InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Light and Dark ( Chapter 48 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Bellaniece sat back on the thickly cushioned bench and blinked in surprise as Kichiro climbed into the carriage beside her.  Almost timidly, he smiled at her, extending an absolutely perfect, long-stemmed pink rose bud.  "Cliché and stupid, right?" he joked, the right side of his face shifting into a grimace.

"Old fashioned, maybe," she argued as she took the rose.  "Not cliché, and certainly not stupid."

He wrinkled his nose and shrugged as he settled in beside her, slipping his arm over the top of the low seat.  Bellaniece glanced at his hand, resting on her shoulder, but didn't try to shrug him off.  "I can't believe you arranged all this," she admitted as she gazed around at the darkened landscape of Central Park.  "How did you know I've always wanted to do this?"

"I have my sources," he quipped.  "I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself tonight."

She giggled.  After dinner at the exclusive Four Seasons restaurant where he'd somehow managed to secure one of the private dining rooms just for the two of them, he had swept her away via limousine to the New York Metropolitan Opera in time to see La Traviata with a spectacular view from one of the exclusive private balconies.  It was beautiful, captivating her as she forgot everything, wrapped up in the spell of the haunting melodies, forgetting everything but the melancholy beauty of the opera.  

She'd never been to an opera before, but Bellaniece loved the music.  To see it with her own eyes, to experience something she'd only dreamed of seeing, was something that she couldn't describe.  The intricacy of the opera, the decadence of the New York Metropolitan Opera . . . The magic of Kichiro's quiet company . . .

It seemed so right to her, maybe a little too right, too perfect, and she couldn't brush aside the disquieting thought that the evening would end; that Kichiro had somehow managed to bring the fairy tales that her father used to read to her to life, just for her, and like every Cinderella story, she would be relegated to the role of the little cinder girl by morning.  When he'd taken her hand to help her to her feet as she wiped away an errant tear at the bittersweet end of La Traviata, Bellaniece thought that the evening was over.

What she hadn't expected was the pristine white carriage with shining gold gilt trim that waited for them as they left the theatre.  Drawn by a stunning white horse, it seemed out of place in the contemporary city.  The driver had started to offer Bellaniece a hand to assist her into the carriage.  Kichiro shook his head at the man who laughed softly and bowed in deference to the hanyou.

"How did you manage this?" she asked as the carriage rolled through the busy city streets.

"You'd be amazed what the Inutaisho name can do," he informed her with a wan smile.  "Not that I use that often, mind."

"Your uncle?"

He sighed, cheeks flushing lightly as he avoided her gaze, and he seemed a little irritated.  "Yeah, well . . . it's the first time I've ever asked him for a damn thing, but he likes showing off his influence."

"He got you the reservation for the Four Seasons, didn't he?"

Kichiro shrugged and grimaced.  "He got the reservation, yes.  I paid for it, wench, just for the record."

She lifted the rosebud to her nose and sniffed, closing her eyes as she smiled in the semi-dark.  "Tonight . . . It was . . . You amaze me."

"See what you'd have missed if you'd stayed in the tub all night?" he teased.

Bellaniece giggled and twisted the rose in her fingertips.  "Thank you."

"Don't thank me.  Just . . . trust me, okay?"

She bit her lip.  It wasn't the first time he'd said such a thing.  The question was, did he really, truly mean it . . .? "Is that what you want?  For me to trust you?"

"Yeah," he answered, idly fingering a ringlet curl that fell against her neck.  "You're a princess, you know.  You . . . You should be treated like one."

"A princess . . ." She laughed.  "Is that what this is?  You're idea of treating me like a princess?"

"Depends.  Is it working?"

Bellaniece nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  It is."

"Good."

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

Kichiro shrugged and smiled slyly.  "Something . . . You'll like it."

"Okay," she said with a slight nod.  "I trust you."

Kichiro's smile widened.  "Good, but you know, you'll have to have something else for tomorrow evening.  A princess never appears in public wearing the same gown twice."

"I like this dress."

"Yeah, it's a little too formal for what I have planned."

"I thought this was your weekend."

"It is," he agreed.  "I just happen to enjoy surprising you."

"You do?"

"Absolutely."

"I would have been all right with room service and a good movie," she told him.

