A corner of her mouth lifted with wry humor. “My father does have a penchant for the grandiose.”
The walls were lined with artwork, from classic Chinese brush art scrolls to Italian oil paintings. Built-in alcoves displayed vases, enameled boxes, or jade figurines. All originals, I had no doubt. Her house was like a museum.
“It’s beautifully done—he has good taste.”
“My father likes acquiring beautiful things,” she said. “I think my mother was one of them.”
She said it offhandedly in a casual tone, as if she were divulging some mundane fact. I lifted my eyebrows, wondering again what her relationship was like with her father.
Daiyu paused in front of another set of curved double doors, this one with a variety of birds etched into the pale wood. Surprisingly, it didn’t require a palm scan, she simply turned an elaborate silver knob and pushed the door open. “Welcome to my bedroom,” she said.
That was easy. I’d thought I’d have to persuade her.
It was more like a suite. Or the size of an apartment for a mei family of four. The far side consisted of three tall, arched windows opening onto views of the gardens below. A large canopied bed was set in the middle of the bedroom, draped in pale gold and green silks. The bed was strewn with cushions, and it wasn’t made. She sat on the edge of it and slipped off her heels, flexing her feet. “These damned things hurt.” She stretched her arms overhead like a languid cat, and I had a hard time not picturing the two of us helping each other out of our clothes.
A message popped up on my Vox, and I glanced at it discreetly, glad for the distraction. My femtocell had found a device near—Daiyu’s Palm. Lingyi messaged two seconds after: Give me fifteen minutes. I slipped both my hands into my trouser pockets and took my time strolling around the large room. Bookshelves were built against one wall, filled with hundreds of titles. Curious, I glanced at the spines. It was obvious some were required reading from school, the usual classics, otherwise her tastes ran eclectic: mystery, fantasy, romance, and horror.
Random trinkets were placed on the shelves: a plastic unicorn with a rainbow tail woven into a braid, a fist-size pinecone, a jade figurine of a goat, and another one in gold.
“It figures the lit major is more interested in my books than he is in me,” she said from the bed.
I laughed. “I thought I was getting a tour of your house.” A long rosewood table carved with chrysanthemums was set near the shelves, serving as a desk. “But you’re right: I can’t resist looking at people’s books.”
She stood and reached for an antique vase that was on her fireplace mantel and disappeared into the bathroom with it and my bouquet. “I needed a break from the gala too,” she said from the other room. “And nowhere feels . . . like my own space except for my bedroom. Everything else belongs to my father.” She reemerged with the flowers in the porcelain vase. “There are no cameras in here.”
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Of course Jin would have the best security tech on the market, and every corner would be under surveillance in his own house. Except for his daughter’s bedroom. “Are you sure?” I almost said. Instead I went to her and reached for the vase, placing it on the rosewood table.
“They really are lovely,” Daiyu said, giving my hand a squeeze. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
I should tell Victor how he’d won me serious points with the flowers, but the guy hardly needed an ego boost.
She shifted closer, staring at me with those warm brown eyes, as if she could peer into my soul and read all my secrets. I forced myself to hold her gaze, steeled myself for that sudden moment of awful recognition. I remember you—you kidnapped me.
Instead, she broke into a slow smile. “You’re shy.”
Gods. Aloof, maybe. But not shy. I’d never been invited into a you girl’s bedroom before, but I’d been invited by mei girls—and it always meant only one thing. It’d be so easy to slip my arms around her and kiss her, see where that kiss would lead. Wasn’t my mission to “befriend” Daiyu? It didn’t get much friendlier than that. But what if it ruined everything? Instinct told me she wasn’t into flings; I felt like I was being tested somehow.
“Not really,” I finally replied, grinning back at her. “I’m glad you like the flowers.”
I walked over to the bank of arched windows, glancing at the expansive gardens below. There was a pavilion in the distance with a green-tiled roof, lit softly by golden lights. The view reminded me of Dream of the Red Chamber and the many scenes Baoyu and Daiyu spent in the lush gardens of their estate.
“So you live alone here with your father?” I asked, turning. She was leaning against a carved post of her bed, arms crossed, observing me.
“Just the two of us, yes,” she said. “And whatever attendants he might have and our security team.”
I searched the room for any photographs, the old-fashioned kind or a digital display. There was a single photograph in the room, Daiyu at perhaps ten or eleven, holding a fluffy white dog in her arms, laughing with delight at the camera. The image was tucked into a silver frame. No photographs of little Daiyu with her cousins, or extravagant birthday parties with friends, or even a studio portrait with her parents. The lack of these personal moments displayed in her bedroom seemed telling. “Is this your dog?” I asked.
“Her name was Mochi. My mom gave her to me for my eighth birthday.” She picked up the silver frame and studied the photo. “My father forced me to give her away two years later because she knocked over a potted orchid plant and broke it.”
I had to hold back on all the obscenities I wanted to call Jin. Instead, I said, “Your mom gave you Mochi to keep you company?”
Daiyu let out a small breath and nodded, setting the picture down.
I imagined her as a kid in this massive house, all alone except for her father’s associates who likely never spoke to her. And Jin forced her to relinquish the one companion she had. I knew my childhood had been rough, and many times I had felt so alone. Daiyu must have experienced a different kind of loneliness. But in the end, maybe lonely was lonely.
“You don’t ever stay with your mom?” I asked, my tone softer than I intended.
“My parents divorced when I was three,” she said. “My father wanted full custody to spite my mother. As punishment for daring to leave him. She lives in Hong Kong, and I see her once every few years.” She fingered the diamonds scattered across her throat. “What about your parents?”
“They’ve been married for twenty years,” I replied without thought, having memorized my fabricated identity so it had become a second truth.
“Do you have siblings?”
I shook my head. “I’m an only child.”