Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I laughed.
As we got closer to the exit, a few of my guards got in front of us.
"Once he was completely clean, I told him to turn around and said, ‘We didn't get everywhere.’"
"Oh God."
"And that's when I started washing his cock, and you know I didn’t use a washcloth. Just my hands and soap—"
“You are so nasty.” I covered my face with both hands.
"Oh, he enjoyed it. Made noises and everything. And then the next thing you know, we were both washing each other off. And then I had him turned around, and I was inside of him."
My hands dropped and I stared at him. “Holy shit.”
"He said he'd never experienced anything like that before, and I told him, ‘Don't worry. I'll guide you.’"
“You were his first male experience?”
“Yes.”
“Poor guy.”
“Poor guy my ass. Three orgasms later, he passed out."
“Three?”
“Fuck yeah three. And then two more this morning, and now I’m here with you. In need of a new shower.”
I shook my head, laughing so hard my stomach ached.
And then he began laughing too.
And. . .I didn’t want to tell him the dark and heavy news. My chest tightened. I didn’t want to break this moment or him. I couldn’t watch his face crumble after so much joy decorated it.
Maybe. . .I’ll say that Hiroko is in Tokyo now. I could get everyone to play along and. . .days or weeks later I could tell him.
At the end of the hallway, one of my guards opened the door for us.
We stepped out.
The island was beautiful today. That was the cruelest part. The breeze came off the water warm and easy, carrying salt, plumeria, and the faint sound of children laughing somewhere beyond the tree line.
The path from the main house to the villas wound through gardens where three gardeners clipped in rhythm.
Further down the path, canopies of bougainvillea appeared above with these thick fuchsia petals that fell like confetti within the breeze. Their flowery perfume mingled with the salty air.
My guards walked around me. Two in front, two behind, one on each side. Close enough to reach me in a breath. Far enough to let me feel like I was just a woman taking a walk.
People nodded as we passed. Staff, groundskeepers, a woman carrying linens who bowed her head and smiled. I nodded back, held their eyes, and forced a smile when I could.
Quiet, Zo kept my pace and glanced at me.
I grinned, but it probably didn’t reach my eyes.
“Fuck.” Zo stopped.
I paused too.
Then, he studied me. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?”
“Something is wrong.”
I parted my mouth.
“You look like you’re trying not to be sad. Your mouth is twitching. The skin under your eyes is pinched tight like you’re bracing yourself.”
Tension rose in my shoulders.
Zo’s smile faded. “What happened?”
Lie. . .do it. . .just pretend.
He tilted his head to the side. “What?”
I started walking.
He got on my side.
“So. . .”
The path curved through a cluster of palm trees. The children's laughter got louder and then I saw them. Two little girls chased each other near a garden wall. Their shoes slapped the stone.
One of them waved at me.
I waved back even though my hand felt so goddamn heavy. "Zo."
"Yeah?"
My bottom lip quivered and I just knew that I could never lie to him, not even if I really focused. He would always know it was bullshit.
I let out a long breath. "I need to tell you something."
"You're being weird. What's going on?"
I took a breath. "Hiroko. . .”
“What? Is she hurt or something? Just fucking say it.”
“She. . .didn't come back.”
He blinked. "What do you mean she didn't come back? From where?"
"From Yoshiwara. When she went off with Kenji and his men to fight, she was killed.”
Zo stopped walking.
I took two more steps before I realized he wasn't beside me anymore.
I turned.
Fuck.
He stood in the middle of the path and right under a canopy of bougainvillea as if the island itself had paused around him.
Silent, he stared at me. The grin was gone. His mouth was slightly open. His hands hung at his sides.
Fuchsia petals drifted through the air, twisting and spiraling around him.
Slow.
Weightless.
Some landed on his head and shoulders.
Others fell all the way down and settled against the stone.
My eyes watered.
Beyond him, the island breathed—salt air rolling in from the sea, the distant hush of waves folding against rock, the faint creak of bamboo somewhere deeper in the garden. A wind chime stirred once, twice, its thin note dissolved into the open sky.
And still, he did not move.
Another petal brushed past his cheek and fell at his feet.
I didn't know what to do with my hands. There was nothing to fix, no version of this moment I could make easier. I just stood there on that path watching my best friend shatter, and the helplessness of it pressed against my soul.
Death was the worst kind of truth about life, not because it arrived, but because it refused to be argued with.