“Huh?” I frown and try to peer into the apartment through the opening.
“It’s me. Why? You don’t think I can play?”
“No. It’s not like that,” I say, suddenly feeling defensive. Why am I acting like I’ve done something wrong when I’m making a very reasonable request? Yuna doesn’t own the building. She should be more considerate. “I just need to work, so it’d be nice if you could keep it down, that’s all.”
“Like you kept it down the night I moved in? Bang, bang, bang!”
I feel my neck grow hot. “Look, I’m sorry about tha—”
“Rejected.” She flicks her hair over a shoulder. “I don’t accept apologies from assholes.”
I stare at her. “Excuse me, what?”
“You don’t deserve Kim because you’re dumb. I’m going to find her a rich, hot, well-hung dude who’s really good in bed. And I have a thick dossier folder full of rich, hot, well-hung dudes who’re really good in bed. My mom sent it. She’s really good at finding those kinds of guys.”
I always knew Yuna is a bit weird, but this… Mom shmom—I’m more focused on what she said about setting Kim up with someone. And not just anyone, but a “rich, hot, well-hung and really good in bed” someone.
An image of Kim laughing and dancing with some rich, hot, well-hung dude plays in my mind like a home movie. Suddenly, I’m no longer feeling bad about putting nails in the wall that night. “Maybe setting people up with strangers is how they do it in Korea, but not here. You need to stay out of this.”
“That is how we do it, and I’ll do it with Kim if I want. She’s kind of an honorary Korean anyway.”
“What? No, she isn’t.”
“Her name is Kim!”
Oh Lord. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough. For one thing, I know you don’t love her.”
Rage starts to build at her judgmental tone. “Shut up.”
She ignores me. “Which is fine, because Kim deserves a man who loves her enough to risk his heart for her.”
Her words punch me hard, dousing the rage and leaving me disoriented for a second.
She sticks her tongue out, says something that sounds like “may wrong,” which doesn’t even make sense, then slams the door in my face.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Wyatt
Yuna returns to her piano drills, and I go back to my unit and stretch out on the couch with my arms folded behind my head. Exactly twelve seconds later, Princess hops up and decides to sit on my face. I push her away, and she lets out the vilest, most grotesque fart ever.
“Ugh!” I sit up, gagging and trying to wave it away. The army could use this stuff for chemical warfare.
She hisses, then hops off the couch and swishes her tail, stalking away.
I glare at her. I swear that cat is the devil incarnate. She’s been impossible since Saturday. It’s as though she blames me for making Kim leave—which, okay, is more or less my fault.
Kim deserves a man who loves her enough to risk his heart for her.
It pops into my head, then keeps circling, pushing the cat fart and sound of the piano into the background.
Was I just playin
g it safe when I rejected her proposal? I had a good reason, and I still think it’s a good reason. She shouldn’t have to give up the possibility of love to help me with a custody battle. It’s just too much of a sacrifice for her.
Don’t you think she’s thought of that? a voice that sounds a lot like Yuna says in my head. Don’t you think she would be smart enough and capable enough to find a different way to save Vi from Geneva if that’s what she wanted?