To Tanuki: No physical smacking but other types of smacking may happen. :P Thank you for your review!
Enjoy, y'all! :D
-X-
Later during the night, Gaara paced in the living room, the acidic way she had called him 'honey' haunting him.
She wasn't happy.
Gaara thought it would be easy, a fair exchange: companionship in exchange for his fortune and social status. But she was dissatisfied. She had left his credit card on the counter. She had slammed doors and disappeared in the bedroom without another word, her lips pinched, her lips twisted in a scowl.
He frowned, running a hand through his hair.
He rubbed at the back of his neck.
He hesitated.
Then, Gaara scribbled a note next to the card: "Get what you want."
He paced again, faster, his hands deep in his pockets.
In the business world, in his world, humans were simple. They were needy. They didn't love things; they simply needed, craved things they didn't have. Things their neighbours had. Things perfect strangers had flaunted online. There was always a need to fill with this or that product. Otherwise, money fixed everything.
Why hadn't it fixed them?
Gaara rubbed at the tension building up in his neck, still pacing.
He couldn't understand what she wanted from him.
He scowled.
Gaara abruptly turned toward the couch and reached for his cellphone. He quickly dialled Kankuro's number.
"Wut?" Kankuro said groggily into the phone after the fifth ring.
"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitated, and he glanced up at the staircase plunged in darkness.
He heard Kankuro growl and shift into a sitting position. Kankuro muttered something to Kiba. Then, a door closed.
"Remember when you were a small annoying kid, and I would tell you I can exchange you for a decent little bro at the nearest supermarket?" Kankuro hissed.
Gaara opened his mouth, and glanced at his watch. 3:40 am.
"It's late."
"Yeah," his brother growled. "But what the hell do you mean I didn't choose right?"
"She's upset about the things you picked out."
"First of all, your assistant picked everything. I don't know women, at all. Second of all, she should still be grateful," Kankuro sucked in a breath, and laughed with an irony that escaped Gaara. "Tell her I'll exchange her at the nearest supermarket."
"No," Gaara frowned. "She just seems to think her old stuff was better."
"Oh fuck, she had stuff? And you threw it away?"
"I just said that, yes," Gaara replied coldly.
He glanced toward the card still on the counter.
"I can't explain this to you right now," Kankuro grunted and Gaara winced.
"I can call you back between meetings... At 10h15?"
"Gaara..."
"Don't say my name like that."
'Like I'm not human,' Gaara added silently. He clenched his jaw.
Temari had Shikamaru.
Kankuro had Kiba.
He simply wanted to feel needed too.
Gaara closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the tattoo on his forehead. Why wasn't love simple? Wasn't it what his siblings had told him: love was simple. Love would find a way.
His face darkened, twitching, twisting, and he opened his mouth to snap, but Kankuro sighed. He stilled, his heart throbbing.
Of course, he did something wrong. He wasn't human.
"Just apologize, and get her stuff back. And next time, for Pete's sakes, don't just tell me: 'she needs new stuff.' Share the whole story, like that she already has stuff. Hold on." Gaara waited, breathing hard, as his brother's muffled voice said something and Kiba answered him. "Kiba wants to have supper with you two. Pick a day. Now, I'm going back to sleep before my boyfriend exchanges me at the nearest supermarket. Night, little bro."
Kankuro hung up.
Gaara didn't sleep. He never did. He lied down on the couch, a business book open on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his arm draped carelessly over his forehead, his other hand on the spine of the book. He thought of her green eyes flashing with anger. She was a different woman from the one who had meekly bowed to him at the coffee shop.
Were people really like that, Gaara wondered, full of contradictions and conflicting emotions?
Grunting, he rubbed at his temples.
His mind drifted, roamed, but he didn't sleep.
Monsters didn't sleep.
-X-
Sakura couldn't sleep.
She turned restlessly in the bed. It smelled inhabited, faint floral detergent clinging to her. The dark grey bed sheets rubbed still crisp against her skin.
