Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
It was the only time we sat still together.
Then I remember how Mom used to argue with them over the prices, and I let out a burst of laughter.
“My mom would argue with them all the way from the beach to market about the prices.”
“And would she manage to get a lower price?” Lake asks.
I shake my head, letting out a soft chuckle. “No, but it didn’t stop her from trying.”
Lake
Listening to Lee while she tells me about her life, it only raises more questions for me. One of those questions is what she likes to do in her spare time. She told me she likes shopping, going to spas and horseback riding – the usual things the girls I grew up with liked doing.
It prompts me to ask, “Is that what you did in your spare time? Gathering clams?”
She’s deep in thought when she answers, “There wasn’t such a thing as spare time.” A soft smile plays around her mouth. “We would get up at four in the morning, so I could help Mom prepare some of the foods we sold at our food stall. Then I’d get ready for school. After school, I’d go to the coffee shop for my six-hour shift. When I was done there, I’d go to the market and help Mom manage the stall, and we’d start packing up at eleven so we could be home by twelve.”
Holy. Fuck.
“I miss it,” she murmurs.
Three simple words, but they pack one hell of a punch. What sounds like a life of slavery to me is normal to her.
“Did you work because you wanted to?” I ask. I can’t see anyone growing up with her family’s kind of wealth, willingly working their asses off.
The question pulls her out of her thoughts, and her eyes dart to me.
I can see she’s thinking of how to answer me, so I rephrase the question. “Didn’t your father pay child support?”
Her features tense, and the happy glow she had a moment ago gets lost in the impassive expression.
“I only met him two years ago.”
I want to pull over and stop the car. I want to drag all the answer out of her, but keeping my calm, I focus on the road as we approach the campus. But before I turn into the gates of Trinity, I ask, “Did you have a choice to come here?”
Chapter 5
Lee
“Did you have a choice to come here?”
It’s such a straightforward question.
“Yes.”
I had to choose between marrying you or having my mother sent away.
Mom can’t speak any other languages, and the ways of the island are all she knows. She wouldn’t survive outside of Korea.
And I can’t bear the thought of not seeing her again.
Lake steers the car through two massive iron gates, and I glance around at the well-maintained grounds, and the impressive buildings.
When he enters a parking area, my lips part because there are makes of cars I’ve never seen before.
After reversing into a parking bay, Lake switches off the engine. He unclips his safety belt, I wait for him to finish before I begin to reach for my own, but our hands connect when he unclips mine as well. I quickly pull back, my fingers tingling the same way my arm and face did when he touched me on Sunday.
When he opens his door, and I begin to reach for my own, he says, “I’ll get your door for you.”
I watch as he climbs out and jogs around the front of the car.
As he opens the door for me, I slightly incline my head. “Thank you.” I get out and the stupid heel I’m wearing twists under my foot. “Eomeo!” Stumbling forward and trying to regain my balance, I slam into Lake.
With wide eyes, I freeze until I realize I grabbed hold of his sides. I pull back so fast, my back hits the door jamb of the car.
Lake reaches for me, but stops midway, then asks, “Is it okay if I touch you? Especially when you’re about to fall. I don’t want to offend you or your traditions.”
I nod, not able to meet his eyes as embarrassment burns in my chest.
Knowing I should say something, I gather my courage and lift my eyes to his. “It’s not against my traditions.” I pause but then quickly add, “I’m just not used to it.”
“Being touched in general, or having a guy touch you?”
U-wa! How can he ask a question like that so bluntly?
It makes heat creep up my neck and settle in my face.
Then he adds, “If I do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, please tell me.”
I step to the side and let out a burst of awkward laughter. “You’re very direct.” I press my hands to my cheeks because it feels like they’re on fire, then I answer, “We don’t display affection publicly. Not that I’m saying you're affectionate. Ah…” stumbling over my words only makes everything feel so much worse, which leaves me whispering, “It’s hard to explain.”