It’s a testament to the quality of this year’s submissions that our first champion, Christina Moore, grabs instead an Honorable Mention rather than the First Prize she earned last time.

This in no way reflects an erosion of her skills. She’s in fine form, here, and while I’ll have to correct for certain factual divergences, it’s a story I think is definitely in the Star Trek spirit—in that while it could be set in any universe, it possesses a timeless, rather than generic, quality... and is sentimental without becoming sappy.

We both hope you like it… and I, for one, think you will.

“To Honor”

By Christina Moore

“My son… I want you to know how very proud you have made me.”

Shiro Matsuoka smiled lightly at his mother’s praise, bowing respectfully. Inside he was beaming with joy. After four years of intense physical and intellectual training, he had at last graduated from Starfleet Academy. Many of his fellow graduates would be soon embarking on their first assignments as full-fledged officers, but not he. He would be joining them soon, but first there was something he had yet to do: medical school.

He was going to be a doctor.

Shiro looked around for his father, and spotted him a few feet away conversing with some colleagues. Midori Matsuoka followed her son’s gaze.

“Father has been quiet as of late,” he observed.

“Do not fault him, son. He, too, is proud of your achievements, but he has been… preoccupied with business matters,” Midori replied. “He will tell you himself of his pride in you when his mind is occupied less.”

The younger Matsuoka wondered briefly if he should put off going to medical school until the fall. The majority of this fellow future doctors would be waiting until then, but he had applied for and been granted early admission. Instead of spending three months in anxious anticipation he was getting a head start—in just two weeks. And though he knew his father would not ask it of him, he would put it off and simply go with the rest of his class if his father needed him.

“There is no trouble with the business, I hope?” he asked. His father, Hidaki Matsuoka, was the owner of an import/export firm, one of the largest in Japan to ship off-world goods, from Earth or from other planets. He had a small fleet of cargo ships at his command, but more than once had been forced to contract shipments with either Starfleet or another shipping firm due to customer demand.

Midori nodded. “The business is doing just fine.” She knew, though her son did not, exactly what it was that had been troubling her husband. And though it was business of a sort, it was not the kind that Shiro assumed it to be. She and Hidaki had discussed the matter again that morning.

“Have you spoken to Shiro?”

Hidaki was silent for a moment. “No,” he answered finally.

“But you must! You know as well as I that Shiro is set to begin medical school in just two weeks. If he is to go through with the arrangement, he will have to wait until the fall, and you said so yourself that Tong cannot wait that long.”

Her husband looked to her then, and she could see that his heart was heavy.

“I know, Midori. I have waited far too long to tell him already.”

That evening, Shiro ate a celebratory dinner at his parents’ home in Japan. Afterward he would be joining some friends at a club in Los Angeles; thanks to the wonders of technology, he would be able to party with them in a place that was an entire ocean away.

Muted conversation permeated the meal. Whenever they did speak, it was in short sentences about matters of little import. Not even Shiro’s graduation or his upcoming entry to medical school was mentioned, and finally the young man could keep quiet no longer.

“Father, what’s troubling you?” he asked. “Mother said it was business, but then said business was good. And you have been rather withdrawn the last few days.”

Midori and Hidaki exchanged a look. The older man’s darkened mood had come upon him about a week ago, when Arimoto Tong had come into his office and informed him that he intended to collect that which was owed him.

“Arimoto Tong came to see me last week,” Hidaki replied slowly.

Shiro knew the man by name and reputation only. He was an antiques dealer of both Earth and alien artifacts, making Matsuoka Shipping a natural partner in the retrieval and delivery of his goods. The most he knew, really, was that his father and Tong were business partners.

“Did the meeting not go well?”

“Well, that depends on you, son.”

Confusion creased Shiro’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

His father looked down at his plate. “You were just a small boy when I started my business. Like many, I struggled at first, and at one point I was forced to borrow funds to keep the business going, or I would have lost a great deal more. Ari-san was kind enough to loan me what I needed, on the condition that I gave him whatever he asked for in return whenever he came to retrieve it.”

“He did not want you to just pay him back?”

Hidaki shook his head as he looked up. “No. What he wants is far more valuable than a sum of money. You see—he has no sons. Only a daughter.”

Looking into his father’s eyes, it slowly dawned on Shiro just what it was that Arimoto Tong had asked for.