Irritated, she sat up huffing, muttering to herself: "What a jerk!" Turning her head toward the door, she bit her lip. Instinctively, she held up the bed sheets to her chest. She wore a simple pink pyjamas, but she felt exposed. In a stranger's home. In a stranger's bed.
'What if he came up?' she thought and shuddered.
Sakura turned her head toward the rest of the room, wondering if she should put one of the chairs from the walk-in closet against the knob.
Sakura fumbled with the sheets and got off the bed, shaking her head. She was being paranoid. He said he wouldn't come up. He said he wouldn't disturb her.
Her stomach churned.
The darkness was grey, the street lights filtered out by spaced out blinds and the space under the door.
Skin flushed, Sakura advanced slowly her fingers outstretched toward the doorknob. She listened intensely. She could hear him moving downstairs, her heart pounding violently against her rib cage. .
"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitated.
Sakura froze, her hand on the knob. The metal was cool and she shuddered.
She shouldn't listen in. She truly shouldn't, but curiosity gripped her. Silently, she turned the knob. She blushed, embarrassed, her heart still pounding, and she thought of jealous nosy wives that did the same.
'Haruno Sakura, you're a foolish girl,' her mind shouted.
His voice now reached her more easily, low and grave. Her heart skipped a beat. She licked her dry lips.
"No, she just seems to think her old stuff was better."
Sakura faltered, her eyes shifting involuntarily to her wedding ring. He sounded like a child. Then, an insidious thought whispered at her; what if he was talking to the woman in the picture?
There was someone else. He had kissed this woman and married Sakura to prevent a scandal.
She was simply a means to an end.
Sakura quickly closed the door, her face stiffening and she chewed on her bottom lip. Her heart still pounded, heavy, sinking, sinuous, in her chest. She wondered what kind of woman was considered lesser than a penniless orphan.
She climbed back into bed.
His.
His bed.
She was his, but her husband belonged to another woman.
A dark-haired beauty, Sakura decided, drifting to sleep, her eyelids fluttering. It had to be a beautiful dark-haired woman with a troubled past. A woman, he grew soft for. A woman, he couldn't ignore. A woman that made him forget his watch, his schedule, his work...
She dreamed of a wedding that wasn't hers.
-X-
The next morning, Sakura ate her breakfast in silence, her lips pursued, barely chewing the steamy rice pudding.
Gaara had served her in silence, his green eyes searching hers. Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing clearly her puffy eyes, her pale face, and how everything about him ravaged her. Ever since she had put his ring on, he had torn pieces of her, a roaming scavenger that mercilessly picked at the bones.
"Do you have class or are you at the hospital today?" Gaara asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her. He already wore his suit, his red tie still loose around his neck.
He didn't eat.
The back of her neck prickled. She was certain he wasn't used to waiting. His face hardened, his eyes flashed, his posture stiffening as his gaze grew intense and demanding.
Sakura ignored him. She munched slowly, and his eyebrow twitched.
"You put my schedule on the fridge. You could look at it," Sakura said finally with a flippant tone.
His silence, his eyes unnerved her.
"Hn."
Gaara glanced out of the window, his muscled forearms jerking, still crossed over him.
"Yesterday, you arrived later than scheduled. I hope it doesn't happen today."
Annoyed, Sakura glared up at him, but his face was expressionless, unfocused, still turned toward the bay windows. She pinched her lips and bent over her bowl again. The texture of the rice was perfect, the pieces of sour mangoes folded onto it more fragrant than she had hoped.
She was most definitely not going to compliment his cooking.
"I won't be late for the interview," she bit out.
"My brother and his partner," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the garden, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "They want to have supper with us."
Sakura pushed her bowl away from her, and reached for her napkin. She wiped her mouth, and he furrowed his eyebrows.
"What works best for you?" he added slowly.
"Shouldn't we be meeting the elders of your family first? Isn't that what your traditions require? Elders first, then the youngest?"
"Hn."
Sakura sighed, smiling bitterly, and stood up.
"Thanks for making breakfast," she said flatly.
His head turned back toward her, his pale eyes following her as she left the kitchen.
"Put the bowl away," he said without turning.
