Chapter 4 ~ One Dance
She was numb. Not knowing who she danced with, unaware of anything except the flashes of pain that blinded her to her surroundings, she whirled in the melee of dancers and watched the world pass by in a blur. In her mind's eye she saw Aoshi dancing with Megumi, the beautiful girl pressing herself close to his strength and wrapped tightly in his arms. Even in imagination she dared not see his face. Her unknown partner, still dazed that the Ice Princess had said yes to his request for a dance, did not notice that he held only her body, that her soul had retreated to some inner citadel and locked itself away.
But Aoshi noticed. Watching her dance with her umpteenth partner that night, he fought to restrain a wave of fury, frustration, and…jealousy? No. He could not face so many revelations in one night. Megumi meant nothing to him, he suddenly realized, with a slight pang of guilt. Here he was, dancing with her, yet his mind was a million miles away. He had always known, though ~ none of the girls he had ever been with had ever affected him in any significant way; they were trivial, superficial intruders, forever incapable of reaching him. He had shut himself away a long time ago.
Yet Misao…Aoshi shook his head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. Later. He would deal with those truths later. For now, all he wanted was for them to reconcile, for her to look at him and smile as she had so long ago when they were both children and both innocent. He could not bear to have her missing from his life anymore.
His jaw set in determination, Aoshi left the protesting Megumi and made his way across the room. Whatever it takes, he told himself grimly. She will speak to me again.
At the other side of the glittering ballroom, Misao struggled to hold back the growing lump in her throat. The room suddenly felt very stifling to her, its bright lights and gay chatter oppressive and mocking of her misery. She longed to escape, yet she could not afford to let Jiya down. If only she could get out for a while…
The balcony! She had forgotten all about the spacious stone terrace that Jiya had had built opening onto the interior court of the restaurant. He had bragged to her endlessly about the fusion of Eastern and Western styles and traditions, the balcony being one of the Western elements cleverly enclosed by the Japanese facade. Desperate for release, she bid a hurried goodbye to her partner and fled to its open freedom.
"Ah…" she breathed deeply the cool, fresh air, sweetened by the fragrance of Okina's garden. She studied its meticulous walkways, shaded enclaves, and the magnificent weeping cherry, blushing prettily in full bloom. She had always loved cherry blossoms, and the weeping cherry in particular had drawn her child's fancy, beckoning her to hide behind its pink curtain of bloom. She had often asked Jiya why it seemed so sad yet so beautiful at the same time. Looking at it now, standing so proudly yet sorrowfully at the center of the garden, Misao was reminded of a Chinese story she had read a long time ago. It told of a young maiden whose heart was so broken that she buried the fallen blossoms and mourned their death as the death of her love. Misao shivered, feeling chilled to the core. She could not let herself become like that…could she?
Gentle hands slid a warm jacket around her shoulders. Without turning around, she knew he was there. For a bittersweet moment, she allowed herself to sink into its warmth…his warmth. But the next instant she was drawing away, taking off the offending garment and handing it back to its owner.
"Thank you," she said icily. "But I'm not cold."
His stomach clenched painfully at her abrupt refusal, but knowing her stubbornness and pride, he retrieved his jacket. She was obviously cold, trembling in spite of her clenched fists and set jaw. Or perhaps, it was not the chill that affected her. His heart filled with a wild, irrepressible hope. He would not give up yet ~ he was just as stubborn.
"Misao." He could not resist saying her name again. "Misao, we need to talk."
"I don't see anything we need to discuss, Aoshi. It seems we are both happy with our lives and have no need for each other." Her tone was colder than the March wind.
"That's a lie." His eyes flashed with something akin to anger; she, so unaccustomed to seeing emotions on his face, widened her eyes in surprise.
"That's right, Misao. I can feel." His voice was rough, almost desperate. "You and I both know that for the past eight years, we have been miserable without each other. Don't deny yourself the truth."
