The Spring Breeze Drifts Far, The Clouds Fade Thin

Start Reading

My tenth year trailing after Bruce Sanchez like his shadow.

We were finally going to register the marriage.

He'd had someone deliver me a box-seat ticket to the Bayley Playhouse.

On the stub was written:

Third-floor VIP room. An absolutely spectacular show. You'll regret missing it.

I thought it was a surprise.

When I pushed the door open, what met my eyes was a floor scattered with lace lingerie.

Bruce Sanchez had a tight grip on a woman's waist from behind.

My legs went weak, and I braced myself against the wall as a hopeless sound escaped me.

"Why?"

Bruce Sanchez shoved the woman off of him, unhurriedly pulled up his trousers, and smiled, cruel and taunting.

"That's what you get for always being so well-behaved. I've slipped out to hunt for wild game behind your back so many times and you never noticed a thing. Honestly, no thrill in it at all."

The signed English-and-Chinese wedding vows in my hand

seemed, in that instant, to have become a joke.

...

The woman lounged back on the sofa, half-covering herself with a shawl, hand pressed over her mouth as she snickered,

her eyes full of gloating delight at the sight of me.

She was a new actress Sterling Studios had just signed.

Bruce Sanchez fastened his cuff links, then walked over to me and looked at me.

"Why throw such a tantrum? The position of Mrs. Sanchez will always be yours."

He reached out to touch my face.

I turned my head away.

"Don't touch me."

His hand froze in midair, then he drew it back with indifference and pulled a cigar from the case.

"You're always too well-behaved, too dull. I'm a manI go looking for a little fun outside now and then. In all of Harbor Island's circles, who doesn't?"

He bit down on the cigar and lit it.

"Be good, stop making a scene. I'll take you to the Ninth Street Slums for that sweet dessert soup you love."

Ten years ago the Ninth Street Slums were filthy and chaotic. A few thugs had cornered me in a dark alley.

He was the one who charged out with an iron bar and put himself between me and them.

When one of those thugs swung his machete at me,

he turned without hesitation and took the blow across his back to shield me.

Blood soaked his shirt, and though his face went white with pain, he held me tightly.

"Don't be afraid, April. Brother Bruce is herenobody can touch you."

That scar, over a dozen centimeters long, is still on his back to this day.

I looked down at the wedding vows in my hand, at his signature on them.

I tore the vows in two with all my strength.

Bruce Sanchez's expression shifted slightly.

"April Henson, have you lost your mind?"

His fingers, holding the cigar, went still.

I shredded the marriage certificate stamped with the law firm's seal, then flung my hand up and threw the scraps in his face.

The shredded paper drifted down onto the lingerie on the floor.

"Bruce Sanchez, I'm not marrying you."

The Sterling Studios actress let out a gasp.

"Mr. Sanchez, look at her."

Bruce Sanchez's face darkened, and he stepped forward and seized my wrist.

"Do you even know what you're saying? The news of the two families' union is already front-pageall of the Downtown Financial District knows! And now you're playing at breaking up with me? You think you're some avant-garde Western girl?"

"I'm not throwing a tantrum. I find you filthy."

"April Henson, you can't live without me," he said with certainty. "Walk out that door today, and tomorrow you'll come back crying and begging me."

I looked at his face, then turned and grabbed the vase from the display stand in the corner of the box,

and smashed it to the floor.

The actress screamed.

Several security men rushed in, followed by a few reporters with cameras.

The camera flashes kept firing.

"Mr. Sanchez, may we ask what's going on here?"

"Ms. Henson, weren't the two of you registering tomorrow?"

The reporters' lenses fixed on the lingerie and the actress on the floor.

A financial-empire heir caught cheatingthat was definitely tomorrow's headline.

Bruce Sanchez didn't lose his temper; he waved the security men away and stepped in front of the cameras.

He came over to me and, with the fingers holding the cigar, brushed the scraps off my shoulder.

"Why throw such a tantrum,"

he said, his voice low.

"How about I buy the whole theater for you to smash?"

Then he turned to the reporters, his eyes turning vicious.

"Anyone who dares put out a single word, I'll make sure he can't stay on Harbor Island."

