Unexpected

Part 54

I hang out with Orien and his family before the British Grand Prix, since afterwards I will devote my time to Sangil. Orien is a cellist in the Kyoto orchestra, and his wife is a photographer (not the one who was shooting last week, otherwise I would have been much more comfortable). They have three young kids: Hiro, Chai, and Kora. We have a grand time in the days leading up to the Grand Prix, which passes by uneventfully.

"We are going to be very touristy," I tell Sangil on Monday morning. The remnants of a full English breakfast are spread out before us: bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes, and beans, with large mugs of tea to wash it all down. I suppose we are missing the black pudding, but I can't bring myself to try it.

"Ooh, I love being a tourist."

"Sometimes it's the best," I reply.

When we're finished I scoot my chair back and stand up, then hold my hand out for Sangil. Skinship has become second nature to us by now. If anything, we need to remember to dial it down a notch on camera. Some nosy people have taken pictures of us in the paddock being very touchy-feely and posted it online. The response was mostly positive, with a few immature fans voicing disapproval.

We start out on the River Thames, just in time to see the Tower Bridge open up and let ships through. Then we go to the Tower of London, where we shoot some arrows, brandish a sword, and see the Crown Jewels.

"Have you watched Sherlock?" I ask Sangil. "Because all I imagine is Moriarty right now, as he smashes the glass with the fire extinguisher."

"Yes, I saw it. The cinematography was amazing."

"I disliked the last season, but now is not the time for that discussion."

"I disliked it, too, so we don't even need a discussion."

I laugh. "Unless we want to commiserate together on how much we disliked it."

We ride on the iconic double decker bus and stop at the Shard, a glass skyscraper where we take a lift up to the viewing platform. My fear of heights may be diminishing. Or I don't notice my surroundings as much when I'm with Sangil, because I'm nowhere near as nervous as I was when we were on the Eureka Tower in Australia. At the Globe Theatre we admire the structure that performed Shakespeare's plays at the time that he was alive.

"Do you have any ambitions to be an actor?" I ask Sangil.

He shakes his head. "I'm not good at it."

"But you were in musicals before, correct?"

"Yes, in college. It's different from acting somehow. For me, at least."

At lunch I can't decide between a ploughman's and Cullen Skink, so Sangil suggests I get both. Cullen Skink sounds inedible, but it's a thick Scottish soup with smoked haddock, potatoes, and onions. And a ploughman's lunch is similar to the recently popular Pinterest posts of spreads on a cutting board. Mine arrives with bread, cheese, ham, pickles, apples, and chutney. Sangil helps himself to some of it.

Following lunch we go to St. Paul's Cathedral, where we climb to the dome, stand on opposite sides, and whisper. It's built in such a way that you can perfectly hear what is being said. The WGM crew want either a confession or something lovey-dovey. Ugh. Why can't they just film whatever happens? I was recently told that we're the most popular couple on the show at the moment, and they want to capitalize on that.

"Sangil," I start out in Korean and switch to Russian. "Я тебя люблю." I love you.

"Sochi, saranghaeyo," he replies.

"Suki desu."

"I love you."

"You are the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on."

I hear him giggling before responding with, "No one compares to you in beauty, brains, or strength."

"Come here so I can give you a hug."

"Wait for me."

I watch as he walks over to my side, smiling with anticipation. When he's close he holds out his arms to the sides, and I take a step to close the gap between us. After squeezing my arms around his toned torso I release him.

Then we ride the London Eye, the famous Ferris wheel, before going to our last sightseeing location, Buckingham Palace. It's the home and administrative headquarters of the British monarchs. We didn't catch a changing of the guards ceremony, but it was spectacular nonetheless.

For dinner Sangil chose the restaurant, and there's an air of anticipation around him. I dressed up in a slinky teal gown, and he's in a suit. He pulls out my chair for me at our table, and is behaving in a manner not quite himself. I don't mean to imply that he's usually ill-mannered, because he's not.

"I took the liberty of ordering ahead for us. I remember how much you were looking forward to eating Beef Wellington."

I nod, and as if I summoned him, the waiter places our meals before us.

"Well, enjoy," says Sangil with a little hand gesture and a smile.

It's just as good as I remember. The steak, chestnuts, mushrooms, puff pastry — it's so delicious I close my eyes for a moment.

"Like it?" asks Sangil.

I open my eyes. "I love it."

"I'm glad."

When we're finished Sangil says he has more in store back at the hotel. When we step inside our room, I see a splendid afternoon tea set up. I give his arm a squeeze.

"I know how much you like tea, and the British know their tea." He laughs. "But you should have heard the confusion of the staff when I told them when I wanted this. Anyway, it's July fifteenth. And I missed your birthday."

"No, you didn't. You called." I remember how both in the morning and evening of the seventh he called me up and sang Happy Birthday, in three languages. And then we talked for a long time.

"But we weren't together. So today I wanted to properly celebrate your birthday with you."

We sit down and he pours me a cup of tea. I help myself to the sweets. Sangil sticks a candle on a cupcake and lights it. "Make a wish," he says, placing it in front of me.

I seriously think about what I want. I wish that Sangil and I continue our relationship after We Got Married ends. Then I lean over and gently blow the flame out.

"I hope your wish comes true."

I feel tears gather in my eyes and I almost start crying when he says that, because it's almost as if he knows what I want. I quickly look down and sip my tea.

"I have a present for you," he says, standing up and walking over to the baby grand piano, where I belatedly notice a few pieces of paper. He sits down and starts starts to play and sing almost at the same time.

Give me love, give me love

Doko made mo yuku

Hatenai kono sora no shita ...

I don't remember which Johnny's Entertainment group sings this song, but it is familiar to me. I appreciate that he learned the notes and lyrics to a Japanese song so that I can understand immediately what he's conveying, instead of looking up a translation. He puts in a lot of effort to communicate with me. I can count on my hands how many Korean words I know, but he talks to me in Japanese all the time.

I listen until the end, and then go sit on the bench next to him. I lay my head on his chest and hear his heartbeat. He takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. "Kamsahamnida," I thank him. You have my love, I think, but don't utter aloud.

"Happy belated twenty-second birthday, Sochi."

**************************

I do remember which group sings it (Hey! Say! JUMP) but Sochi doesn't. Hey! Say! JUMP have uploaded several of their older MVs to YouTube. Yeah!