"Sure, you would have, but I wouldn't have been."

"For years I've tried to talk Daddy into bringing me here.  He always came up with one excuse or another, as to why we couldn't.  I know he doesn't like congested cities and stuff.  I understand that he is more comfortable in his own environment . . . I'm just glad you brought me here."

"It's not a big deal," he grumbled, shifting enough to bring her a little closer to him.

"It is to me."

"Yeah?

"Yeah."

His gaze turned serious, tinged with emotion that made Bellaniece catch her breath.  Amber eyes glowing in the weak light of the street lamps they passed under, he didn't bother to try to hide the raw feeling in his gaze.  For a dizzying second, a stunning moment, Bellaniece thought he was going to kiss her.  He lifted his free hand, caressed her cheek, dusted the pad of his thumb over her lips with a gentleness that stripped away the lingering bits of her carefully constructed barrier as he slipped his hand around her neck, brought her toward him as his lips pressed against her forehead.  She nestled closer to his side, her hand resting against his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, buried his face in the crook of her neck as the carriage turned into Central Park.


Gin placed her order and handed the menu to the waiter before daring another glance out the window at the small open air bistro across the street from the café where she'd met Pierre L'amont for lunch.

'He hasn't moved, has he?'

Gin grimaced.  'Nope, not at all.'

'Good grief, he's really drawing attention to himself.'

And he was.  Patrons at the surrounding tables were eyeing Cain as though they feared he was about to lash out at them.  The irritation emanating from the tai-youkai was bad enough.  Even from where she sat inside the restaurant across the street, she could feel it.  Add to that the black scowl on Cain's features, and, well . . . Gin winced as a waitress hesitantly approached Cain.  He snapped something, and the poor woman hurried away only to reappear moments later with a cup of coffee that she gingerly sat on the table before beating a hasty retreat once more.

"Still with the social grace of an ox," Pierre said with a long-suffering sigh. Gin shot him a glance only to find the Frenchman staring out the window at Cain, too.  "You are a saint to put up with his moods."

Gin shook her head and grimaced.  "Not really . . . I mean, he's a wonderful person, deep down.  He's smart and funny and honorable . . ."

"Of course he is," Pierre agreed.  "Maybe a little too honorable?"

"Too honorable?  Is there such a thing?"

Pierre shrugged as he raised his glass of wine, narrowing his gaze as he swirled the liquid, staring at the glass but not really seeing it.  "Zelig will live, and Zelig will die, and all that will be said for him is that he held his damnable honor in the highest of regard, no?"

"Honor is a good thing, a noble thing."

"Honor is a fool's escape.  He can shut himself off from everyone and everything and use his honor as a shield.  That's not good or noble.  It's cowardly . . . and it's vindictive."

Gin didn't know what to say to that.  In the end, she sipped her water and looked around, searching for something safer to discuss than Cain Zelig and innuendo that she didn't quite understand.  "Your exhibition went well," she finally said.

Pierre looked surprised but chuckled.  "Ah, yes, it did.  I sold three paintings to add to my net worth that I don't really need but do so love to flaunt."

"Your work is just amazing," she went on.

"My work is a joke.  Zelig's right.  A painting of a ball on a table sold for 11,176,000 yen.  There was no art to it.  Humans, for the most part, have no real conscious taste in things.  They are a shiftless lot, and they go with what happens to be the flavor of the moment—and this moment, the flavor is me."

"That's cynical."

Pierre shrugged but smiled.  "It pays the bills."

She didn't answer as the waiter set their orders down and hurried away again.  Gin stared at her plate and pushed her food around with her chopsticks.  "Can I ask you something?" she finally asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"You may ask me what you will, mademoiselle, but I cannot guarantee an answer."

"Fair enough," she agreed, dropping the pretense of trying to eat.  "Do you know what happened to Cain's wife?  To Isabelle?  Do you know how she died?"

Her question didn't seem to surprise Pierre though he did set his utensils aside and sat back.  "That is something I cannot answer.  The only one who truly knows is Zelig.  There were rumors, of course: speculation and innuendo . . . I heard it all, but honestly, I could not tell you what was fact, what was fiction, and what was sheer coincidence."

"I see."

