24991122 | 2059

  Court of the Cherry Blossom | Kagetsu-no-Kami | The Bay

  1°17′06.00″ N

  103°51′06.12″ E

  “Arashi-sama, Aya-sama,” Mori intoned formally.

  “I present to you – Wei-Clarke-sama, and Tempess-sama.”

  Shirley strode forward.

  The drifting sakura blossoms.

  The moon at its zenith.

  The swaying lone flower.

  He smiled, an immaculate smile.

  “Arashi-dono,” she said with an incline of her head.

  “Miss Tempess,” he said, returning her greetings.

  “I hope you do not mind me dropping in unannounced.” She said, smiling.

  “Not at all,” He replied, “it has been a while, since we last spoke.”

  “Indeed,” Shirley said, “how is business?”

  “Ah, not so good,” Saito smiled, “I’m afraid I just lost some money, a Tier-1 Prime Contract.”

  “Oh,” She arched an eyebrow, “City 34.”

  “Very good contract, nice terms.” He said, “le Fay-dono must have been thrilled.”

  “Ah, yes… the Chateau. The one le Fay strong-armed off you.” Shirley said, smiling, “she’s still very proud that she got one over you.”

  Saito gave a low chuckle.

  Aya lifted a sleeve, concealing a smile.

  “I am grateful she enjoyed it. Truth is, I had been trying to offload that estate for nearly two years.”

  “I know,” Shirley said lightly. “You texted me.”

  “You declined.”

  “I did not have the money, Arashi-dono,” she smiled, coy.

  “Even I have limits.”

  “EUNESCO Heritage piece!” Saito exclaimed, then sighed dramatically.

  “Aya-dono was most disappointed.”

  Aya covered her mouth, laughing softly behind her sleeve.

  “Executive le Fay treats me like a slave,” Shirley pouted.

  “I am aware,” Saito replied dryly.

  “That is why I convinced your superior to take it. A little… incentive.”

  Shirley raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re getting better at English, Arashi-dono.”

  Saito inclined his head with a dignified smirk.

  “And you are getting better at conversations, Tempess-dono.”

  “Arashi-dono, I had, and always been, an excellent conversationalist.” She replied, smiling.

  “But please, where are my manners?” he continued, “allow me to introduce Aya-dono. My wife.”

  “Aya-dono,” Shirley said reverently, bowing

  “Please, just Aya.” She waved dismissively, “my husband loves to stand on ceremonies.”

  “I am sure you know Mr Wei-Clarke,” Shirley said as she put her arms around his.

  “Welcome aboard the Kagetsu-no-Kami. Wei-Clarke-san.” Saito said, extending a hand.

  “Please, Arashi-dono.” Damian said, clasping the proffered hand, “it is my honor to be here.”

  “So how do you meet Tempess-dono.” Saito inclined his head.

  “We, er…” Damian looked to Shirley.

  “We were holidaying, together,” she said, “he was very kind to me.”

  Saito blinked once, then he nodded.

  Aya-dono’s brows lifted a fraction.

  Saito nodded neutrally.

  Shirley drifted closer to Damian.

  “So, where did the two of you escape to? A holiday?” Saito asked.

  “Shopping,” Shirley said warmly. “Sentosa Cove. The Sands.

  He bought me this dress, you know.”

  “Ah? Truly?” Saito said, far too pleased.

  Aya nudged him.

  A perfect diplomatic smile.

  Damian smiled.

  “Did he now?” Saito said softly.

  He regarded Damian with a measured, appreciative nod.

  “You have exquisite taste, Wei-Clarke-san.”

  Damian blinked, unsure.

  “How so?”

  Saito’s eyes drifted then.

  To Shirley herself.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Tempess-dono—no,” he corrected gently.

  A pause

  “Shirley.”

  She piqued up then.

  “When you walked in, there was a moment…”

  Shirley and Aya both turned their attention fully to him.

  Sakura petals drifted.

  The dome-light shimmered.

  Saito inhaled, his voice lowering as though speaking to memory itself.

  “I saw the lone flower bloom beneath the lonely moon, in the court of the cherry blossom.”