Hidaki continued. “Kanoelani Tong will be eighteen years old in three weeks. The agreement reached between Ari-san and myself must be fulfilled at that time.”

Finally words came to Shiro. “You’re talking about an arranged marriage… you can’t be serious!” His father nodded. “But that’s absurd! Arranged marriages are an antiquated custom that have not seen serious practice in nearly four hundred years!”

“It is a tradition, my son, that many believe will never truly be purged from our culture. And if I am not mistaken, it is even now practiced on other worlds,” added his mother.

Shiro turned to her. “Mother, you knew? Surely you don’t agree with this insanity.”

Midori looked between her husband and her son, torn. “When your father first told me of the arrangement years ago, I never imagined Ari-san would ask for you to marry his daughter as payment. You father did not discuss the matter with me, either, before he agreed.”

“And now?”

“And now there is a contract to fulfill,” stated Hidaki.

Shiro was stunned. “A contract. A contract? Father, this is my life we’re talking about! My future.” He remembered then something his father had said moments ago.

“Three weeks,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “In less than that I’m due to report to medical school. A wedding would disrupt my schedule.”

“Or you can wait and go in the fall with the rest of your class.”

“No!” Shiro stood suddenly, bumping the low table and rattling the dishes. “I didn’t bust my ass to get accepted into the early entry program for nothing, Father. How could you do this to me? One of the most fundamental choices a man makes in his life is whom he takes as a wife—and you’ve taken that away from me. You had no right!”

Midori intervened before Hidaki could speak. “Son, the Tongs are a very influential family here in Okinawa—”

“I don’t care about that!”

“—and from what your father tells me, Ari-san’s daughter is a very lovely girl.”

“But I don’t love her, Mother!” Shiro implored. “I don’t even know her! He expects me to wed a stranger!”

He stalked over to the door and put on his shoes. Aware that his next words bore all the maturity of a petulant three-year-old, and not caring at all that they did, he said,

“I’ll not marry this girl, Father. And you can’t make me.”

Shiro woke the next morning with a pounding headache. And did the room really have to spin every time he lifted his head?

He was very aware he was experiencing his first real hangover, and he didn’t much like it. Drinking to the point of stupidity, as many of his fellow cadets has often done on weekends over the last four years, was behavior he had taken careful steps to avoid. His parents had raised him better than that. He had no problem with having a few drinks on occasion, but did with going overboard.

Thoughts of his parents reminded Shiro of precisely why he had imbibed more than his share. He’d been of a foul disposition when he joined Eric, his roommate, and their friends at the club after transporting to L.A. from Japan. Though they had tried to get him to join in their revelry, he’d no longer been in the mood to celebrate, nor was he suited to be company for anyone. So he’d sat at the bar and allowed his anger to fester, throwing back one drink after another until Eric had interceded and told him he’d had enough. Eric of all people, who felt no shame at being know as the class of 2342’s foremost party boy.

The pounding in his head continued, until Eric groaned and got up. He opened the door to find a middle-aged Asian man in an expensively tailored suit standing on the other side.

“Can I help you?” Eric asked, hoping he didn’t look as bleary-eyed as he felt.

“I am here to see Shiro Matsuoka.”

Well, that was direct, Eric mused. “Just a minute.” He turned and walked back to his roomie’s bed. Shaking him by the shoulder, he said, “Shiro, wake up, man. There’s someone here to see you.”

Shiro cursed softly in Japanese. He’d been hoping to fall back asleep and rid himself of this nightmare of a headache, but apparently Luck was not smiling on him today.

“I’m awake,” he said at last, and sat up slowly. From his bed he could partially see the man in the doorway. It was not his father, so he had a pretty good idea who had come to see him.

“Eric, please tell him I will be with him shortly,” Shiro said, getting out of bed and grabbing a clean uniform on his way to the bathroom. His visitor was not likely to be pleased by being kept waiting, so he only splashed cold water on his face to clear the cobwebs from his mind and dressed, running his fingers through his hair in lieu of using a comb.

Nodding to Eric as he crossed the room, Shiro bowed respectfully. “Mr. Tong.”

Arimoto Tong nodded in return. “Greetings, Shiro. May I speak with you in private?”

“Of course,” Shiro replied, and gestured for the other man to precede him.

They were silent until they had exited the building. Shiro resisted the urge to shield his eyes, noting in the back of his mind that by the sun’s position it must be nearly noon.

