Chapter Nine

She’s kissing him again, only they weren’t in his kitchen this time, as they’d been four days ago. They were completely, dangerously alone, with no chance for interruption. Thank God, since he was so hard, Jiyong thought he’d burst. Easing the buttons open on his denim shirt, Dara ran slender, supple fingers along his bare chest. He pulled her closer and tangled his hands in the thick hair he’d unwrapped from his chic coil. Just as he’d unwrapped her- like a gift from the gods- from the Victorian dress she’d worn earlier. Stepping back slightly so she was standing before him, he could see her lush curves outlined in a sheer, pale blue combination of bra and slip. The smell of expensive perfume filled his nostrils. It drove him wild and he reached for her…

“Hey, haraboji. What do you call the dumbest fish in a school?”

Seunghoon? What is he doing here? God, was I so hot to get Dara that I took her to my house?

Jiyong heard his father’s groan, a put-on since the older man loved Seunghoon’s corny puns. “I don’t know, Hun. What’s it called?”

“Dinner.” The boy erupted into a giggle, enjoying his own jokes, as usual, more than anyone else.

Several voices joined in, mocking his son and bringing Jiyong awake with a start. He found he was sprawled on a green corduroy recliner in a corner of his parents’ living room. The familiar smell of kimchi spaghetti sauce radiated from the kitchen.

“Oh, Appa, were sorry we woke you.” Hayi’s voice came from across the room where she was perched next to Chaerin on the flowered worn sofa, leafing through a magazine his sister brought her.

Jiyong wanted to moan in response. Instead, he took a quick inventory, grateful that the paper he’d been reading before he dozed off was camouflaging the effect of his dream.

“No, honey, it’s okay. I have no business falling asleep in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. And don’t tell halmeoni, any of you.” He scanned the room, taking in his son and his father playing checkers at a low corner table. Adjacent to them, his daughter and sister were poring over the latest hairstyles. “She’ll badger me about working too much.”

“Hmmph!” his father put in his two cents but didn’t remove his eyes from the board.

“Well, if the shoe fits, oppa.” Chaerin teased.

“Careful, sis,” Jiyong warned with mock severity as he righted the almost-prone chair and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “If you start on my life-style, I’ll feel free to casually mention to Umma that I’m worried about your biological clock ticking away. A whole twenty-six and not married, not even any prospects. I’m sure there’s some ‘nice Italian boy’ she has waiting in the wings that’s she’s just dying to spring on you.”

Everyone laughed at the brother-sister routine, played out with warm affection. Jiyong himself gave Chaerin one of his rare, genuine smiles, thinking how much this woman meant to him. The man who eventually cornered her, he mused, would be a fortunate one.

His black jeans were still uncomfortable, but the repartee had cooled his ardor somewhat, and Jiyong rose from the recliner to turn on the Jets game. He’d been the quarterback for his high school football team and usually loved watching the pros play. But today, he kept seeing Park Sandara superimposed on the screen. She had stood before him last Thursday, wonderfully mussed from his hands and mouth, and her face had showed… surprise. Each time he’d conjured that evening, he’d seen the shock.

Had it been more than her fear of behaving unprofessionally? He couldn’t believe her reaction to him was foreign to her, as if she’d never responded to a kiss that way before. Surely, some chaebol boyfriend had kissed her senseless. He banished the thought quickly, the image of her with another man causing a dull ache in his heart.

Dinner was announced and Jiyong joined his family in the dining room, as he did every Sunday he could get free. Even when Kiko had refused to go with him, he had taken Hayi to his parents’ for kimchi spaghetti and socializing.

As he sat down at the large oak table and pushed up the sleeves of his polo shirt, Chaerin asked, “Oppa how’s the clerking going?”

“Great. SM is really wooing me, and two other firms called last week.” At the thought, Jiyong felt anticipation swell in him like an athlete before a play-off.

Chaerin whistled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Wow, big time.”

“Very big. And exactly what I want.” He reached for the plate of pork and lettuce.

His father’s brows knit over his brown eyes and his normally pale complexion flushed. Jiyong knew his father was proud of him, but also that the man had strong objections to his son’s ambitions. They had argued vehemently over what his father saw as Jiyong’s sacrifice of time and health just to climb the corporate ladder. They had come to a tenuous truce, but Mr. Kwon’s concern hadn’t change.

Sipping her beer and twirling her spaghetti, Chaerin casually changed the subject. “So, Hayi, how’s school?”

“Okay.” Hayi shifted uneasily. She tugged at the collar of her green and blue rugby shirt and looked apprehensively at her aunt. Jiyong realized she was afraid Chaerin would mention the counseling in front of Hayi’s grandparents.

Chaerin winked, acknowledging the silent message. “Any good looking guys in your class this year?”

Hayi blushed and Jiyong groaned inwardly. His daughter was thirteen. She was noticing boys. What would he do when she wanted to date? The thought was too frightening to entertain.

“Speaking of dates,” Mrs. Kwon interjected, clasping her hands across her hefty bosom, “Mrs. Kim’s niece is staying with her for a while, Jiyongie.”

“Whoa, Ma, right there. I’m not in the market. I’m too busy to date.” Jiyong took a long swig of beer.

His mother frowned that ‘you won’t get off that easily’ look she had perfected over the years. “It’s not normal, you never going out with a woman. You got to get over…” Stumbling on her last words, Mrs. Kwon’s face turned as red as her sauce.

Everyone in the Kwon family avoided speaking Kiko Mizuhara’s name. At Jiyong’s request. He felt it would be too hard on the kids to hear her mentioned. They hadn’t seen or heard from her since she’d left.

Every Christmas and on their birthdays, they got cards from Kiko’s parents and that reminder hurt them enough.

Chaerin coughed to cover the silence, and the scrape of Hayi’s chair filled the rest of the vo