  Shirley’s eyes softened in confusion.

  She did not understand, not yet.

  Aya stepped in with graceful intuition.

  “Allow me, Arashi-sama,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

  She turned to Shirley.

  “Tempess-dono… my husband and I, in what little time we have, often walk the Garden of Cherry Blossoms in the Kyoto Palace.”

  Shirley shifted, but said nothing, waiting.

  “This,” Aya continued, gesturing to the glowing tree before them,

  “The last pure sakura of the Imperial line.”

  As Cultural and Heritage Keeper, I have dedicated years to cultivating revival strains. So that one day, the Imperial Garden may bloom in spring again.”

  Shirley inclined her head.

  Her eyes drifted toward the lone blossom overhead.

  “The Emperor gifted my husband’s ancestors - a poem - on the day he entrusted Japan to the Arashi Household.

  Hitotsu tsuki no yoru, sakuraba ni ichirin no hana hiraku.

  A lone flower blooming beneath a lonely moon in the court of cherry blossoms.”

  Shirley blinked slowly.

  The words settled over her like falling petals.

  “That is… beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  Aya smiled gently.

  “My husband can be abrupt, but he meant every word.”

  Saito inclined his head slightly, eyes still fixed on Shirley.

  “You are the lone flower. Ichirin no Hana.”

  Shirley, loss for words.

  Bowed.

  The sakura blossom drifted between them.

  “I’m afraid my husband and I have kept you for too long,” Aya spoke up then.

  “Yes,” Saito straightened, “please, enjoy the night. May the Kagetsu-no-Kami honor you with its hospitality tonight.”

  “We will,” Shirley replied, bowing once more.

  Damian mirrored her.

  Saito and Aya inclined in return.

  Shirley caught Damian’s arm.

  The two drifted toward the reception deck.

  The crowd swallowed them.

  The music shifted.

  The sakura branches stirred.

  Lantern-light trailing behind them like a veil.

  Saito watched until they disappeared into the crowd.

  Only then did Lady Arashi speak.

  A whisper

  “Anata.”

  Barely above breath.

  ”Mm?” Saito responded quietly.

  “Ano hito… that woman…”

  Her gaze lingered still where Shirley had stood.

  The drifting petals.

  The silver wash of moonlight still suspended there.

  An imprint upon the air.

  Her voice softened further, barely breath:

  “Her eyes… they held a pool of sorrow.

  It sits… strangely.”

  Saito exhaled through his nose, slow.

  “Aa…”

  Aya looked at him, waiting—not demanding answers, only clarity.

  Saito’s gaze returned to the glowing sakura.

  “I had… known her for some time,” he said at last, voice low.

  He let a breath settle.

  “She was not always this way.”

  Aya looked at him.

  “A lonely flower,” she murmured, echoing the Emperor’s poem without meaning to.

  Saito’s brows shifted, barely.

  “Lonely, yes,” he admitted quietly.

  A gentle wind, the drifting petals.

  “A solitude she chooses, one she does not allow another to share.”

  Aya’s eyes softened.

  Her sorrow was not judgment, but compassion.

  She looked once more where Shirley had gone.

  “Anata…

  “I wonder if anyone has ever held that sorrow with her.”

  A long moment passed—sakura drifting between them.

  Saito’s answer, when it came, was soft as falling petals.

  “If they have… they did not hold on long.”

  Another moment passed.

  “It is difficult … to love one accustomed to solitude.”

  Aya lowered her gaze.

  A quiet grief for a woman she did not know, but somehow understood.

  “A most interesting person, this Shirley Tempess.”

  “Ah yes,” Saito sighed faintly, “she carries… an image.”

  Aya’s eyes softened.

  “Was she always this way?”

  Saito let out a slow breath.

  “Ah, no.” he did not elaborate.

  Lady Arashi looked at him.

  Expectant.

  Silent.

  He turned toward the glowing sakura.

  “This is,” he murmured, “the thirteenth? No - perhaps, fifteenth man I’ve seen her with.”

  Aya elbowed him sharply under her sleeve

  Half-crossed, half-smiling.