Tong spoke at last. “Your father tells me you are not pleased with the agreement he made with me.”

You think? Shiro thought peevishly. “No, sir, I am not,” he replied aloud. “My father had no right to make that kind of decision for me. Beyond the fact that I am not yet ready to marry, the choice of my bride should be my own.”

Tong nodded. “Indeed. A matter of such importance should be decided with the greatest of care,” he replied.

“Then, if I may, why did you make such a preposterous proposal in the first place?”

When Tong didn’t answer right away, Shiro feared he had offended the man. No matter what the situation was between them, he didn’t have to be rude about it. He was about to apologize when the older man went on.

“My wife and I waited longer than most couples to have children, mostly due to my ambitions. And because of her age at the time of conception, her pregnancy was very difficult. We feared she might not even carry to term. And when she died during the birth—” Tong stopped, cleared his throat. “I knew then as I know now that no one could ever take her place in my heart…which is why my daughter is an only child.”

Shiro was surprised by Tong’s deeply personal revelations. He had no idea how—or if—he should respond, so he only expressed his sympathy for his loss.

“So now, Shiro, you can see why I am eager for my daughter to marry.”

“But your daughter is not yet even of age to marry. Why not wait until she is older, and allow her to choose her own husband?”

“My daughter has chosen to honor her father’s wishes, because she knows I have not the luxury of time,” Tong replied.

Again Shiro was stunned into silence, this time to hear that Tong himself was dying. How and why he knew not to ask, nor what he could possibly say in response—to this there were no words he could say.

“You would do well, Shiro, to follow her example and honor the wishes of your own father,” Tong continued. “Arranged marriages may be an ‘antiquated custom,’ but they are a tradition that has been practiced by our people for more generations than either you or I can count, and very likely will continue to be practiced for many more to come."

Shiro had no doubt that Arimoto was correct, and that bothered him—though precisely why he could not say. Perhaps just because he and Tong’s daughter were being made to take part in the custom when neither had any desire to do so. Of the many fascinating traditions that were a part of Japanese culture, this had to be the one he liked the least.

“You realize, of course, that I do not love your daughter,” he said at last, with a start realizing that they had walked the entire quad and were once again at the door to his building.

“I do not expect you to love her when you have not yet even made her acquaintance,” Tong replied. “But if you will allow me a moment of fatherly pride, my daughter is a very lovely young woman, and reminds me every day of her mother’s beauty and grace. When you are wed, you will see that she truly is a gift from Heaven. I know without a doubt that she will make you a fine wife.

“Perhaps one day love will come to you both.”

Tong may have had no doubts, but Shiro wasn’t so sure. And love? Not likely. He chose to keep these thoughts to himself. “I am sure you have brought her up well,” was all he would say.

Arimoto Tong said his farewell then, apparently pleased that his trip from Japan had not been made in vain. The boy might not be pleased with his father’s interference, nor was he at all happy with soon being married to a woman he had never met, but something told him that Shiro Matsuoka was as honorable as his father had professed and would do well by his daughter. He would meet his Maker light of heart, for his beloved child would be well cared for.

Shiro watched as Tong walked away, turned resignedly toward the door and walked into the building. There seemed nothing he could do about the out of control spin his life had taken, except outright refusal. But by doing so, he knew deep down, he would be disrespecting his father more than he had any wish to. He loved both his parents dearly, and to disrespect one would be disrespecting both—and that would bring both his parents and himself shame and dishonor. Though he cared nothing for what others thought of him, he couldn’t do that to the two people who mattered more to him than his own life.

The lift brought him far too quickly to his floor, and Shiro walked with heavy steps down the hall to his and Eric’s room. There was now a great deal for him to do today. Now that he was getting married, he would be joining Eric in packing up and moving out instead of staying in the dorm for another year—he and his new wife would need a place the both of them could fit into. He also needed to call the admissions office at Starfleet Medical and change his entry status.

Eric had showered, shaved and dressed by the time Shiro returned to their room. He looked at his friend with one eyebrow raised. “Damn, Shiro. You look like death warmed over.”

Shiro said nothing, only sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head into his hands. He remained in that position for several minutes before replying, “Nothing so tragic as that, Eric. You’re still here.”

