Falling For Sakura: A Secret Proposal (Part 1) (9 page)

“Please, do that,” Darcy said.
 

Once Melissa quickly rushed to the back of the gallery, he turned his attention back to the painting. He went down on one knee and inspect closer. He noted that the paint was still slightly wet.
 

“Sakura,” he said softly.
 

A moment later, Melissa came back out. “Thank god,” she said, laughing uneasily. “I’ve found the price. It’s five thousand.” The exact price, she thought, for that sexy red dress she had wanted for ages.
 

“Please be careful packing, apparently it’s still a bit wet,” Darcy said, taking his wallet out.
 

“Really?” Melissa asked. “I will. Oh, it’ll have to be check, sir. Our system isn’t working today.” That was a lie, but then again, Melissa was used to lying.
 

After he had signed and given her the five thousand dollars check, Darcy carried the two paintings out the door, leaving Melissa to wonder how she was to ask him out on a date.
 

Outside, Darcy carefully placed the two paintings in the boot of his car and then drove across from Soho to the other side of town to Princeton Hotel. After parking the car in private parking lot under the building, he
headed up the stairs and came into the main foyer. He was struck with a hive of activities. There were people everywhere, guests of all assort, staffs going about their works, and those who were there for the fashion show.
 

He hurried past them toward the lift. Thank God, not many were there and when it dinged, he walked in. A couple of people got into the lift with him and when it closed again, Darcy sighed with relief. He hated sharing his space with other people, especially in a lift and especially when it was jammed pack with people.
 

His phoned beeped. He got it out of his pocket and saw that he had a text message.
 

Ding!
He knew the door of the elevator had just opened again and more people were coming in. Darcy wasn’t paying any attention though as he was too busy reading the text from Conrad.
 

Darcy, where the heck are you? We’re at Mom and Dad’s penthouse. Meeting before the show. Hurry!!!
 

Darcy texted back:
In the lift. Be there soon.
He pushed sent. That was when he realized the lift was jammed pack with people.
 

“Shit!” he swore under his breath as he was being pushed back to the corner. Then he realized there was a lovely blond squashed right up against him.
Oh God!
He could feel her softness against his hard length. Her hair, the color reminded him of dust corn, was brushing against his chin. She had beautiful smell, he thought. It reminded him of spring, and instantly, the image of the cherry blossom tree came rushing back to him in full
force. The gentle breeze, the warmth, the soft lips of Sakura—
 

He flashed his eyes opened and gritted his teeth. Without knowing it, his hand was lifted up with its own accord, ready to touch the lock of pale hair. Darcy held himself in check on time.
Shit!
He was just about to caress a stranger.
 

Then there was some more shuffling within the elevator, and she was thrust up against him even more, the side of her face snuggling against his brick wall of chest.
 

“Oh God! I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly.
 

That voice.
Shit!
That voice. He knew he had heard of that voice before. No! It couldn’t be. How could it be? Sakura couldn’t be here. Not here! Yes, he must be going crazy, he thought.
 

* * * * *

“Fourth floor,” Sakura murmured to herself as she rushed along the corridor.
 

She couldn’t believe it. Jane had been right. Backstage was as hectic and busy as a beehive. Everybody was running around everywhere and doing everything, and now she was one of them. Except she wasn’t properly dressed like them in black shirt, black jeans, and comfortable shoes. She was wearing her long skirt, white frilly blouse, and a pair of heels. Yes, she looked elegant and lovely. And no, she was not comfortable in these to do this particular job which required her to run.
 

Now she was running toward the lift, hoping to get to the fourth floor on time so she could give these files to
Chris Wilson, who was supposed to arrange all the wardrobe according to these lists that was in her clutch.
 

She got to the lift just in time as it was opening. Hastily, she rushed in, not looking at who was in there. The moment she stepped in, at least a dozen more people rushed in as well, pushing her back to the corner. She found herself squeezing against three other people, and one of those was behind her. She hadn’t time to look up at him as she was too busy texting Jane to tell her friend that she was on her way.
 

Oh God, she thought, this was not what she had expected. Being squished up against a stranger wasn’t part of her to do list. She hoped the man behind her, whoever he was, wouldn’t mind too much. She really did want to take a sneak peek at him but found it too embarrassing to do so.
Holy Mother!
She could feel the length of him—his hard muscular chest, his firmed abs, and the length of his long legs, against her.
 

Suddenly, there was more shuffling within the confined space of the lift, and Sakura found herself thrusting back even more against the stranger and her face snuggling against his massive, rock hard chest.
 

“Oh God! I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly to him. Then the door dinged, opened, and Sakura rushed out with other people, hoping the stranger would accept her apology.
 

She wasn’t thinking much about him after that as she rushed toward the room she was told to. She knocked on the door, and it was instantly opened by Chris himself who she had met only half an hour ago.
 

“I got the list,” she said.
 

“Thank God,” Chris said and pulled her in. “Come on, help me take these down to the first floor.”
 

Sakura simply wanted to laugh. Here she was ready to meet her biological mother, but what was she doing now? Helping Chris carrying designer gowns.
 

Some twenty minutes later, they were back on the first floor where the backstage was held. She was just resting and massaging her arms when someone said, “Sakura?” loudly.
 

Sakura lifted her head and said, “Yes?”
 

A woman with brown hair and red face headed straight at her, looked her up and down and said, “You’re late.”
 

Without telling her as to what was going on, the woman got a tight hold of her wrist and led her away.
 

