Prenup of a Third Son novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: First Night

Seo-yeon called him before she had even put the card down.

"She sent you one," he said, instead of hello. "She sent me a copy. With a note saying she was looking forward to it."

"What do we do?"

There was a silence on the line. Not a surprised one. A thinking one.

"Come to dinner on Thursday," he said. "My place. I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"No," he said. "But I've been taking lessons."

His place was in Seochon, an old two-storey house on a narrow lane behind the palace wall, with a persimmon tree hanging over the gate.

"I bought it with my first bonus," he said, letting her in. "Not a won of the family's money. My uncle hates it."

"He says it's a servant's house."

"It's beautiful."

"It leaks."

The kitchen smelled of anchovy broth and something burning.

He had his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel over his shoulder. There was flour on his dark trousers.

"I called your mother," he admitted. "She gave me the recipe. Then she called back twice to say I was doing it wrong."

"Were you?"

"Yes."

He set a bowl in front of her at the little wooden table.

The noodles were too thick and cut in every direction.

Seo-yeon tasted the broth.

It was too salty. It was also, unmistakably, her mother's.

"It's good," she said, with no expression at all.

He looked at her for a second.

Then he laughed, properly, with his head back, and she had never seen it on his face.

After dinner Seo-yeon wandered into the main room with her tea.

There was almost nothing in it. A low sofa. Books stacked on the floor.

One scroll hung on the wall, black ink on paper gone soft and yellow at the edges.

A single line of characters, brushed so freely it had been done in one breath.

"Who did this?"

He came and stood beside her.

"My teacher," he said. "My calligraphy teacher. Every Saturday, from when I was five until I was nineteen."

"What does it say?"

"'The water does not argue with the stone.'" He was quiet a moment. "It goes around. It wins anyway."

"Is she the one?" Seo-yeon asked. "At the end of the table?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't lie, either. He just looked at the scroll.

"I'm going on Chuseok," she said. "I'm going to sit where your aunt puts me."

"And I'm going to look her in the eye the whole meal."

"I know."

"You're not going to tell me not to?"

"No." He turned to her. "I'm going to sit next to you."

"She'll put us at opposite ends."

"Then she'll have to watch me move."

Seo-yeon set her tea down on the stack of books.

"Do-hyun."

"Mm."

"This house," she said. "Not a won of their money."

His eyes went to her mouth, and then back to her eyes, and he understood her.

"Not a won," he said.

She pulled the pencil out of her hair herself and let it drop.

Seo-yeon leaned down and picked the pencil up off the floor.

Then she set it on top of his books and took his hand.

His palm was warm.

The scar was a thin ridge under her thumb.

"Upstairs," she said.

He didn't ask.

He followed her up the narrow stairs, and she could feel his eyes on her back the whole way.

The bedroom was small.

Low wooden bed, white sheets, a paper screen with the persimmon tree black against the night sky.

Rain had started, a soft patter on the roof tiles.

She turned to face him.

"I want you to fuck me," she said. "In this house. In your bed."

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