Unwound

It was hard not to bristle at his accusatory tone. “I just find it weird that she brings you food but the two of you don’t eat it together.”

“We don’t eat together because she uses it as an opportunity to harangue me, and that gives me indigestion.”

Now she was getting somewhere. “Haranguing you about what?”

“To stop ignoring our mother’s calls. Jesus. Every time she nags me, it makes me feel like a delinquent teenager again.”

Amery poked his arm. “Don’t deny you’ve acted like a surly teen the last couple of days.” She sipped her water. “So are you telling me that by-the-book Sensei participated in wild teenage behavior in his younger years and lied to his mom about it? Or did you just not tell her?”

He faced her, his gaze suspicious. “Where’d that come from?”

“You don’t talk much about your formative years, so I’m curious. Did you sneak out of the house to meet a girl? Or did you sneak a girl into your room? Did you swipe candy from the corner market on a dare? Did you and your buddies rip off a bottle of booze and get barfing drunk?”

“I didn’t have a typical upbringing, by Japanese or American standards. The focus of my school from the age of twelve on was jujitsu.”

She frowned. “You didn’t study Japanese history, or government, or language, or literature, or take computer classes while you studied martial arts?”

“Of course I did. My mother insisted on a private tutor. He taught through pop culture, so Shiori and I became fluent in switching back and forth between English and Japanese fairly young. At age sixteen, when I started training with a jujitsu master, he taught me more about Japanese history and culture in two years than I learned in all the time I spent in a traditional classroom. Also during that time, my grandfather insisted I take business classes.”

“Did you enjoy them?”

He shrugged. “More than I was willing to admit. That knowledge helped when I started my own business.”

“And yet you still sidestepped the question, Master Black. Any getting-a-girl-drunk, copping-a-feel, pulling-pranks-with-your-buddies stories?”

Ronin’s puzzled look said, Why are you pressing me on this?

Because this is what a man and a woman in a serious relationship do—share pieces of their lives. Open up to me, Ronin, like you promised you would. You can trust me.

When he realized she wasn’t backing down, he sighed. “I didn’t have a group of buddies, just boys I went to school with. We were so disciplined that if one of us would’ve admitted to breaking a rule, or even asked another student to help break a rule, even in fun, most likely that infraction would’ve been reported to the headmaster.”

She whistled. “Harsh. No wonder the Japanese educational system is superior to ours.”

“But it’s hell on maintaining individuality.”

“Even with the way you look?” she cooed. “Sweetheart, I’d bet you broke hearts being such an exotic-looking hottie with all those muscles from hours of practicing jujitsu.”

“Exotic-looking might be a benefit for a woman, but not for a boy.” He traced the edge of his water glass, lost in thought. With the way his cheeks flushed, she wondered if the memories caused embarrassment. “The reason I didn’t have a gang of friends growing up was because I didn’t fit in, not just because I was the only mixed race kid. My mother further alienated me by keeping our family affiliation from everyone in the school even when she knew it’d provide me with more acceptance from my peers.”

Was that the genesis of him hiding who he was from everyone? Because that’s how he was taught to act? No wonder he had identity issues. “Maybe she worried that people would want to be your friend only because your family was filthy rich.”

“My grandfather was filthy rich, not us. We lived modestly. And during my surly teen phase”—he offered a slight smile—“I didn’t understand why my grandfather wouldn’t pay for my jujitsu studies after I finished regular school. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. But now I’m grateful because I’ve had to make it on my own.”

Amery cupped the side of his face and urged him to look at her. “While I admire all you’ve accomplished and you have a right to be proud that your drive got you to where you are today, I’m still sad that you were a lonely little boy.”

He kissed her, and the sweetness in it curled around her heart.

“So what happened when you grew into these amazing looks of yours?”

“I’ve never been a player. But I did lose my virginity in a Japanese bathhouse to an older woman who swore she was a trained geisha.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Is that true?”

“Absolutely. While I remember thinking wet, naked bodies sliding together was the greatest invention ever, the best thing to come out of that”—Amery groaned at his pun—“was the woman warning me not to neglect my sexual skills because I was easy to look at.”

“That you are,” she murmured. “Leave it to Master Black to have a metaphysical cherry popping.”

He laughed. Then he kissed her again.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Is your head better today?”

His face became that blank mask she hated. He immediately retreated physically and emotionally.

That freaked her out. What had the doctor said about his recovery? Why didn’t Ronin want to discuss it? She opened her mouth to give voice to those questions, but the annoyance in his eyes kept her lips closed.