She must have looked a little sad.  Pierre sighed and leaned forward, beckoning her closer like he was about to tell her a secret.  Gin leaned in, too.  "He was with her when she died. I know that much is true.  She lived long enough to see Bellaniece.  That is all I know."

"I don't think he'll tell me.  It's not really my business, and even if it were . . . Cain doesn't tell me bad things, or things that he thinks are bad, anyway . . ."

"If I knew more, I would tell you.  Ghosts and memories are formidable adversaries, especially when you have no idea what sort of skeletons lurk in the closet."

Gin fell silent again, her gaze returning to the window once more.  Cain hadn't moved and didn't seem interested in his coffee at all.  He was still scowling, arms crossed over his chest.  Gin hesitantly raised her hand, wiggled her fingers in a small gesture.  He nodded, and she knew he'd seen her.

"Zelig will live, and Zelig will die, and all that will be said for him is that he held his damnable honor in the highest of regard, no?"

Gin shivered, brushing aside the acute foreboding that surged through her at the memory of L'amont-san's dire predictions as best as she could, and tried to tell herself that L'amont Pierre had to be wrong.


Bellaniece laughed as the carriage rolled through the quiet park as Kichiro scowled and did his best not to laugh, too.  "It wasn't funny," he grumbled while Bellaniece laughed harder.

"You've got to be kidding!" she choked, fanning her face as she tried to stop laughing.  "You and your brother used to let Gin dress you up as girls?"

"Only when Ryomaru broke something . . . I'm not sure how I ever got suckered into it."

"Oh, but I'll bet you were a beautiful girl," she crooned.

Kichiro snorted.  "Keh!  That's the last time I tell you embarrassing pup stories," he grouched.  "You were supposed to feel sorry for me over the Gin-induced torment."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!  It was cute, that's all . . . and really sweet."

"Yeah, right."

"I bet it was nice, having siblings," she told him.  "I remember thinking I wished Daddy would remarry so I could have a sister or brother . . . or both."

Kichiro tightened his arms that were still wrapped around her waist.  "It wasn't all it was cracked up to be," he assured her.  "At least you never had to worry about not measuring up."

"Why's that?"

He made a face.  "Never mind."

"No, really . . . Why would you say that?"

He shrugged.  "No reason . . . Just that parents have a habit of labeling their pups, even if they don't really mean to."

"Oh?  And what was your label?"

He smiled a little sadly, burying his nose in her hair for a moment, inhaling the sweetness of her scent.  "I was the smart one."

"Not such a bad label to have."

"Maybe.  You've heard the stories, right?  About oyaji and the Shikon no Tama?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, well, in the old man's time, might equaled right, and he was probably the toughest there was.  Ryo's just like him."

She sat up and turned to face him, her expression a little confused and a lot sympathetic.  "Are you sure you weren't reading more into it than there really was?"

He shrugged.  "They've always been closer, in my estimation.  Oyaji and Ryomaru . . . they were too similar not to be."

"You seem like you're close to your mother," Bellaniece ventured.

He finally smiled.  "Of course."

She giggled.  "I always thought it was sweet, that you still call her 'mama'."

He snorted.  "And just what am I supposed to call her?"

"It's fine, just sweet.  Anyway, there's something to be said about being able to reason things before you run out and beat up on someone, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"And your father . . . Did he ever make you feel as though you weren't good enough?  Strong enough?"

Kichiro sighed.  "Of course not.  If anything, he tried harder, I think . . . like he wanted to understand me, even if he never really has."

"So . . . Ryomaru was the fighter, you were the brainiac, and Gin?  Let me guess . . . Gin was the sweet one?"

Kichiro shrugged.  "Gin was easy.  She was everyone's baby girl, even to Sesshoumaru and Kagura . . . Everyone loved her.  They still do."  He gave a short laugh as Bellaniece settled back against his chest again.  "Hell, I think it just might be impossible not to adore her."

"See, that's what I mean.  I always wished I had a big family, you know?"

"My family's not 'big'."

"From my point of view, it is."

"Yeah, well, I don't think the world could take more than one of you, princess."

"God forbid."

"Absolutely," he agreed.  She giggled again and tugged his braid that had fallen over her shoulder.  "Oi, leave some hair, wench."

"Oh, did I hurt the big, strong hanyou?"

"Keh!  Hardly."