* * * * *

Mistaken Identity

Oh God! Kill me now! Just kill me right now, Sakura thought as she stared at herself in the full length mirror. Was this really her?
Holy Mother Jesus Christ!
She had pink hair.
Candy floss pink hair!
It was intricately formed high on her head into a chignon with a garland of cherry blossoms and beads of pink mother of pearls artistically decorated on it.
 

Her face!
She moved closer to have a good look. She had to gasp again. Was this really her? She blinked. Her face was flawlessly made-up with rosy pink blush, bright eyes, long, dark lashes, and hot ruby lips.
 

Sakura, she thought, you looked like one of those high fashion models who was about to do a catwalk. Her heart did a somersault. Oh God, yes, that was exactly what she was about to do in twenty minutes times, and it was all due to a case of mistaken identity.
 

She was supposed to be here, minding her own business to steal a sneak peek at her supposedly biological mother Haruka Tanaka, but now looked at where it got her.  
 

The gown!
She couldn’t believe she was wearing a famous designer gown that no woman had ever worn nor anyone had ever seen before. Well, until tonight in—
 

She glanced at the huge clock on the wall to the right. Her heart did another jolt.
Jesus!
In only eighteen minutes times. Breathe, Sakura, just breathe—she told herself.
 

She had to call Jane. Jane would know what to do. Jane would sort all this mess out.
 

Her hands shaking, she dug into her bag and searched frantically for her cell phone. She found it and quickly dialed her friend’s number. Her whole body was shaking with nervousness as the phone rang.
 

“Hello?”
 

“Jane?” Sakura shouted into the phone, panic in her voice. “Jane?”
 

“Oi! You there. Quickly take this to Mr. Tachibana. Oh shit! What are you doing? That’s supposed to be over there. Quickly fix it. Now! And how are the backstage people going? What the heck! We’re on in fifteen! Oi, you fix her dress now. Shit! Where the hell is Chris! Chris! I need help here!”
 

Sakura gritted her teeth. She knew Jane was busy with work, but Sakura needed help
. Pronto!
 

“Jane?” she shouted into the phone again.
 

“Huh? Oh God! I’m sorry, is that you Sakura? Where are you? I can’t believe I’ve lost you in this crazy mess.”
 

Sakura thought—forget about the crazy mess!
She was the crazy mess!
 

“Jane? I need you. Please come quickly. I’m in trouble,” she begged. She was almost on the verge of crying but managed to control herself because she didn’t want to mess up her beautifully made-up face that three make-up artists had worked so hard on. She just couldn’t believe she was in this stupid predicament. That was all.
 

“What? What’s wrong?”
 

“They mistook me for Sakura,” she said.
 

“What? Hold on a second. I can’t hear you properly in this crazy noise.”
A moment later,
“What was it again?”
 

Sakura sighed and shouted into the phone. “They mistook me for Sakura.”
 

A pause and then,
“But you are Sakura.”
 

“No, that’s not what I mean. The make-up artists mistook me for Sakura, the famous Japanese super model.”
 

“Holy Shit!”
Jane swore loudly into the phone.
“Where are you?”
 

“The dressing room,” Sakura replied, her voice shaking. “Please come quickly.”
 

“Right, be there in a second.”
 

“Okay,” Sakura whispered into the phone, her heart thumping hard out within her chest. She took a deep, calming breath and closed her eyes. Yes, everything would be all right. Jane would be here soon.
 

“You looked shorter than I remember,” a seductive voice with a hint of Japanese accent said softly.
 

Sakura gasped and twisted around, her eyes wide in panic. She came to face a very beautiful Japanese model. Tall, slender, and with a face to die for, the woman could really crash the stage with her look alone. She was wearing a light purple gown, beautifully designed and decorated with beads of tiny diamonds around the collar. Her hair, candy purple in color, was also fashioned high on her head into a chignon with a garland of purple flower artistically arranged to the left side.  
 

“Baka!”
the woman said, blinking as she stared at Sakura in awe.
 

Sakura licked her lip as she gazed at the woman, her heart continued to pound within her chest.
 

“You’re not Sakura,” she said.
 

Sakura blinked. “Well, I’m not and I am.”
 

The Japanese beauty blinked. “What do you mean?”
 

Sakura knew she had to come clean whether she liked it or not. Then there was also the fact that this Japanese beauty might be able to help her out of this stupid misunderstanding. She cleared her throat and squeaked out, “They mistook me for the Japanese model Sakura. What am I going to do?”
 

The Japanese beauty cocked her head to one side as she gazed at Sakura for a long while, as if she was assessing Sakura. Then suddenly she laughed. It was a beautiful, rich laughter that any man would find very attractive. She came forward and smiled at Sakura, her eyes twinkling with delight. “Well, I for once am quite glad you’re going to be the finale. Oba-chan would be very pleased indeed you’re the one wearing her necklace,” she said.
 

Sakura blinked. “Huh? What? Finale?”
 

Lisa, the stylist, reappeared. “Quick!” she muttered, her face red from running and ordering people around. “We’re on in twelve minutes and you need your mask. And where the hell is that precious necklace?” she shouted to someone behind her.
 

“I’m Akira, by the way,” the Japanese woman said. “And you are Sakura, yes?”
 

Sakura nodded, and before she could say anything further, Lisa twisted her around and made her sit in the make-up chair again. “Mask! Mask! Now!” she shouted.
 

Sakura watched as a beautifully designed mask of white, pink, and gold with cherry blossom flowers appeared before her. Then a make-up artist arranged it on her face so that it sat comfortably on her. A moment later, they moved back and Sakura blinked. The shape of the mask was like that of the phantom of the opera with one fourth of her face covered. She couldn’t recognize herself. She wasn’t her anymore.
 

Akira chuckled. “Amazing, yes?”