Eric grinned. He and Shiro had grown pretty close over the four years they’d shared this room, and he’d seen how disturbed his friend was by the man who had come to see him. So of course he had stayed to see what he could do for him.

What were friends for?

“Then what’s the problem, pal?” Eric asked, sitting on his own bed opposite Shiro.

“I’m getting married.”

Eric started to laugh, thinking it was supposed to be an attempt at humor—however dark. But the laugh died midway up his throat, the look on Shiro’s face telling him quite plainly that this was no laughing matter.

“You’re…not joking,” he said. “When did this happen?”

Shiro sighed. “My father made the arrangement last week. I was informed of it last night.”

Eric’s brows rose again. “So that’s what put you in a funk last night. I’ve been wondering."

He thought for a moment. “And there’s nothing you can do? I mean, an arranged marriage, Shiro? Can your father do that? Do you have to go through with it?”

Shiro looked up. “When my father first told me, I refused. Truth be told, neither my parents nor her father can force me to marry this girl. But I must.”

“Why?”

“Because it is the last wish of a dying man that his daughter is married, and cared for, after he is gone.”

Eric was stunned into silence, a first for him. Not knowing what to say, he simply stared into Shiro's eyes. He had spoken of the Japanese code of honor several times, and a request such as that of the girl’s father was not something that could just be refused or ignored. Personally, though, he felt that the Japanese code of honor mirrored that of the Klingons far too closely.

He sat forward then, rubbing his hands together; he had to find a way to bring Shiro's spirits up. “You could think of it this way: Of all the bright, young Japanese men—or, for that matter, bright young men the world over—this guy chose you to be his daughter’s husband. He obviously knows you’re a good man, Shiro, and that tells him you’ll do right by her. You’ll both do what you have to do to make the best of the situation, and maybe someday you’ll manage to find a little happiness with one another.”

Shiro could not help but stare at Eric with more than a little awe. Never before had the man with whom he had shared so much of his life over the last four years spoken so eloquently. Never before had he made so much sense. It was as if the weekend partygoer had simply disappeared and a more mature, grown-up version of the same person had taken his place. He could not say it was an unwelcome difference.

For the first time since he’d heard his father's news, Shiro smiled. "Thank you, Eric. You have helped make things much clearer."

Then the familiar devil-may-care grin returned to Eric's visage. “Glad I could be of service. You’ll be receiving my bill in two days.”

Shiro wondered if he had only imagined Eric's moment of clarity.

The weeks until the wedding passed with more speed than Shiro would have liked. Though he had given up protest of the marriage, he found himself unable to take any part in the planning of the ceremony, from the flowers to the guest list. His parents and Arimoto Tong were taking it on themselves; if his future bride had any say at all, he did not know. He wasn’t even going to meet her until the day of the ceremony when her father walked her down the aisle.

Another old tradition.

Shiro spent most of the time rearranging his school schedule and securing housing for himself and his bride-to-be. Since his graduation from the Academy had made him an ensign by rank, he was able to land an apartment in the officers’ housing complex at Starfleet Headquarters. They would spend a year there before he was assigned to a ship for his first intern cruise, and whether or not Tong’s daughter would want to go along was unknown. She had the choice of either staying behind or living aboard ship with him, and from what little he knew of her, she’d never even been on a starship let alone lived on one. Once he was an intern, Shiro would pretty much be spending the rest of his life on a starship, so if she had any issues with living in space she would either have to get over it or get used to his not being around much.

He found himself awake as the sun was just beginning to rise on the day of the wedding. Shiro rose and stretched, stifling a yawn. And as he had often done as a boy, he opened the window of his bedroom and climbed out into the backyard of his parents’ home. He’d done the same thing from the very same window many a time in his youth, and couldn’t resist smiling at the silliness of having done so as a grown man. He walked to the far end of the yard to where a small creek separated the property from a stand of trees. The dew-misted grass had chilled his bare feet, so he jumped in place a few times to warm them and the rest of his body, then took the first stance of the kata. The exercise was meant to calm him and clear his mind, but as he moved from one form to the next Shiro found himself thinking about Kanoelani Tong.