"I'm going to be late, but sure, you should clean up," Sakura shrugged. "It's your stuff afterward."
Gaara stood up too, swiftly, and she walked faster toward the entrance. Maybe she went too far?
Her hands grew cold.
He followed her, a glowering presence. She bent down to put on her shoes, avoiding the sharp edges of his face.
Gaara leaned on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, solid, his eyes on his watch.
"How about Saturday we visit obaasan. Can you cook? The bride should bring sweets to elders."
"Yes, I can cook," Sakura said distractedly and reached for her shoes. "Saturday is fine."
"What about my sister and her partner? I suppose, Temari would expect us to visit... She's the eldest," his jaw twitched, he held back his snarl. "Then, supper with Kankuro."
Sakura grimaced, occupying her hands with her messenger back. She had forgotten visiting Temari would also be required.
"Next week, you have Wednesday and Friday evening of free. Does it work?"
'Never also works,' she added silently, but nodded nonetheless.
"Good," Gaara replied, nodding to himself, and turned away from her.
He reached in his pocket for his phone.
Sakura gritted her teeth, exhausted from his proximity. She looked at the space he had occupied, her insides twisted, sore. What had she expected? A goodbye kiss?
She heard the sound of clicking dishes as he cleaned up the kitchen table.
"Bye, honey!" Sakura shouted, and she slammed the door after her.
She puffed in the already hot air of the city.
"Jerk."
-X-
Gaara hated the board of directors' meetings.
They were inefficient, dragged out by veiled bickering and insults, feigned alliances and rivalries. Politics.
He shifted in his seat, barely listening to soft sounds of executive assistant typing and Director Oh's drone voice.
Temari used to take care of those meetings.
His mouth twitched at the thought of his sister. His sister in Konoha. Living there.
Gaara bared his teeth.
Director Oh's voice faded, gutted.
Gaara turned the page of the document in front of him alongside the others.
Director Oh coughed, drank some water and spoke again.
Temari in Konoha and never coming back.
Gaara glanced at his watch and readjusted his tie.
The conference room suddenly felt too crowded, the directors sitting around the conference table in a tight rectangle of bobbing heads and rummaging papers. Interns took hurried notes behind them, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, to keep awake or their legs going numb.
He blinked. Were they always this many people in the meeting?
Gaara detached his chin from his laced fingers. His hands were ice-cold.
He focused on the numbers, on the time, on his watch. His fingers rubbed the tattoo on his forehead, and he was terrified the anger would coil, swirling around him tighter and tighter.
There was this meeting, then another one, then the interview. There should be no room for anger. No room for thoughts of his sister.
In 19 minutes, he would be able to dismiss them. It always took them four to five minutes to gather their things. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries.
In fifteen minutes, Gaara would go down to the twelfth floor and meet with the executives from the main factory.
In one hour and 19 minutes, he would drive home.
Gaara glanced down at the leather file folder in front of him.
"And this is why we should sell the newly acquired division," Director Oh finished.
Gaara froze.
"Gaara-sama," one of the director said and coughed. An intentional disturbance. The other directors turned their stares to him, fingers pushing back the business plan. An orchestrated plan.
They squirmed under his stare. He leafed through the document in front of him. There was nothing about the new division. The silence was deafening as he kept turning pages and pages. Finally, he slapped the leather folder and pushed himself back from the table.
"We were supposed to discuss opening a new market in the Whirlpool country," Gaara said icily.
He hated when they changed the order of the meeting, shifting his schedule around like it belonged to them. Like he didn't need the numbers, the order to stay focused.
His sister was leaving.
Kin was clutching to him.
And Sakura... He didn't know what to make of her.
There were already enough things changing.
Director Oh coughed again, his hand in a shaky fist pressed against his mouth.
"Maybe, you should bring your wife to the next fundraiser. Investors from the Fire country will be there. It'll be good for future relations... She was born there, yes?"
"Hn. Can we return to the schedule?" Gaara said tonelessly.
He lowered his hands to the table, tapping the rhythm of time with one index. 13 more minutes, and he would get up.