She was dangerously calm, allowing only a hint of barely restrained fury to filter through. "I don't deny myself the truth, Aoshi, or have you forgotten it yourself? You were the one who left me. I had to pick up the pieces after you were gone. Do you know how I felt then? Do you know how I tried to look for you? Do you know how I l—…" She stopped herself mid-sentence, eyes blazing in anger.
At that moment, Okina chose to interrupt them. "Ah! So I see you've found each other." He chuckled nervously when he saw their grim faces, feeling the unbearable tension between the silent pair. "Uh…well…come on inside!" he forced out cheerfully. "I have to introduce you to everyone!"
Both groaned inwardly. Okina was not one to be subtle. Yet they were loathe to refuse, both owing more to this endearing old man than to any other person in their lives. Obediently, though reluctantly, they followed him into the ballroom.
"Ahem…Hello everyone!" Standing on the makeshift stage in the center of the room, Okina loudly announced their presence. The revelers immediately shifted their attention to the three figures, some gasping in surprise at the sight of the dark-haired young man and the beautiful girl… together. Although they themselves did not realize it, Aoshi and Misao made a stunning pair.
"I hope everyone is enjoying themselves!" Okina laughed in delight at the rising cheer from the crowd. "But before I let you return to your party, I must introduce you to two very special people ~ so special, in fact, that they are almost like children to me!" Aoshi and Misao turned embarrassingly red at this comment. "Of course," Okina continued on, "many of you have probably heard of them, they being very successful people." He puffed out his chest in pride. "But," he faltered for a moment, then drove on with a sheepish smile. "I will introduce them anyway…And, they will have the first dance!"
With a mischievous grin, Okina signaled to an awaiting string quartet. "Waltz, please," he commanded, ignoring the icy glares of his beloved "children." With a flourish, he announced, "I present to you…Shinomori Aoshi and Makimachi Misao!"
Again, they could not refuse. With dull eyes and an icy detachment, Misao turned to Aoshi and offered her hand. He took it, placing his other hand around her slim waist. Mind reeling from the quick turn of events, he was half furious at Okina for putting them on the spot like this. The other half of him, however, was thanking his lucky stars.
They danced mechanically, without any emotion, although their outward movements betrayed no trace of their mutual avoidance and displayed only grace and finesse. Their audience was very impressed, and Misao realized with a sinking heart that their picture and story would appear in every gossip column of any importance the next morning.
Aoshi, too, appeared to have noticed. "Quite an audience we have here," he murmured sardonically. Misao did not answer, too busy trying to avoid his eyes. With a sudden gleam in their blue depths, he added softly, "Misao-mine."
He caught her attention this time. Her head whipped round furiously to meet his bemused gaze. He had no right to be using that endearment! "What did you say?" she demanded angrily.
Smiling slightly, almost rakishly, he repeated himself. "Misao-mine."
Her eyes shone becomingly as an angry flush crept up her cheeks. "Please don't call me that anymore," she stated as calmly as possible.
He was still smiling. "Why not?" As if he had a perfect right to know.
"Because…" the anger faded, replaced by deep sadness. "Because…you don't mean it."
It tore him apart inside. "Mis—" he began, desperate to set things right.
She would not let him continue. Gently, but firmly, she pressed her fingers against his lips. "Don't." He flinched at her icy voice, once more devoid of any emotion. "As I said before, there is nothing we need to discuss."
His mind felt ready to explode. Didn't she see that there was everything for them to discuss?! Didn't she see that they were both dying, bit by bit, of loneliness and longing? Didn't she see that she couldn't leave it like this? That he couldn't let her leave? In fury, and desperation, he seized her hand and held it prisoner in his larger, warmer one.
"Misao, I—"
"No!" She wrenched her hand away, willing her body to escape. She couldn't let him in again. She couldn't endure the torture, the failure, the thousand disappointments one more time and not risk losing her sanity in the process. Ignoring the looks of surprise from the surrounding guests, her fingers still tingling from his warmth, Misao fled.
He was alone, as before, as always. Yet the memory of her touch was imprinted on his soul, and he would not let it disappear so readily this time.