What did she look like? What kind of personality did she have? Would she be soft spoken or opinionated? Would she act as if his every wish were a command or would she stand up for herself and tell him where he could shove it if she thought he was being unreasonable? Shiro didn’t want a submissive little mouse for a wife, though neither did he want a hellcat. He entertained no notion of ever loving the girl, but he did hope that their relationship would be an amicable one. Perhaps they would become friends one day. He was sure she would agree with him in that their arranged marriage was hardly the ideal way to find one's mate, and that a divorce would be a last resort. They would, as Eric had said, make the best of the situation, and would both give the marriage a chance.

Shiro had, after all, given his word.

He entered the house about an hour later through the back door, unlocked for him by his mother who was already preparing breakfast. As he came into the kitchen she was placing a pitcher of orange juice on the table.

“Good morning, Shiro,” Midori said, gesturing toward a chair.

“Good morning, Mother,” he replied, dropping heavily into his seat. His father came in at that moment and greetings were exchanged again. Afterward neither spoke until the food was on the table, and it was Hidaki who broke the silence.

“I do not believe you told us, son, what you are wearing during the ceremony.”

Shiro looked at his father, for a moment confused. Hadn’t he? It made no sense to him that they didn’t know—the choice was so obvious.

“I am a Starfleet officer, Father,” he said. “I will wear my dress uniform.”

His parents exchanged glances. Both of them would have preferred their son to wear traditional ceremonial robes, but they both decided that as opposed as he had been to the union, it was, perhaps, best not to press the point.

“And Eric will be standing up for you?” Midori asked after a moment.

Shiro nodded. His friend had been quite surprised at the request, then agreed heartily, a bemused look in his eye…

…until Shiro told him that bachelor parties were not a Japanese tradition.

That hadn’t deterred the other man, who reminded him that he didn’t want to get married in the first place. According to Eric, a bachelor party was the perfect way to thumb his nose one last time at old-fashioned traditions before he did the right thing and took part in one. So Shiro had allowed himself to be taken to a bar and plied with alcohol, though Eric and the others likely had more fun at the “party” than he did.

Immediately after breakfast, the Matsuokas dressed and made their way to the site of the ceremony. Shiro’s mother had chosen Lotus Memorial Gardens, a lovely outdoor park frequently used for weddings and family gatherings of different natures. Off to one side there was a large white tent, where Kanoelani Tong was being readied for the ceremony by a small army of her female relatives. Most of the guests had already arrived, mostly family and friends from both sides, but there were a handful of Starfleet officers as well. Besides Eric, there were only four others Shiro himself had chosen to invite, the four guys he and his former roommate spent time with on a regular basis. The others were two professors with whom he'd gotten along particularly well and the medical school admissions officer, who had been such help in fixing his schedule—his mother invited them. Shiro couldn't help wondering if they knew that this was no ordinary marriage.

The celebrant directed everyone to take their places. Shiro and Eric stood at the end of a white linen runner, which led directly from the tent. As music began to play softly, two of the ushers drew aside the flaps of the tent and the bride's attendants began to file out. All of them were dressed in fine kimonos and make-up, and it was as the last one crossed that Shiro realized he was nervous.

Why the hell was he nervous? It certainly wasn’t because he was in love with the girl and could hardly wait to see his blushing bride. Sure, he was a little nervous about meeting her; he was, after all, marrying a complete stranger, a woman with whom he was expected to make a life and, one day, children. Perhaps the nerves were just a result of knowing nothing about her besides her name and her age, as today was also her 18th birthday. She was likely to be nervous, too. She was young and inexperienced, and being married off right out of high school probably wasn't what she had envisioned for herself.

At last the moment had arrived. The music changed and slowly, on the arm of her father, came the bride. Her kimono was grander and more layered than that of her attendants, and was made of several colors of shimmering silk. The guests had risen when she came out, and remained so until the officiant directed them to sit again. Arimoto Tong was smiling, and when it was time, kissed his daughter’s cheek and put her hand into Shiro's.

Her hand was small, the bones delicate. She tried to smile but it faltered; Shiro was surprised to find he was giving her hand a light squeeze and smiling in return. She was, as Tong had professed, quite lovely, and he couldn’t believe he had trouble taking his eyes off of her. So stunned was he that he almost missed his cue, the point in the ceremony when he was supposed to say his vows.

This could not be happening. He did not want to be married to this girl, yet there he was trying to make her feel better about it.

Shiro made it through the rest of the ceremony, and managed to muddle his way through the reception that followed. So many people approached the newly married couple to offer their congratulations that he was reminded of how very strange it was to be saying thank you to them, when most of them had absolutely no idea that this wedding had been put together in just three weeks, and he had only just met his bride when her hand was laid in his. They both talked to so many other people that they didn’t get much chance to talk to one another.