"You should dismantle the new company you acquired," Director Orochimaru hissed. "It's a dead weight."
Gaara felt the familiar anger boiled and lashed out inside him. He straightened his back, leaning back on his leather chair. The directors pressed their lips together, a joined front.
"My wife won't come to the fundraiser if you keep pretending we can't save this company."
"Gaara-sama!" one of the directors exclaimed, and the others blinked rapidly staring at each other, nudging at each other.
"She'll be too busy with being newly poor," Gaara said flatly, and he knocked on the table sharply. "Are we going to talk about the new market now?"
"There're times you do business like your father, Gaara-sama," Director Orochimaru said with a smirk, and an elongated feminine hand pushed back his lustrous hair.
A ferocious amusement glinted in his narrowed eyes.
He was a snake.
Gaara knew Director Orochimaru coveted his seat. He was patient. He was deceitful. He had briefly occupied the CEO's chair after Gaara's father had died. He had let the siblings play in his office, musing out loud about their father's disgrace until none of them could smile.
They glared at each other.
They would always fight for the chair, the title, and the power that would make one and defeat the other.
"There are times I wish I was my father," Gaara said coldly, but he inwardly recoiled at the thought.
Director Orochimaru tilted his head, his smile voracious, and his eyes gleamed.
"The fundraiser is in two weeks," Director Oh squeaked, his hand on his tie.
Elegantly, Director Orochimaru shrugged, still smiling.
"If you would excuse me, I have another meeting," Gaara snapped the leather file folder shut, and stood up.
He was in advance, but he didn't care.
Reluctantly, the other directors stood up too, buttoning back their suit jacket with stiff hands, and displeased frown. They shook their heads, avoiding looking at each other. They would plot, Gaara knew. Director Orochimaru was still sitting, his assistant fervently staring at him.
"How did you grow so soft," Director Orochimaru asked softly. "A woman, perhaps?"
"It's a long way down my office," Gaara said dully, and he pointed at the exit. "That way is slower, but safer."
"Gaara-sama..." The other directors bowed their heads, and exited the room.
Gradually, Director Orochimaru got to his feet. His assistant hurried to give him his cane, his arm draped over his shoulder protectively. He barely seemed to notice, stepping toward Gaara.
"It'd be a long way down your office for you too, Gaara-sama," he sing-sang as he brushed by him. "Enjoy married life, even if we both know who you truly miss..."
The door closed softly behind him.
Still glaring at the door, Gaara readjusted his suit jacket, turning his cufflink back in place, perfectly symmetrical.
Slowly, he turned to his executive assistant.
Matsuri scurried to her feet, her mouth agape, her computer and some loose papers pressed against her chest. She bowed stiffly, her face red.
He began walking, and she followed him as quickly as she could.
"Call my wife and remind her about the interview."
"Yes, Gaara-sama," she panted and tried to twist her forearm to reach for her pen to scribble a note on her notepad.
She gripped her computer before it could slip off her arms.
"I'll meet with Baki and the others. I want you to head to my house and prep her," Gaara kept talking without slowing.
Matsuri bit her bottom lip, anxiety creasing her eyebrows.
"Yes, Gaara-sama," she said quietly.
"What is it?"
She pushed back her shoulders just as he had told her. His pale eyes were already on her when she finally looked up.
"I tried contacting the moving company like you asked, but her things..." she tried to keep her voice even, but it wobbled, almost extinguished. "They are gone, Gaara-sama."
He stared at her for a moment longer before he kept walking.
"Hn. Don't worry about it," he said and straightened his tie.
"But-"
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," he said tensely and Matsuri sighed falling behind him.
-X-
Chiyo felt like her entire body was on fire. Flashes of irritation had plagued her all morning. It felt like ants were walking under her skin, crawling in her skull. Ants or needles, she couldn't decide. Weakly, she waved her thoughts away with her moist palms.
Chiyo knew all the side effects of chemotherapy, and yet... Yet, she had thought foolishly like any doctor that she would beat the odds. That it would be different, for her.
Briskly, she reached for the intercom and buzzed Nozomi, her assistant.
