1.1 | The Yakuza Bride

Chapter 14

A/N: Leon and Hana go to Russia! I wonder what they get up to there?

~

They took an overnight flight from New York to Moscow, and after spending nine hours in Business class watching movies in Japanese and sleeping intermittently, she could barely keep her eyes open for the four hour transit.

They stuck themselves at a foodcourt in the transit terminal for a bite. As she scanned the various stalls, she realised that Russian and Japanese fare had some similarities after all. With a crepe piled high with fresh cream and strawberries, and a platter of dumplings, they settled into plastic seats and ate silently.

It had been interesting to watch him order in Russian for her. An old lady at a stall had called her pretty, and she giggled when he flushed and repeated that to her.

The connecting flight to St Petersburg, though a few short hours, had been spent trying to fall asleep. They were both beat after trying but failing to snooze in the hard plastic chairs of the foodcourt. When the flight landed, they were both silent once more, both craving for a wash and a bed.

She barely knew where she was going and trudged wearily behind him. All around her, there was the buzz of conversation in a language she didn't know, signboards in an alphabet she couldn't read.

'Come on,' he said as he hauled her luggage off of the carousel.

'I can take it,' she argued, reaching for it.

His only response was to tug the handle out of her grasp.

'You walk too slowly,' he grumbled.

'You walk too quickly,' she retorted, with a flash of annoyance in her chest. Sometimes she had to trot to keep up with him.

He slowed down so abruptly that she stalled. The gaze that he angled at her was unexpectedly apologetic as if he hadn't realised how fast his strides could be.

'Sorry. You should have told me,' he chided gently. Then a small smile flitted onto his features. 'I'll take your luggage, and you can take my jacket.'

Hana silently reached for the material that he had slung over his shoulder and hugged it to herself. It smelled like him and airplane.

As she followed him out of the door, a strong blast of cold air hit her. Long strands of her unkempt hair flew about her face and she swiped at the errant locks grumpily. She was aware of a crowd of other people and their luggages waiting about by the road for their own transport. Leon scanned the area briskly to identify their ride amongst the various private cars and taxis that had pulled up by the curb.

'Over here,' he said, moving hurriedly to where a liveried man in a peak cap waited. He had on a navy suit with gold details and a pair of polished black shoes that shone despite the waning light of the grey skies.

'Young Master, Madam,' the man greeted with a smile. Then he turned to her and added, 'Welcome to St Petersburg.'

She returned the smile, then stood idly by them as the chauffeur and Leon loaded their bags into the boot. The fact that Leon's family would have a chauffeur surprised her. She didn't think, when she chose his photograph out of a pile of others, that he would be that wealthy. Of course she had seen the Excelsior and the strip of prime land that they owned, but back in New York, he drove himself around and they lived in a simple apartment.

Who exactly had she married?

The interior of the car was of plush, cream leather that smelled faintly of lemons. Even the floor mats were free of dirt. She made a face when she realised that the little spot of mud on the carpet was from her shoe.