The doorbell of their new home rang on the third night, when the ink on the contract had not yet fully dried. Ryosuke opened the door, and there stood that man. The man who had sat across the table when the deal was struck — Kiryu.
“A housewarming gift,” Kiryu said, a bottle of wine dangling from one hand while he raised a paper bag with the other. The corridor light slid along the line of his well-tailored shoulders. Before Ryosuke could even thank him, the man had already stepped into the entryway.
Saya came out from the back. The moment she saw Kiryu, the tension left her shoulders just slightly — Ryosuke saw it. He was sure he had seen it. But he quickly filed it away as nothing more than the relief of seeing a familiar face after a long while.
“Where are the glasses?” Kiryu asked, though his hand was already reaching into the kitchen cupboard — the very cupboard Ryosuke had arranged only three days before. Without hesitation, the man’s fingers picked out three long-stemmed glasses. As though he had known the layout of this home for a very long time.
The wine was poured, and the three of them sat in the living room. Kiryu said something brief, and Saya let out a small laugh. Names Ryosuke did not know, places he had never heard of. Like a signal that passed only between the two of them, that laughter slipped right past him.
Of course, Ryosuke told himself. It was Kiryu who had arranged this marriage. It was this man who had “lent” Saya to him. That the two of them were old acquaintances was merely the premise of the contract. The red swayed in his glass, and he drained it.
“Osaka, starting next week, I hear,” Kiryu said, looking at Ryosuke. The business trip was something Ryosuke had mentioned only to Saya so far. “Away for three days, they tell me. No need to worry. I’ll be watching over Saya.”
Watching over. The way he said it left a small thorn lodged in Ryosuke’s throat. While Ryosuke groped for a reply, Kiryu and Saya’s eyes met for a single instant. Just one second — a glance like the click of a lock turning shut. Ryosuke chose not to have seen it, smiled, and set down his glass. As the man laced his shoes at the door, his back did not look like that of a guest taking his leave.
Three days later, Ryosuke boarded the bullet train to Osaka. He did not yet know that beside Saya, waving from the platform, a car that had no business being there stood parked — the man’s car.