24991122 | 2051

  Kagetsu-no-Kami | The Bay | People’s Republic of Singapore

  1°17′06.00″ N

  103°51′06.12″ E

  The Jetstream eased to a glide as it approached the stern of the Kagetsu-no-Kami.

  Two attendants in white gloves steadied the landing platform as the Jetstream bobbed gently against the hull.

  Shirley rose from her seat.

  Heels tapping lightly, dress brushing against the metallic floor.

  One of the attendants extended a hand to help her.

  She accepted with effortless grace.

  She slipped off the jacket.

  Revealing the white Maison Astraria beneath.

  The translucent white gown caught the moonlight.

  Threaded with silver whispers, the fabric shimmered.

  Clinging, then releasing.

  An ethereal breath.

  Light kissed her skin.

  Wind curled around her.

  Some of the guests turned to look.

  Conversations faltered.

  Even the attendants, trained to show no reaction, failed.

  They were caught in her orbit.

  Damian forgot how to breathe.

  She ascended the terrace.

  The Bay itself seemed to hold its breath.

  Shirley didn’t notice.

  She turned back.

  Her eyes were only on him.

  “You coming, darling?” she called.

  Darling.

  He scrambled up beside her.

  He caught up to her.

  "You got my coat?" she asked softly.

  "Right here." Her replied.

  "Ok, let's go."

  She took his hand in hers.

  Gently.

  Her heel touched the teak boarding ramp.

  One, then the other.

  Her Maison Astraria shimmering with every step.

  They crossed the lower deck corridor together.

  Heads turned; chatter ceased.

  They walked past minimalist wood panels lit by the soft lantern light.

  The faint drifting scent of imported sakura incense.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  A man came forth, descending the stairs hastily.

  “Miss Tempess?” he asked in perfect English.

  “Yes?” She replied.

  “I am the Chief Steward Mori.” he said as he bowed, “on behalf of Arashi-dono, I welcome you aboard the Kagetsu-no-Kami.”

  A sweeping bow.

  Old World etiquette.

  She inclined her head.

  A measured Japanese bow.

  “Your pardon, Miss Tempess, but we did not expect your esteemed presence.”

  She smiled, looking at Damian.

  “She’s with me.” He replied, rummaging through his jacket, “my apologies, for not informing in advance.”

  “Please, Mr Wei-Clarke! It is of no consequences,” Mori said hastily.

  “Miss Tempess is a close friend of Arashi-dono.” he continued with a smile, “I am here to personally extend an invite to Miss Tempess.”

  “An invite?” She corked an eyebrow.

  ““Arashi-dono requests the honor of speaking with you,” Mori said, stepping aside with a formal sweep of his hand.

  “He awaits you at the Court of the Cherry Blossom.”

  “I look forward to speaking to Arashi-dono then,” she replied.

  “Thank you, Mori-sama.”

  “Please, I am your servant.” Mori replied, his head low. “After you, Miss Tempess.”

  Shirley smiled and swept by.

  When they were out of earshot, Damian turned to her.

  “You did not tell me you are acquainted with Saito Arashi.” He hissed.

  “Must have slipped my mind.” She replied nonchalantly.

  “Slipped your mind?” he echoed incredulously, “you know the Steward Shogun of Neo Japan, and it slipped your mind?”

  “Darling,” she rolled her eyes, not slowing, “I know half the people here.”

  24991121 | 23:58

  Sentosa Gateway | Eastbound | Republic of Singapore

  1°15′41.52″ N

  103°49′56.01″ E

  A lone Auden Reverie GT raced stealthily through the empty midnight highway.

  Sleek, electric midnight-black, and completely silent.

  A streak and a whisper.

  The coast ran beside them.

  Cargo ships glittering with the moonlit reflections, anchored offshore in the horizon.

  Their lights floating like weary fireflies.

  The Singapore skyline shimmered behind them.

  The sleek skyscrapers of the CBD rising like glass monoliths against the night.

  Inside the car, the world felt different.

  Warmer.

  Closer.

  Too intimate for a woman like her.

  Shirley sat in the passenger seat, bare legs crossed, one heel dangling from her toes as she tapped gently against the leather dashboard.

  Her hair, still slightly damp from her shower, carried the faint scent of jasmine and bergamot.

  The city lights slid across her skin in slow, mesmerizing waves.

  She had his hand clasped in hers.

  They didn’t speak.

  Their silence the comfort of familiarity.

  The silence of two persons who spoke too frequently.

  He stole fleeting glances at her.

  Small, minute glances.

  The GT’s onboard AI compensated for his one-handed driving.

  “What are you looking at?” She asked.

  “I’m looking at you,” he replied softly.

  “What did you see?” she said, the wisp of a smile.

  “A woman,” he said, “happy.”

  She snuggled up to his arm then.

  Pressing her breasts into his arm.

  Damian swallowed.

  She was wearing a sheer silk shirt, nothing beneath.

  She sniffed his shirt.

  “I came three times,” she whispered in his ear, “how am I not happy?”

  “Shirls,” he said slowly, “you are high.”

  “Yes, I’m hungry,” she giggled as she propped back into her seat, “I’ve had not been taken that hard in my life.”

  His hand still clasped in hers.

  A mere wisp away from her inner thigh.

  “Liar,” he managed.

  A soft, almost sleepy curve of the lips.

  “Where are we even going?” he said then.

  She smiled without looking at him.

  “You said you wanted quiet. I’m taking you somewhere quiet.”

  “…Sentosa Cove?” he said dubiously, “hardly a place I would call quiet.”

  She shrugged, lifting her heel and letting it fall back into place with effortless elegance.

  “Private docks.” She said, “you like the sea. You talk about it when you’re tired.”

  “I like the sea? I don’t recall -“

  “Monaco.”

  He fell silent.

  Shirley leaned her head back against the seat, gazing out the window at the dark stretch of coastline.

  Her voice softened.

  “Your people forget the ocean exists in this city.”

  He looked at her.

  The onboard AI chimed.

  He quickly snapped his sights back to the road.

  “They drown in light, not the waves.” She continued, looking at him.

  “Shirls,” he said softly, “are you sure you ok?”

  He reached for her.

  She wrapped his hand with both of hers.

  Her fingers curled around his.

  He fell silent.

  A long moment passed between them.

  She looked down at their hands, then at him, and murmured:

  “You look startled. I do hold hands, you know.”

  He laughed under his breath.

  “It’s just…you don’t seem like the type.”

  She tilted her head.

  A small, unreadable smile.

  “Oh, what type am I?” she whispered, curious.

  She leaned in then.

  “The type that blows you at 200mph?” she asked, her tongue flicking his earlobe.

  “Shirls!” he cried, “I’m driving here!”

  “You want to try?” she said teasingly.

  “No.” he said.

  She laughed.

  A genuine laugh.

  “No.” he said emphatically.

  She kissed him.

  A wisp.

  A moment of silence descended.

  She drifted back into her seat.

  They took the exit toward Sentosa.

  The street lights flashed by overhead.

  Her hands wrapped around his.

  Tight.