The reporters were so scared they lowered their cameras.

I pushed him aside, stepped over the wreckage covering the floor, and walked out of the box.

From behind me came Bruce Sanchez's voice.

"Let her go. Let's see how long she can keep up the tough act."

I don't know how I made it out of the playhouse.

It was pouring outside, and I was soaked to the bone when my older brother, Mason Henson, pulled up beside me in his car.

Mason's face went ashen. He took off his coat and wrapped it around me.

"I've already had the story killed. That bastard from the Sanchez familyI will never let him get away with this,"

Mason said through gritted teeth.

I leaned against the car window, trembling all over.

"Mason, I want to go back to the Hillside," I said softly.

He frowned. "What do you want to go back there for? Come home with me. Dad and Mom are worried sick."

"I still have some things there. I want to go get them," I insisted.

He couldn't talk me out of it, so he told the driver to turn around.

I pushed open the door of the Hillside mansion.

Bruce Sanchez was lounging in a recliner in a bathrobe, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.

A woman with a smoking-hot body was draped across his lap, feeding him grapes.

She was Maria Finch, this year's Harbor District beauty queen freshly crowned by Metro Broadcasting Network, the crown not even settled steady on her head yet.

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, and my blood ran cold in an instant.

Maria saw me.

She picked up a bathrobe and draped it over herself.

It was the one Bruce had a craftsman custom-make just for me.

She pulled it snug around herself, swaying her hips as she walked up to me.

"So Miss Henson is back. Mr. Sanchez said you wouldn't be coming home tonight, so I borrowed your robe to wear. You don't mind, do you, Miss Henson?"

Humiliation washed over me.

I stared at that bathrobe, my breathing going ragged.

My chest felt tight and heavy, and a wheezing sound came from my throat.

My asthma was flaring up.

I clutched my chest, my legs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor.

"Medicine," I forced out, digging through my bag for my asthma inhaler.

My hands were shaking so badly that everything in the bag spilled across the floor, and the inhaler rolled to Maria's feet.

She flinched and took a step back.

"Hey, quit playing dead," she said in disgust.

Hearing the commotion, Bruce set down his wine glass and came over.

He looked down at me, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes, but it was quickly buried under coldness.

He frowned slightly and pushed away Maria, who was pressing up against him.

"Your tricks for fighting over my attention have gotten so stale," he said, his voice cool. "Faking sick at the drop of a hatyou think that'll make me go soft?"

I stared at him hard.

The lack of air was suffocating me, and I stretched my hand out desperately toward the inhaler.

But Bruce didn't pick it up for me. He gave a cold snort and turned to wrap his arm around the other woman.

"Let's go. Don't bother with this crazy woman."

He left the backyard with his group of people.

I lay against the cold tiles, my consciousness slowly slipping away.

Just when I thought I was about to die, a hand picked up the inhaler and pressed it to my mouth.

It was Clarence Dickerson, the mansion's butler.

"Miss Henson, breathe it in, quick," Clarence said, sweat pouring down his face.

"Miss Henson, Mr. Sanchez really is worried about you. He told me to burn the bathrobe that woman touched, and to have Dr. Finch see to you right away."

"Clarence, pass a message along to him for me," I said, wiping the spit from the corner of my mouth. "I don't want anything in this house anymore."

My older brother brought me back to the Henson mansion in Shallow Bay.

A high fever on top of an asthma attack left me unconscious in bed for three whole days.

When I woke up, Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed wiping away tears, and Dad was raging in the living room.

I leaned against the pillows, strangely calm.

The butler knocked and came in.

"Sir, ma'am, Mr. Sanchez is here."

Dad shot to his feet. "Tell him to get out."

"Mr. Henson, don't be so angry"

Bruce Sanchez pushed the door open and walked straight in.

He was still in a custom-tailored suit, his hair combed without a strand out of place, a thermal box in his hand.

Dad pointed right in his face and cursed, "You still have the nerve to show up here? Look what you've done to my daughter!"

"Sir, it's just a spat between the two of us. April's stubborn. I came to smooth things over."

