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He looks at me for a long moment, then nods approvingly. I don’t know why that sends rays of warmth through me. Why should his approval matter? Yet for some reason it does.
I can’t help smiling as I say, “I’m sure your English is much better than my command of your language though.”
He nods. “We started lessons at the age of three. It’s a requirement that all Takeda heirs be fluent in various languages.”
I can’t stop the way my brows arch upward. “How many languages do you know?”
“Hm.” He presses his lips in a way that seems contrived, practiced. “At the moment, twelve — English, Arabic, Mandarin, French, Spanish, Swahili, Igbo, Russian, Urdu, Hindi, German, and Korean.”
Snapping my mouth closed I stare at him in awe.
“Kiyoshi and my father know more.” He waves his hand dismissively as if his accomplishment pales in comparison to the other men in his family. “My older cousin who will be the Takeda, possibly more than they. Yet, I can sufficiently muddle through a meeting or two,” he says modestly.
“I think you’re amazing,” I say. He just stares at me for an unnerving moment before he shifts to finally focus on the soup course.
Immediately I cringe. “I-meant knowing so many languages.” I sound like a country bumpkin. Jesus let there be a spontaneous sinkhole and swallow me up and save me from this mortification.
He slowly places the soup spoon down quietly turning back to me. The onyx fire of his gaze traps me, weaving a web of titanium around me. I’m utterly lost.
“You will dance with me later.” No smile. He’s not asking. He waits as his demand sinks in. I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I squeeze my thighs tightly against the zing of pleasure that settles in my kitty cat at his sudden change from dinner companion to thinking he’s the boss of me.
His glance down tells me that he didn’t miss my reaction.
My nod and “sure,” is met with a dark smirk before he turns back to the soup course.
The rest of the dinner is passed with light small talk and polite inquiries about my focus on theater. The interest is real and except for Mrs. Takeda’s opening remarks everyone makes me feel welcome.
I don’t know what I expected when the dinner is over. It was not for Hisashi to give me a brief vow and disappear.
There’s more mingling as the orchestra sets up. Soon the strands of music fill the air.
“Hey how did your dinner go with the Takedas? They normally only sponsor fellowships for engineers and computer scientists,” Alexa asks, sidling up beside me.
“Takeda-sama says this year they wanted to help out in the arts. Mrs. Takeda wasn’t pleased,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “As for the dinner, it was nice. I sat by the youngest son, Hisashi. He asked me to dance.”
“Woah.” Alexa pulls back and gives a wide-eyed look then grins like the cat who ate all the canaries, not just one. “They are gorgeous. Introduce me to the older one,” she urges.
“I will if I can find them in this crowd again.” I look around trying not to make it obvious I’m looking for anyone in particular.
“This is my second one of these. Someone will dance with you. As for Hisashi, he’s in his doctorate year of computer science. He already owns several patents on proprietary software. He’s said to be reclusive and only seen out on rare occasions like this.” Alexa drops all the tea on this man like she’s an obsessed groupie.
“Wow.” Looking at her smirking, I say, “You really did your homework.”
“Well.” She gives me a smug shrug. “My fellowship is in computer science. I never see him in the department though. He has his own lab and everything.”
“Ladies.” Two young gentlemen come up beside us offering their hands to lead us on the dance floor.
Music fills the room and I’m caught up with partner after partner drawing me into one whirl around the room after another.
“I’m sorry, I need a break,” I say to a young man who comes just as my fifth partner walks me back to the edge of the dance floor. You would think we were in an eighteenth-century salon with suitors lined up to find their next wife instead of an evening for scholars of one of Japan’s most premier universities.
He bows giving me a rueful smile before he goes on to someone else.
I have long since given up on seeing my handsome dinner companion, assuming I mistook his meaning of me dancing with him. I thought it would only be him and immediately. Pushing down the disappointment I make my way to the ladies’ room.
The other women smile briefly as I enter. Most are fellow scholars like me who are finding a brief respite. Some are lounging on the settees in the lounge while others use the facilities. After my ablutions I check my make-up, thankful for the online tutorials helping me apply just the right amount so I can master the flawless no make-up look.
Applying my gloss, I listen to the chatter among the other girls.