"Is she here?" Chiyo clicked her tongue.
"Yes, Chiyo-sama, she just arrived."
"Send her in, now."
Chiyo dropped back in her chair, exhausted.
A moment later, the door of her office opened and Sakura bowed in front of her. Nozomi softly closed the door behind her, her worried gaze holding Chiyo's stare.
"How are you, Chiyo-sama?" Sakura asked, and her voice wobbled with nervousness. She wanted to feign happiness, but her hands twitched in one another.
She should straighten her back, be proud, unshakeable. For once, she was the lucky one. She was the woman with everything. She stared at her hands, her fingers finding the unfamiliar ring.
"Never mind that," Chiyo snapped, and shrugged. "I'm an old hag. Sit down and tell me you aren't pregnant with my great-grand child."
Sakura blushed and carefully sat down on one of the sofas.
Chiyo laughed like a hyena.
Sakura's shoulders tensed with the laughter. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Chiyo waved her off, her laughter receding.
"It'll come. Gaara is difficult, but he has a good heart. He'll give you anything you ask for."
Sakura smiled politely.
"I didn't call you in to discuss him though," Chiyo breathed in tentatively, but the tightness in her chest didn't loosen, and her mouth still felt cotton, dry, her tongue heavy. "I want to give you private lessons. Case studies."
Sakura flushed, blinking rapidly. She straightened her back, her eyes gleaming with pride, but a frown crept it.
"I don't think it would be fair to the other students," she said carefully.
"Half of those students will take over their parents' practice. Do you think that's fair?"
Sakura looked down at her hands again. She almost said it then: "I don't want anything to change." But if that were true, she wouldn't have married Gaara in the first place.
"Tell me you'll be honoured," Chiyo said roughly, a glint of amusement in her dark eyes, "so we can go on with our days."
Sakura's lips curled up in a small smile.
"I'm scared of what they'll think. Tomorrow... Tomorrow, they will know that I married Gaara-sama."
"Who cares?" Chiyo snorted.
"I do," Sakura said quickly and her eyes widened at the eagerness of the words. "I've come in on my own... But tomorrow, this won't matter."
"Sakura," Chiyo sighed and drummed her fingers on her desk. "Things will get tough, but if you had hesitation-"
"I don't," Sakura said. "Gaara-sama was kind enough to tell me how things would be. But I'm still scared."
"It's okay to be scared," Chiyo said softly.
"Thank you for the extra-lessons, but-"
"No, but!" Chiyo cried out and cackled. "Indulge your grandmother."
Sakura startled. Then, she softened and bowed her head.
"Thank you, Chiyo-sama."
"Are you deaf, girl!" Chiyo cried out. "Call me obaasan. Now, come back tomorrow at the same time, and we will discuss a cancer case."
"Thank you, obaasan."
She stood up, sensing the dismissal.
"Sakura..."
"Yes?"
Chiyo hesitated. Sakura looked too eager, like she used to do. She almost grunted. She had forgotten how she used to be naïve and young. 'Sentimentality,' she thought bitterly. 'As if I have time for sentimentality.'
Chiyo laced her fingers together, projecting the image of the business woman. 'I'll look strong while I still can,' she couldn't help but think.
"Whatever we discuss here... It needs to remain here."
Sakura frowned.
"I'm aware of patient-confidentiality guidelines."
"Indulge an old woman and swear it."
'Indulge an old selfish woman,' Chiyo thought.
Sakura looked taken-back, but her smile returned to her lips.
"I promise, obaasan."
-X-
In the beginning of the afternoon, Sakura froze, her step kicking at a gravel as she saw the mousey haired woman sitting in the steps leading to her house.
The grid closed softly behind her.
She didn't move.
The girl was younger than her, dressed in a wrinkled suit, as slumped on herself as she stared at her phone, her eyes fluttering shut.
"May I help you?" Sakura said stiffly.
The young woman shot to her feet and dropped her phone in her purse. She bowed deeply. She stared at Sakura, her mouth parted, her dark eyes widened. She bowed again.
