CROSSING LINES

Chapter 10

James’s POV

The moment he stepped into the sleek, glass-lined foyer of the Saito estate, he felt the air shift.

Too clean. Too silent.

A far cry from the laughter, warmth, and pancake syrup of Bianca’s family home.

He hadn't even closed the door before his mother’s voice pierced the stillness.

“Takumi.”

His jaw tightened.

Hiroko Saito appeared from the formal sitting room, a porcelain teacup in one hand, a pristine cream kimono wrapped like armor around her slender frame. Her gaze was calm—but sharp. Calculating. As if she already knew exactly where he had been.

“You didn’t answer my messages,” she said coolly.

“I was out of town.” He walked past her toward the kitchen, needing space, something that felt less like a stage.

“With her.”

He stopped mid-step. Turned. “Her name is Bianca.”

“I’m aware of the girl’s name,” Hiroko replied, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “I looked into her.”

James’s spine straightened. “You what?”

“She has no legacy. No holdings. Her scholarship barely covers tuition. Her mother works as a teacher and her real father is—absent.”

“You looked into her family?” he asked, voice rising.

“She’s a distraction. One we can’t afford.” Her tone was still even, but there was steel beneath it. “You were born for more than… this experiment.”

James clenched his fists. “It’s not an experiment. It’s a relationship. And you don’t get to dictate who I—”

“I do, Takumi.” Her voice sharpened like a blade, slicing through the room. “You are the heir to two dynasties. You are not a college boy chasing a summer fling.”

“It’s not a fling,” he said through his teeth. “And I don’t need a dynasty if it costs me someone real.”

Her silence was the loudest thing in the room.

Then, quietly: “Naomi will be arriving next weekend. She’s excited to see you again.”

He stared at her. “I never agreed to that.”

“You didn’t have to. She’s your match. Cultured. Disciplined. Japanese.”

James turned away, rage barely contained. “You don’t know Bianca. You wouldn’t last five minutes in a room with her truth.”

“And you won’t survive five years without mine,” Hiroko said softly, almost pityingly. “You’ll come around. Or you’ll come undone.”

He sat on the back patio, elbows on his knees, staring out at the koi pond his mother had installed for “balance and harmony.”

He’d never found anything harmonious about this place.

The tea she left untouched still sat on the glass table beside him, ice melting in her absence. The air was too quiet. Too staged. It made him miss Bianca’s world all over again—Savannah’s teasing, the way her mother patted his arm like she’d known him for years. The scent of burnt bacon and perfume.

His phone buzzed. Dad.

James answered on the third ring.

“Hey.”

A pause. Then his father’s voice, low and tired but always steady. “Takumi. I heard you’re back.”

“I am.”

“She told you about Naomi, I assume.”

James sighed and leaned back in the chair. “She ambushed me with it.”

Another pause. Then Harold exhaled. “She means well. You know your mother.”

James clenched his jaw. “She doesn’t know me.”

“She thinks she does. That’s her curse.”

A silence stretched between them. Finally, his father said, “Listen. I’m not calling to lecture you.”

“No?” James asked, only half-believing.

“I’m calling to ask you to keep your options open.”

James closed his eyes. “Not you too.”

Harold’s voice softened. “Son, I’m not saying Bianca isn’t wonderful. She might be. But you’re twenty-two. People grow. Feelings change. You’ve only just stepped into the real world. What you want now… it might not be what you want five years from now.”

James sat forward, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not looking five years from now. I’m looking at her. And she’s—she’s it. I know it.”

“You think you know it,” his father said gently. “And maybe you’re right. But tunnel vision can be dangerous. Especially when love becomes about rebellion.”

“This isn’t rebellion,” James said sharply. “It’s not about you or her or proving anything. It’s just… Bianca. She sees me. She makes sense of everything else.”

Harold was quiet for a long moment.

Then: “Okay. I hear you. I just… don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you painted yourself into a corner.”

James swallowed. “I’d rather paint my own corner than live in one someone else designed for me.”

There was something like pride in the silence that followed. Maybe even understanding.

“I’ll talk to your mother,” Harold said finally. “But she won’t let this go easily.”

“I know,” James said.

“And neither will Naomi.”

James looked out at the water again. “Then they’ll have to learn what it means to lose.”

An hour later

The private dining room at Saito’s upscale Boston restaurant was dimly lit and intimate—too intimate for the silence hanging between father and son.

James toyed with his chopsticks, his appetite fading under the weight of expectation. Harold Saito, crisp in a tailored charcoal suit despite the informal setting, finally cleared his throat.

“Takumi,” he began, using the name only family did, “you’ve lost weight.”

James gave a tight smile. “Just school stress.”

“Or stubbornness.”

His father’s eyes didn’t accuse. They observed—measured. Like always.

James leaned back. “So… we’re really doing this?”

Harold sipped his sake. “Your mother is upset. You know how she is.”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let her dictate my life.”

His father set his cup down slowly. “I’m not here to side with her.”

That surprised James.

“But I am here,” Harold continued, “to ask you if you’ve thought beyond the moment. Beyond… Bianca.”

James stiffened. “This again?”

“I’m not doubting your feelings, Takumi. I’m asking you to be honest about the future. If the world pushes harder, if your mother draws lines in the sand, if the media begins circling—will you still fight this hard for her?”

James’s throat tightened. “She’s not a fight. She’s… peace. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”

Harold studied him, then nodded slowly. “I see that. I really do. And I don’t want you to lose something good just because it’s complicated. But it’s a long road. You must keep your eyes open. Hearts are fragile. Feelings change.”

James’s jaw ticked, but he held back the retort. Instead, he asked, “Is that what you told yourself about Mom?”

Harold didn’t flinch. “Your mother and I were arranged. We made it work. That’s not your path, I know. Just… don’t confuse resistance with destiny.”

The door creaked open.

James turned.

And there she was—Hiroko, pristine in pearls and elegance, with Naomi Takahashi a step behind her. Naomi’s smile was polite. Practiced.

James stood slowly.

Hiroko greeted Harold with a nod, then turned to her son with something unreadable in her eyes.

“Takumi,” she said coolly, “I thought it time you caught up with someone who understands where you come from.”

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