"My sweet daughter." He murmured. "You look so much like your mother." He brushed a thumb tenderly over her cheek. Tears prickled in her eyes. She might have said, then, that she wanted a marriage like her parents had had. That she didn't want to be sold off like chattel to the highest bidder. With her mother in the ring, she would have won.

But she didn't.

"I'll make you proud, father. Both of you."

He smiled, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You already do."

That night, after her father had gone to bed, Haru snuck back down to his study and found the file of potential-husbands in his top desk drawer. He had filtered out any who were too old, too cruel, or too often absent and the pile of papers was still three fingers thick. She curled up in her father's chair and opened the folder. On the very first page sat a picture of Hanazawa Rui, looking every bit as golden and god-like as he had in person. Haru huffed and flipped the photograph over before setting his pages aside.

The next four men she'd already been on lacklustre dates with, but five page sets down, she found an option that had potential.

Arato Kenji. Twenty years old, like her. From an old family who made their money first in the silk trade and later in constuction. Lacking in funds after a reckless grandfather but rich in connections. His picture showed a tall, thin man with strong, sharp features and a startlingly dour expression for someone so young. Perhaps someone like Kenji would be willing to overlook her family's lack of connections in light of the cash injection they would bring.

Haru groaned and let her head flop back into the padded leather of her father's chair. It all sounded so old-fashioned and stilted: she would gift his family money and he would gift her connections. What a romantic basis to begin a marriage on.

She shut the folder with a snap and shoved it back in its drawer. Tomorrow, she told herself, as she climbed the stairs to bed. Tomorrow she would arrange to meet Kenji.

Three days later found Haru hunting through the shelves of a cramped music shop in Tokyo, Kenji and her vow to call him the furthest thing from her mind. She crouched to rifle through a rack of second-hand sheet music and her phone buzzed impatiently in her pocket.

It was Yumi: Why are you taking so long to get here? I'm dying of hunger!

Haru rolled her eyes.

I'm just checking for Dream of Spring.

You want me to come and meet you if you don't find it? Yumi's response was lightning fast.

I'm not that helpless. Try not to waste away before I get there!

She shoved her phone into her bag before Yumi could respond and went back to her search. She was just moving on to the last pile on the rack when the bell above the door jangled.

"Hello?"

Haru froze. No. It Couldn't be. She slowly raised her head to peek between the heavily-packed shelves. All she could see was a pair of grey skinny jeans and, really, anyone might wear grey skinny jeans. It didn't mean –

"Ah, Hanazawa!" The shopkeeper, emerging from a back room, clearly knew Rui well. Haru swore under her breath.

"I was just looking in the back for a particular piece for a girl…" She saw his waist twist as he searched for her. She held very still, hoping the shadows of the self would keep her hidden. "Oh. I suppose…" He straightened up. "Come through – I have your violin ready."

They disappeared together behind the counter and Haru digested this new, astonishing piece of information. With how little patience Hanazawa-San had shown during their date she hadn't thought he had enough dedication to learn to tie his own shoes let alone play an instrument. Then again, perhaps that was why it needed repairing.

Peering out from her hiding spot to check the coast was clear, Haru began to shuffle in her crouch towards the door. She was almost halfway there when she remembered she hadn't quite finished going through the piano pieces.

Torn, she hesitated in the open space between the door and the shelf. Voices were drifting into the main shop from the back room; she knew they could come back at any moment. But then if Dream of Spring was there on that shelf and she missed it just because of Hanazawa-San…

Haru swore again and shuffled back to the shelf, rifling through the remaining pages as quickly as possible. Three sheets from the last, she heard footsteps coming towards her again. She plastered herself to the shelf, remaining as still as possible.

Leave. She willed him. Just leave. But as though he could feel her wish and wanted to spite her, Hanazawa-San seemed determined to drag out his visit as long as possible. He was saying something about rosin and bowstrings but Haru wasn't paying attention. Pressed up against the papers like this, she could almost see the titles on the last pages. If she could just ease them apart without making too much noise –

The opening beats of a k-pop song shattered the peace inside the shop. The two men's conversation broke off immediately.

"Is someone there?" the shopkeeper called.

Hanazawa-San took a more pro-active approach. He advanced on her hiding spot as the pop song continued to reverberate around the room.

For her part, Haru thought it was very likely that she'd die of mortification before her phone stopped ringing. And if by some miracle she survived, she was going to kill whoever had called her. Slowly. Painfully.

He rounded the corner of the shelf and stopped dead. They stared at each other for a long moment, him frozen mid-step and her clinging to the bottom shelf like a gremlin. Her cheeks were so hot she thought they might catch fire.

Mercifully, her phone stopped ringing.

Then, damn him, Hanazawa-San started to laugh. Slowly at first, then deep chuckles, then full-blown stomach-clutching laughter.

Embarrassed beyond belief, Haru stood up and shoved at him.

"Shut up."

He laughed harder. "What… What were you doing?" he gasped out between peals of laughter.

Haru groaned and buried her face in her hands, hoping desperately that this was a nightmare she was about to wake up from.