"Then stop whining, Dr. Izayoi.  It's very unbecoming."

"You could call me by name, you know.  I won't bite you for it . . .Well, I might bite you . . . not for that, though."

She stiffened a little.  Kichiro could have kicked himself.  "Is it really that hard for you to say it?  My name?"

"Yes . . . and no . . ."

"You're not making much sense, Belle-chan."

She sat up and sighed, shaking her head slowly as her shoulders slumped in a pathetic sort of way, as though she wanted to explain her thoughts, and maybe she simply couldn't.  "It's just . . ."

He winced at the doubt that filtered into her gaze.  Even now, after the magical evening that he knew she'd completely enjoyed, there was still that hint of worry that he couldn't even begin to comprehend.  "It's all right," he forced himself to say.  "When you can call me by name . . . I guess I'll know you trust me."

"I . . . want to," she admitted softly as she twirled the rose in her fingers.  "I really . . ."

"It's okay, Belle.  I haven't made it easy for you."

The look in her eyes, the cautious hope that flooded her gaze . . . She didn't want him to give up, and he knew it.  'I won't, princess . . . I'll never give up on you . . .'

Her expression cleared as she tilted her head to the side.  He could tell she was trying to figure out if she ought to ask him something.  He sat back and waited.

"Why are you a surgeon?"

"Pardon?"

She shrugged and reached over to straighten his tie as she considered her own question.  "I mean, there are a lot of times when I get the impression that you don't even like it.  Your family's wealthy, so that can't be it.  You're not following in anyone's footsteps, so I doubt it was ever expected of you . . . So, why?"

Her question had caught him off-guard, and he rattled off the first answer that popped into his head.  "It's not about liking it . . . Plastic surgery gives me the time to do other, more important research, the means to fund that research . . . It was a good cover.  It still is."

"Maybe, but if you don't like it, why do it?"

"I just told you."

"No . . . you gave me standard answers that you didn't have to think about.  That's what you've been telling yourself, isn't it?  What's the real reason?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"You know, it seems to me that you've been happier these last few weeks working on Kelly's case.  Maybe . . . You feel like what you're doing for her is actually making a difference?"

Kichiro stared at Bellaniece for several seconds, trying to figure out how she could possibly understand things about him that he didn't even really understand.  "Maybe."

"You could do that, you know . . . charity cases . . . People who can't afford the reconstructive surgeries for themselves.  Wouldn't your uncle underwrite your work?  It'd be charitable donations.  I'll bet Daddy would do it, too."

"And what is it you want, princess?" he asked, filing away the things she'd said.  He'd think about it later.

Bellaniece laughed and shook her head.  "I don't know.  There are a lot of things that interest me.  I haven't made up my mind."

"Such as?"

"Such as . . . I thought about being a school teacher.  Sounds boring, doesn't it?  'Miss Zelig' . . . that's funny . . ."

"What else?"

She shrugged.  "Well, when I was little, I wanted to be a fairy princess . . . I outgrew that, of course."

"Of course," he agreed.

"Then there was the Ballerina Barbie phase.  It also did not last long."

"You wanted to be a Barbie doll?"

"Not just any Barbie: Ballerina Barbie . . . until I discovered that I wasn't patient or dedicated enough to study ballet and make it my lifelong ambition."

"Okay, so the fairy princess and the Ballerina Barbie are out.  What else?"

"Hmm . . . I went through an artistic phase . . . Made some of the most God-awful macaroni picture frames, ever . . . You should ask Daddy about that.  He kept them, of course."

"Of course."

"Then there was the stunt woman phase until I realized I'd have to wear panties."

"Which would be a travesty."

"Uh huh.  Oh, and the Igor stage."

"The what?"

She giggled.  "The Igor stage . . . I wanted to be a lab rat.  It seemed interesting, poking around in someone's DNA . . . running tests and making predictions . . . Then I figured out that the lab coats were entirely unflattering . . ."

He grinned.  "Well, you wouldn't have to wear a lab coat . . . or maybe you could get one in violet or something . . ."

"Are you saying you think I'd make a good Igor?"

"Maybe . . . with the right researcher, of course."

She seemed to be thinking about something, and she slowly shook her head before commenting.  "A researcher like . . . you?"

His smile widened.  "Maybe."