"My name is Matsuri, Sakura-sama. Nice to meet you!" she cried out quickly. "I'm Gaara-sama's executive assistant. He sent me to take care of you before he arrived," she rambled.
Sakura blinked and smiled politely.
"Matsuri-chan," she gave her a quick bow. "Nice to meet you too. I got your message, there truly was no need to come all the way here."
Sakura brushed past her and unlocked the door for them.
"I have lists for you," Matsuri panted behind her and held up her purse and her other bags to her chest. She hurried after her.
She spoke to loudly, too quickly, her nervousness persistent.
"Lists?" Sakura grimaced.
She kicked off her shoes.
When Matsuri didn't follow her, she turned back. Matsuri was staring, her mouth agape at her shoes.
"What is it?" Sakura asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
"I think... I think I should place your shoes on the rack. Gaara-sama-"
"Never mind that," Sakura said roughly, her temper rising at the thought of Gaara's obsession with order. She gestured for Matsuri to enter the house.
Uncomfortably, the young girl sat down. Her grey suit was still wrinkled, faint lines of perspiration under her arm pits. She seemed like she was always on the run. She looked so young, Sakura thought, and she softened.
"Are you sure, I shouldn't tidy up?" Matsuri whispered, her eyes wild and terrified.
Sakura shook her head and held up her hand.
"Gaara-sama does his own tidy up," she said lightly.
Matsuri smiled, unconvinced, and rushed to take out a thick file. She evened out the pieces of paper. She handed it to Sakura with both hands, bowing meekly.
"Please read through it before the interview, Sakura-sama."
Sakura weighed the file in her hands, her lips in a hardening line.
"There are lists for what to say, some..." Matsuri blushed. "Fact-altering, I suppose, it's called. Please, read through those. We can then discuss the rest."
"What rest?"
Matsuri blinked.
"Make-up and clothes."
-X-
Two hours later, Sakura was pressed against Gaara on the couch. Someone had plaited her hair and someone else had done her make-up. And she felt like someone else. She was wearing clothes that made her look like a wife from the 1950s. Pristine and pressed and quietly beautiful.
It was a farce.
"Tell us how you met."
"Next question," Gaara said gruffly.
Sakura briefly closed her eyes, a nervous giggle rising in her chest. And he had thought she needed a list of what not to say?
"Gaara-sama..." the reporter said with a biting smile. She had leaned over her laps in a predatory stance, her brown lustrous hair flipped back over her shoulder.
"Our viewers would truly like to know how your status changed from more sought after bachelor to one of husband. The transition was quick," she smiled again, and Sakura held her breath.
"She's a student at the General hospital," Gaara replied flatly. "My grandmother is the head of that hospital. I'm sure you can add two plus two without us telling you an elaborate story."
Sakura laughed nervously, high-pitched and skewed.
The reporter's eyes darted to her, hungry, and her smile clipped.
"You find your husband endearing, Sakura-sama?"
"Yes," Sakura smiled. "When we met, he didn't even use a suffix for my name, can you imagine? I think it was love at sight, and he just forgot basic polite behaviour."
She slapped his thigh.
He turned a clouded stare to her.
"Now, he calls me Sakura-chan," Sakura added sweetly forcing a bright smile.
Gaara squeezed her hand still on his knee. He tried to peel off her hand off it, but her grip tightened in a vicious hold. He cleared his throat and shifted. Shrugging and still grinning, Sakura raised up their joined hands at the reporters who chuckled, beaming.
"What a beautiful story, Sakura-sama."
"Yes, I think so too," she replied coyly.
The reporter gave her a patient smile, her pen beating softly against her notepad.
"How long have you been dating before he proposed?"
Sakura giggled, her palms prickling, still gripping his hand. Matsuri had given her a preset of answers, but she couldn't focus. She turned her head toward Gaara.
He watched her, his lips in a hard line. This close to him, she could see the faint pale scars on his face, the crook of his nose where it had been broken. She could feel it lurking in his darkening eyes, flashes of violence.
But he let her hold her hand, not struggling against her. Emotionless. Distracted.