"Hey," he said, his laughter dimming. "Hey." He pulled gently on her arm and she raised her head reluctantly. His expression was tight now, almost sad. He tilted his head to look at her. "Were you hiding from me? Did you want to avoid me that much?"

She hesitated. He took that as his answer.

"I'm sorry," he said, releasing her and taking a step back.

Without his hand, her arm felt oddly cold.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat pointedly and they both jumped.

"Did you find what you were looking for down there?"

"No… I… Sorry…. Thank you." Haru bowed hastily and fled the shop.

Outside, she fished her phone from her bag and was unsurprised to find that the awful missed call had come from Yumi.

I'm going to kill you.

Hanazawa-San appeared behind her as she sent the message. He was carrying a lovely white violin case at his side which was secured with a gold zip. She'd have bet a fortune it was custom-made. She scowled at it, remembering how condescending he had been to her after their failed date.

"What were you looking for?" he asked, looking down at her. He really was very tall – the top of her head barely cleared his chin.

"Are you sure you want to talk to me?" She asked, dodging his question. "Last time you saw me you made it clear how little you thought of me."

"Ah." He sighed, shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I was pretty awful, wasn't I?"

"Yes."

His lips twitched.

Haru glowered at him, not finding the situation remotely funny. "Do you always laugh at other people's pain?" she snapped.

He went rigid. Haru knew at once she'd gone too far. Her father was right: if she didn't learn to think before she spoke, she was going to land herself in the kind of trouble she couldn't dig herself out of. She braced herself for his response.

It didn't come.

They stood in silence for an excruciatingly long minute. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye and found him staring hard across the road. His expression was flat and sombre, sadness clung to him like a lost child.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He blinked, looked down at her, smiled. "I deserved it. I wasn't a good date."

Haru saw past his casual front to the shadow still lingering in his eyes. They were heavy eyes for someone so young and rich. She wanted, suddenly and inexplicably, to lighten the burden those eyes carried.

"I judged you just as much as judged me."

Rui turned fully towards her; head tilted. "Oh?"

"I thought you were an entitled rich boy."

His lips twitched. "Aren't I?"

She regarded him carefully. "No. Boys like that don't apologise, no matter what they did."

He was quiet for a moment. "It must be hard for you. A foot in either world but not truly belonging to either. Which do you prefer?"

There was no need to ask what he meant. She spent so much of her life walking the tightrope between rich and poor. "I think anybody who doesn't have to struggle is lucky." She lifted her chin so she could look him in the eye. "I hope I never forget that I am lucky."

"Are you?" He held her captive in his gaze. "You said yourself, you're not free. Not like I am."

Haru blinked, startled that he remembered any of what she'd said. She abruptly felt ashamed of what she'd said, of the bitterness with which she viewed her situation. She was lucky. Even if she went on a thousand matchmaking dates, that wouldn't change. Her father would let her choose her life, which was far more than many women in her situation got.

"My father's business is expanding, we don't have to count our pennies to pay the rent, my brother has a bright future ahead." She broke away from his piercing gaze. "What's there for me to complain about?"

"How fascinating you are."

Haru's breath caught, her cheeks flushed, but she refused to look back. This conversation was getting wildly out of control.

"I should have thanked you that night," she said, feeling her cheeks grown hotter as she hurried to pull the conversation back to safer waters. She hugged her elbows tightly. "You helped me even though you didn't know me."

He bent so their faces were on a level and she had little choice but to meet his gaze. His tufty hair fell across his forehead, tangling with his eyelashes. He was so beautiful it almost hurt.

"Did you think I would leave you?"

"I.." She stuttered, thrown off by his closeness. "Nobody else in that restaurant felt like coming to my rescue."

Haru caught the flash of anger that zipped across his face as quickly as a bluebottle. Soft warmth sparked inside her heart in response. There was so much more to him than she'd seen at first, so much softness. She felt again how easy it might be to fall under this man's spell. To dive into his layers of mysterious kindness and never come up for air.

"Why did you help me?" she asked tentatively, not sure she should despite the newfound openness between them. He took a while to answer and she found herself hanging off every small move he made while she waited for his answer.

"You remind me of someone," he admitted at last.

Her stomach dropped like a stone. "A girl?"

He smiled fondly. "The only girl."

"Right."

She took a step back, sense returning to her with an awful twist. What had she expected him to say? That he'd thought she was beautiful? That he felt the same odd lure toward her as she did toward him? It wasn't likely. Especially as he was apparently imagining another girl every time he looked at her.

His face twinged, as though he regretted what he'd said. As though he wanted desperately to say more, but couldn't bring himself to.

"I should go," she said, before he could open his mouth. "I have someone waiting for me."

The moment between them was broken. He straightened, nodded.

"Until we meet again, Ashika Koharu." It sounded more like a promise than a goodbye. The sheer elation it left her with was something she was completely unprepared for.

He turned and loped away, all long legs and easy grace. Her phone started ringing again and several people in the street turned to look at her. Vowing never to turn her phone off silent again, Haru turned in the opposite direction to Hanazawa-San and answered the call.