  “Come,” she murmured, “Let us greet our next guests.”

  24991121 | 0247

  Royal Veranda Suite | The Raffles | People’s Republic of Singapore

  1° 17′ 06.0000″ N

  103° 51′ 06.1200″ E

  He couldn’t sleep.

  The city outside had gone still.

  Leaving only the hum of the air unit

  The faint pulse of distant traffic.

  A heartbeat under glass.

  Damian propped himself up.

  She stirred.

  He sighed.

  His thoughts went back.

  The drive.

  The cove.

  The kiss.

  They left the docks in a hurry.

  The trip back was fast.

  Her fingers at his collar.

  His hand tracing the hem of her dress.

  The look she gave him.

  The unblinking stare.

  Full of promise.

  Full of mischief.

  Full of desire.

  The street lights cutting above them.

  Punctuated with breathlessness.

  Short gasp.

  More kisses.

  They could not keep their hands off each other.

  His hand on her thigh.

  Her hands encircling his neck.

  They rushed back to Veranda Suite.

  He tossed the key to the valet.

  She ran ahead.

  She looked back.

  Her finger curling.

  Beckoning.

  A feeling stirred within him.

  They dashed down the corridor.

  The door shut.

  She caught him by the front of his shirt.

  She drove him into the wall.

  A crack.

  His breath left him in a single, stunned pulse.

  Her body pressed close.

  Her lips found his.

  Sharp.

  Hungry.

  Certain.

  Her lips on his.

  Her hands unbuttoned his shirt.

  His hands undressed her.

  They left a trail of garments in the suite.

  They hit the bed.

  He pinned her down.

  She let him.

  Breath came in short gasps.

  Her moan.

  The scent of salt and sweat.

  Her body next to his.

  He was fast, feral and primal.

  She was elegant, sensual and gentle.

  So soft.

  So gentle.

  It ached.

  They were panting when they were done.

  He was out of breath.

  She was face down, smiling.

  His thought snapped back to the room.

  He turned to her then.

  Shirley slept peacefully beside him.

  Her bare back to him.

  Her hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink.

  Her breath rising and falling in slow, perfect rhythm.

  A far cry from their wild lovemaking hours ago.

  She didn’t even bother to wash up.

  She just buried her head and sleep.

  She’s a cat that ate her fill, languid and content.

  He felt it.

  The lust, the desire, the hunger.

  Wild, carnal and primeval.

  The rush of blood.

  Adrenaline.

  But now.

  She is so soft.

  He exhaled, quietly.

  She stirred instantly.

  A subtle shift.

  A warm, sleepy murmur.

  She rolled over.

  Her body pressing close to his.

  She sniffed his arm.

  “You’re still up?” she said, “can’t sleep?”

  Her hand traced blindly along the sheets

  until it found his arm.

  The touch was feather-light,

  Warm.

  Soft.

  Gentle.

  He said nothing.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” she breathed softly.

  He wanted to.

  Because he couldn’t name the ache.

  Because he didn’t understand it.

  There were so many.

  Flings

  Models.

  Women.

  But…

  She pushed up onto one elbow.

  Heedless of her modesty.

  Hair falling messily around her face.

  “Darling… talk to me.” She said softly, “you can tell me.”

  He swallowed.

  “I’m thinking about… about us.”

  The air from the climate unit blew softly.

  Her eyes softened.

  “One more night.”

  A whisper.

  The words were gentle.

  Too gentle.

  He searched her face.

  A crack.

  A hesitation.

  A mistake.

  “Shirls…”

  She turned away.

  She exhaled, opened them again.

  “Darling, you have a wife, kids.”

  Her hand lifted to his cheek.

  “You have a life.” She said, “This is a fling. Monaco.”

  She sniffed his face.

  “We have our fun. Then you go back to them.”

  His breath caught.

  “Is that all it is to you?”

  She looked at him.

  A long moment passed.

  She smiled in the dim light.

  A tiny smile.

  “It has to be.”

  She lay back down,

  Facing him.

  Her hand remained on his arm.

  He looked at her.

  The world was quiet now.

  He could hear his own thoughts.