“You could give up your fame today, and Yuna could still live like the princess that she is for the rest of her life.”
Yuna sighs, then finishes her drink. “Mom, that’s not the point.”
And I’m not going to live like an anonymous bum to make Yuna’s mom happy. “I’m pretty sure she prefers a man who has a purpose in life. And contributes to the world.”
“The contribution doesn’t have to be selling his face.”
Jesus. The woman isn’t going to give in. Now I see where Yuna’s determination and stubbornness come from.
“Why don’t we eat?” Yuna says as the waiter brings a gorgeously laid out five-tier seafood platter. “We can agree to disagree f
or an hour or so.”
“There’s nothing to disagree about.” Yuna’s mom’s voice says she’s correct and everyone who doesn’t acknowledge it is wrong. “But of course we should eat. It’s uncouth to debate universally accepted truths on empty stomachs.”
Chapter Forty
Yuna
I pick at my oysters. The conversation is strained, with lots of gaps, which is unusual, because Mom can engage on any topic she wishes with ease. She’s a consummate dinner party hostess, after all. I’m pretty sure she’s doing it on purpose to increase the awkwardness. And it doesn’t help that I can’t think of any other topic for conversation right now. I really want to talk to Mom about what’s going on with the family and the company, but I can’t with Declan around. Plus, I think Mom offended him when she scoffed at his fame and what he can provide for me. Declan’s a proud man, and he’s worked hard to build his career. You don’t get to star in two hit shows on Netflix by lounging around by a pool all day.
Mom could’ve been more tactful, even if she isn’t crazy about his choice of occupation. And really, it isn’t like he’s one of those wild-child celebrities who go to orgies and snort drugs and drink alcohol until they need to have their stomachs pumped.
I’m proud of him because Hollywood is super competitive. You need more than just a handsome face. And I hope Mom sees that, too—and soon.
After dinner, we exit the restaurant.
“I have to go to Ivy’s,” I say as Mom and her entourage get off one floor down from Angelina. Hopefully, I can have Declan drive me home. His home.
“But I thought you were going to stay with me now,” she says.
Normally I would, but I don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend fighting off Mom’s attempt to match me with one of the three dossiers. Or be forced to listen to Ryu Taejo’s violin performance and hear her gush like we’re a match made in heaven. If I wanted to marry a violinist, Curtis had plenty of prodigies to choose from.
“I’ll see if I can come by tomorrow,” I say instead.
“You will come by because we have a facial appointment.” She strokes my cheek affectionately. “You work too hard. It looks like you’ve aged ten years since I saw you last month.”
I laugh. I swear, there must be a secret society of Korean moms where they exchange the best over-the-top lines to use on their children. “I doubt that.” Although if I look ten years older now, maybe the dossiers will lose interest. They want a young and pretty wife, not some hag. On the other hand, I don’t want to look old and haggard just to avoid marrying my family’s choice. The love of my life deserves the fresh, beautiful me!
Hell, I deserve to be fresh and beautiful, just because it makes me feel good about myself.
“Good night,” Declan says.
“Good night,” Mom says politely, thank God. It is, however, a good sign she didn’t speak in Korean the entire time and have Ms. Lim translate for her. She does that sometimes with people she doesn’t feel like talking to. Talk about awkward.
Declan and I walk out of the hotel. Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim follow.
“You’re coming with me now?” I ask Mr. Choi in Korean, doing my best to hide my annoyance, since he’s probably just doing what he’s been told.
“Yes, Ms. Hae. Your mother’s orders. She’s worried about your safety. She’s going to ask more members of the security team to fly over to join us.”
“That’s such an overreaction. You’re more than capable of protecting me.”
Mr. Choi flushes a little, but Ms. Kim steps in. “She read the latest crime statistics for Los Angeles and is concerned.”
I sigh. Mom thinks people in American cities go around snarling, “Make my day,” and having shootouts in broad daylight like in Dirty Harry. Hollywood needs to make more realistic movies.
“So. Who are these two?” Declan asks, eyeing my small entourage.