Arimoto Tong approached the couple as they were preparing to leave for the hotel they would be staying at before their trip to the U.S. Virgin Islands for their honeymoon.

“So, my daughter—now you are married. I only wish your mother were here to see how lovely a bride you make,” he said.

Kanoelani blushed. “I wish she could have been here as well, Father.”

Tong sighed. “Well, I am sure she can see you just the same, from her place in Heaven.”

He turned to Shiro. “I am most grateful that you have taken my daughter as your bride. She will make you a fine wife, and I know you will make her an honorable husband.”

Shiro cleared his throat, looking away nervously. “I shall do my best,” he said at last.

Tong nodded, and then the bride and groom climbed into the hovercraft that was to take them to the hotel. Again they were silent, saying nothing until they were in their suite.

“Um, where do you…?”

Shiro indicated their bags, more than ready to change into something more comfortable and just go to sleep. This day, and the weeks leading up to it, had been exhausting.

Kanoelani smiled nervously, and walked over to her luggage, selecting one bag. "I will change in the bathroom," she said quietly, and turned away.

Shiro waited until she had closed the door behind her before reaching for his own luggage. He sat on the bed, slowly drawing off first his boots and then his socks. He took of his uniform and folded it neatly, laying it in a small pile on a chair, and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms. He then drew down the bedspread on both sides, sat on the left side, and waited.

It was several more minutes before his new wife emerged from the bathroom. Shiro turned slowly to look at her, and his breath caught in his chest. She had been lovely in her wedding finery, but now she was exquisite. She was slim, her muscles toned, her skin flawless. Her make-up was removed and her hair, which had been done in a complicated bouffant-style twist, hung loose and fell in waves to her waist. She wore a long satin nightdress with thin shoulder straps and a very nervous smile.

Shiro stood slowly. “I…” He didn't know what to say, though he needed to say something. Anything. “Um, I’ve—I’ve been wondering something.”

Her expression changed to one of curiosity. “What is that?”

“Your name. I am curious as to its origin.”

She smiled again. “My mother was Hawaiian by birth. Kanoelani translates from the Hawaiian language as ‘a gift from Heaven’.”

So, Tong was not just being philosophical when he had called her that three weeks ago. “It's a beautiful name,” Shiro told her. “But it is…”

She chuckled. “It is quite a mouthful to say. That is why I am called Lani,” she replied.

Shiro sat again, what little he had thought of to say already exhausted. Lani slowly came to sit beside him. “I am sorry, Shiro.”

Surprised, he looked at her. “Sorry for what?”

Lani was looking down at the ring he had placed on her finger just a few hours before. “For this. I know you did not want to marry me.”

“Lani, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that I don't know you at all. We never even met before today,” Shiro said.

“I know. But despite this, you married me anyway,” Lani continued. “Why?”

Shiro sighed. “How can I say this…? I thought about not going through with the marriage. Goodness knows I was angry with my father for agreeing to your father’s proposal. But something your father said to me made me think. I don’t recall it specifically, but it was something about honor, honoring the traditions of my culture and honoring my father’s wishes. As you were honoring his.

“And I could not dishonor myself or my family by saying no.”

Lani was silent after he spoke, then slowly reached for his hand. “My father was right. I believe you will make an honorable husband.”

Shiro looked at her, down at their joined hands, and again at her face. And before he knew it, he was leaning forward to kiss her. Lani froze at first, and then slowly relaxed, allowing herself to respond to the pressure of his lips on hers. This was new to her, and how it made her feel was like nothing she could have imagined. Shiro was very handsome, and though she, too, hadn’t exactly been thrilled with marrying a stranger, she had found herself instantly attracted to him. And that helped.

A lot.

Encouraged by her response, Shiro put his free hand around the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss, slowly leaning her back until they were lying across the width of the bed. Their joined hands separated; Lani’s hands moved slowly up his arms to his shoulders, Shiro placed one to the side of her face and moved the other to cup her breast. The gesture elicited a gasp from Lani, and Shiro froze, then stopped and stood.

“Now it is my turn to apologize,” he said with a ragged breath.

Lani sat up. “Why?”