He ignored my parents' glares and sat down at the edge of the bed.

He opened the thermal box himself, lifted out a bowl of gourmet health tonic, and stirred it gently with a spoon, blowing on it to cool it.

"April, sit up and eat something," he said, his eyes carrying a self-satisfied tenderness.

I looked at him coldly. "Get out."

His hand froze. He set the bowl down and sighed.

"How long are you going to keep this up? Didn't I have Clarence burn that robe? Everyone in our circle is like this. You can only be Mrs. Sanchezno one can take that from you. But you're too well-behaved. You can't give me any passion."

"So you go after those movie stars and pageant queens just to find passion," I said, my voice hoarse.

Bruce shook his head and leaned forward to look into my eyes.

"They're just casual flings. But Mabel is different."

The moment he said the name, a kind of excitement and obsession surfaced in his eyes.

"She's the lead singer of an underground band. She makes me feel a wild kind of aliveness," Bruce said, without a trace of shame.

"But I promise you, she'll never get through the Sanchez family's door. The place of Mrs. Sanchez is yours and yours alone."

My nails dug into my palm.

Bruce pulled a document out of his pocket and held it out to me.

"This is the land deed transfer for that plot up on Summit Peak. You've always wanted it, haven't you? Take it, have some fun."

He paused, then went on, "We're pushing the wedding back six months. I'm going with Mabel on her tour across Continental City. When I'm back, we'll have the wedding."

I shoved him away and doubled over the edge of the bed, retching.

Bruce's face changed sharply. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corner of my mouth.

"April Henson, that's enough. I'll give you time to cool down. When you've made your fuss, bring the deed and come find me yourself."

He turned and strode out.

I leaned into Mom's arms and wiped the sour water from the corner of my mouth.

"Mom," I said, my voice perfectly calm, "book me a flight to London. The sooner the better."

I didn't want him anymore. I was done with him completely.

The day I decided to leave the Harbor District, the observatory hoisted a Category 8 storm warning.

A violent storm swept across Harbor Island.

I didn't take a single thing Bruce Sanchez had given me. I just carried one plain suitcase and got into a taxi to Kendall Airport.

The road to the airport was jammed solid, choked with trees the typhoon had knocked down.

The taxi stopped at a red light.

I turned to look out the window. The newsstand on the corner was swaying precariously in the wind.

A few newspapers were caught up by the gusts and plastered against the car window.

On the front page, several large red characters stung my eyes.

"Playboy Heir's Wild Night at the Peninsula! The Sanchez scion throws money around, locked in a hot street kiss with wild girl Mabel."

The photo showed Bruce Sanchez pinning a heavily made-up girl against a floor-to-ceiling window in a deep kiss.

I forced myself to look away, but tears blurred my eyes before I could stop them.

Ten years of my youth, ten years of being a lowly little tagalong.

And all it got me was becoming the laughingstock of all Harbor Island.

"Driver, faster, please."

The driver stepped on the gas, and the car sped up over the slick road.

Right then, an out-of-control truck came barreling out of the intersection.

All I saw was a blinding flash of light, and then a violent impact.

My head slammed hard against the window, and blood instantly blurred my vision.

In the last moment before I lost consciousness

If I could just die like this, wouldn't the pain finally stop?

I struggled for a long time in the endless darkness,

fighting desperately to open my eyes.

A harsh white light pierced my eyes, and it took me a long while to adjust before I could make out the hospital room.

Dad and Mom were gathered around the bed, Mom's eyes badly swollen.

My older brother stood off to the side, his eyes red.

"April, you're finally awake."

Mom threw herself over and gripped my hand tightly.

I opened my mouth, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.

The door to the room slammed open with a bang.

Bruce Sanchez shoved my brother aside and rushed to my bedside.

"April, don't scare me."

His tears fell scalding onto the back of my hand.

"I'll never go to her again. Let's get married right now, all right? I'd give you my lifejust don't leave me."

I slowly drew my hand out of his grip, my eyes clear and indifferent.

"Excuse me," I said calmly, looking into his eyes, "who are you?"

Bruce Sanchez's whole body went rigid, his pupils shrinking sharply.