"Well, Gaara-kun," Sakura giggled again, feeling silly and used. "This is a question for you. You're in charge of remembering our date."
"You mean, my assistant is," he said slowly for her benefit she knew.
But she didn't care.
Sakura forced a laugh, ignoring the pulse she could feel from his hand, his warmth, and the absence of pressure. No reaction.
"He's just so funny once you get to know him," Sakura said in mocked confidence to the reporter.
She only smiled politely in return and noted something down quickly.
"Your ring is one of a kind from Designers Deidara & Sasori," she gestured toward her wedding ring, and Sakura's fingers curled back instinctively. "Why did you pick it, Gaara-sama?"
"The pink hair," Gaara said flatly.
"Excuse me?" The reporter prompted, but her mouth trembled with impatience, her smile never reaching her eyes.
"One of a kind," Gaara said in his monotone voice. "She's one of a kind."
Sakura blushed, startled, and her hand slacked around his. Finally, the reporter sat back satisfied and waved forward her photographer.
"Could we please take a photo of you two as newlyweds?" she asked.
They turned their faces toward one another. Sakura expected a smirk, but Gaara's face revealed nothing. She still searched it, and she only stopped on the tattoo peeking through strands of unruly hair. Her fingers twitched. Love.
She held her breath, a wild thought forming in her head. She wanted to touch it.
"Oh wow, yes, hold still," the photographer said and Sakura broke out of her reverie, blushing furiously. "You've such great chemistry. That's it!"
His flash snapped again.
Sakura smiled without her teeth, trying to lean back comfortably against the couch, now avoiding looking at him. What was wrong with her? This was a spectacle, a long con, there would be no touching, no love.
She let him go.
Her fingers curled into fists over her thighs.
"A kiss would be great now," the photographer said.
Sakura froze. Blindly, her hand found his again in a vicious grip.
Gaara shifted in his seat, and he glanced at her, annoyed. She squeezed him hard. 'Fix this,' she mouthed.
"She's shy," Gaara said uncomfortably through clenched teeth.
He breathed sharply when she released his hand a bit.
"I really am," Sakura said with a wide smile.
"She didn't look so shy in that picture we published. Maybe we should do a reenactment outside."
"Excuse me?" Sakura snapped about to raise to her feet.
Gaara held her back, his hand circling her wrist.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Apologize," Gaara said darkly, his eyes on the crew member who had spoken. "Now."
He didn't raise his voice, but there was an abrupt tension in the room. Sakura's eyes widened at the anger lurking his features, his mouth, his eyebrows twitching. His scars were pronounced now.
She patted his hand limply, her stomach at the back of her throat. Was that truly her uncaring husband?
He ignored her, his glare still on the crew member.
"I apologize," the man said meekly and bowed stiffly.
"Not to me," Gaara said and his tone didn't change. "To her. You insulted her."
Sakura turned back away from him, her other hand stilling over his.
The man blanched and bowed to her.
"I apologize, Sakura-sama."
"This interview is over," Gaara said and stood up, he pulled her behind him. "Matsuri, show them out."
Matsuri said something sharply to the news crew and the door opened.
Her hand trembled in his. He leaned forward, and Sakura closed her eyes, one hand automatically pressing against his chest.
"Stop shaking," he whispered dully in her ear. "They're leaving."
Her eyes snapped open.
It had all been theatrics. Of course. Why was she always so stupid? Always caring more than those around her.
Clenching her jaw, Sakura untangled her hand from his. She walked to the bay window, and crossed her arms over her chest while looking out at the garden. The shades along with the leaves quivered softly. Flowers and vegetable plants ran along the fence.
It seemed quiet, peaceful, sunlight filtered out.
When the door finally closed and the interview crew pulled out of their driveway. There was nothing but silence.
"You're one of the rudest men I've ever met," Sakura said tonelessly.
Slowly, she turned back, ready to pommel him. Ready to scream. Ready to break free and tell him, never ever again could he use her like that. Ready, ready, ready! to stand her for herself.
But there was no one standing there.
Gaara had left.
-X-
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Next chapter will be posted on November 24th.