“I have done you a disservice, Lani. I have no right to take advantage of you the way I have just done.”

He walked away from her and went to stand at the window, which overlooked the courtyard ten stories below. Lani rose and went to stand next to him, and when she laid a hand on his shoulder he stiffened visibly. “Shiro, you have done nothing to be ashamed of. It was only what every husband is due—”

“No!” Shiro said sharply, making her jump. “Just because we are now husband and wife does not mean I can simply take from you whatever I desire whenever I want it. A real man does not force any woman against her will.”

“But Shiro.” Lani stood between him and the window, forcing him to look at her. “One cannot be forced if one is willing. And unless I am mistaken, you are as attracted to me as I have found myself attracted to you. It is only natural that we should want to be together.”

“And what about the rest?” Shiro asked.

Lani took his hands in hers and pulled him toward the bed. “We will get to know one another. We have the rest of our lives in which to do it.”

***

Arimoto Tong fell into his final illness just days after the wedding. Shiro and Lani returned to Japan as soon as Midori called. They went to him in her childhood home, where Shiro’s parents were waiting with him.

“Father,” Lani breathed as she fell to her knees at his bedside, tears stinging her eyes.

Arimoto opened his eyes, and a weak smile found it’s way to his face. “You are changed, my daughter.”

She smiled. “And what makes you say that?” she asked.

“You are in love.”

Lani was surprised by his words, and she realized they were true. In less than a week, she had indeed fallen in love with her new husband.

She nodded. “I believe you are right, Father. But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me how you are feeling.”

Arimoto coughed, an expression of pain crossing his features. Lani gripped his hand in hers. “I am not long for this world, Lani. Soon I go to be with your mother.”

Lani’s tears began to fall. “Oh, Father, no,” she cried.

Her father gripped her hand as much as his waning strength would allow. “Yes, child. We both knew this day would come, though even I could not have imagined it would be so soon.”

Lani bowed her head and cried into his shoulder, and from across the room, Shiro ached to hold her. Something, he knew not what, had begun to grow between them in the few short days they’d been married. Though he believed it to be far from love, there was definitely a fondness for her in his heart.

“We have been doing a great deal of talking,” he was saying to his parents. “Mostly we’ve just been telling our life stories.”

Midori Matsuoka smiled softly. “I am glad, Shiro. And relieved that things are going well.”

Shiro glanced over at his wife, noting how very ill her father looked. His pallor spoke volumes about how long he would live, and though he was not yet a fully-trained physician, even he could tell he would be gone in a matter of hours.

“They were,” he replied.

Some minutes later, Lani rose and came over to Shiro. “My father would like to speak to you,” she said as she brushed the tears from her cheeks.

Shiro nodded, and after placing a hand on her shoulder, he walked over to kneel at her father’s bedside.

“You see it, don’t you, Shiro?” Arimoto said without preamble. “I shall go soon.”

Shiro nodded. “I am very sorry, Ari-san.”

It was the first time he had addressed him as anything other than Mr. Tong, and it made the other man smile. “There is no reason for you to be sorry, Shiro-san. It is my time,” he said. “My only regret is that I will not live to see my first grandchild born.”

At the look on Shiro's face, Arimoto laughed, and was momentarily caught in a fit of coughing. When it subsided, he said weakly, “Do not look so shocked, my boy. Children may not be on your mind right now, but I am certain they will come.”

Shiro didn't know what to say to that, so he only smiled. “Perhaps you are right,” he said at last. “Lani will miss you terribly.”

“I know. And that is why she needs you. My daughter is very young, and does not know the world as we do. She needs a man of strength and honor to help guide her to the woman she is meant to be.”

Something Shiro had always wondered came to mind. “Why me? Of all the possible mates you could have chosen for your daughter, why did you want it to be me? Surely it cannot be just because of a twenty-year-old agreement.”

“Of course not,” Arimoto said. “My agreement with your father was merely a convenient means to achieve my goal. As for why I chose you specifically…I have been your father’s business partner and friend for nearly thirty years, and have watched you grow your entire life. Though you and I are not close, I see in you everything I would want in a son.”

Arimoto’s words were profound, and touched Shiro deeply. No more words were spoken between them, and soon Lani joined Shiro at her father's side. Hidaki and Midori Matsuoka stood together at the foot of the bed in which he lay.

And the people who meant the most to Arimoto were with him when he died.