Chapter Four - The Unveiling
Joe let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across
his face. He gently took her hand, the one not clenched into a fist, and slid the ring onto her
finger. The metal, shaped into a delicate tiger’s claw, wrapped around her finger as if it were
forged for her. It glittered under the soft glow of the lanterns.
Taiga stared at it, her lips parted slightly. For a solid ten seconds, the "Palmtop Tiger" was gone,
replaced by a girl completely mesmerized by the sparkle on her hand. Then, she blinked, shook
her head as if to clear it, and yanked her hand back.
Taiga: “It’s… a little tight.”
Joe: “Liar. I measured it from that old ring you left on the counter.”
Taiga: “You’re a creep. And it’s too flashy.” She grumbled, but she didn’t take it off. Instead, she
angled her hand this way and that, watching it catch the light.
Joe: “Sure it is. Come on, my future wife. Let’s enjoy our rooftop. I brought your favorite
melonpan.”
She shot him a look, a blush creeping up her neck.
Taiga: “Don’t call me that. It’s weird.”
Joe: “Better get used to it.”
The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, charged silence, punctuated by their usual
bickering. But now, it was different. It was the bickering of an engaged couple, and the city lights
below seemed to bear witness to their strange, sudden forever.
The next morning, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Taiga sat at the small dining table,
nursing a cup of tea and pointedly not looking at Joe. But she couldn’t stop fiddling with the ring.
She’d twist it, tap it, and hold her hand out as if checking her nails, all while pretending to be
absorbed in the patterns of the wood grain on the table.
Joe set a plate of pancakes in front of her. Not burnt, perfectly golden. It was annoying how
good he was at this domestic stuff.
Joe: “You’re going to wear a groove in your finger if you keep spinning that thing.”
Taiga’s head snapped up.
Taiga: “I’m not spinning it! I’m… making sure it’s secure. Wouldn’t want your ridiculously
expensive and gaudy trinket to fall down the drain.”
Joe: “Of course not.” He said, sitting across from her. “So, since we’ve handled the ‘gaudy
trinket’ portion of the program, I think it’s time for phase two.”
Taiga narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Taiga: “Phase two? What are you, a Bond villain? Did you already plan our entire future without
consulting me?”
Joe: “Not our entire future. Just… the next big step.” He stood up and gestured toward the hall
closet. “I have something to show you.”
She followed him, arms crossed, projecting an aura of extreme skepticism. He opened the
closet door. Hanging there, next to a sleek, dark tuxedo, was the dress.
It was one thing to hear it described, another to see it. The soft ivory silk seemed to glow. The
delicate lace on the bodice, the whisper-thin sleeves dusted with pearls, the sakura embroidery
along the hem—it was all there. It wasn’t just a dress; it was a promise. It was everything she
would never have picked for herself, and yet, it was perfect.
Taiga was silent. Her jaw, for once, was not set in a defiant line. Her eyes traced every detail,
from the sweetheart neckline to the cascading train.
Joe watched her, his heart hammering in his chest. This was the real test.
After a long moment, she cleared her throat.
Taiga: “The ribbon on the waist is a bit much, don’t you think? Makes it look… frilly.”
She said it with no conviction. Her hand had drifted forward, her fingers hovering just inches
from the ethereal tulle skirt, afraid to touch it, as if it might vanish.
Joe smiled softly. He knew he’d won.
Joe: “I can have the tailor remove it if you want.”
Taiga: “No… don’t. It would probably leave a mark.” She finally let her fingers brush against the
fabric, a flicker of awe in her eyes before she masked it again. “So this was your grand plan?
Propose on the roof and then—what? Ambush me with a wedding dress? When were you
planning on this happening? Tomorrow?”
Joe: “Not tomorrow. I’m not a complete maniac.” He paused, then added, “Next month.”
Taiga whipped her head around to stare at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Taiga: “Next month? Are you insane? People take a year—two years—to plan a wedding! You
need a venue, guests, a cake… You can’t just decide to get married in four weeks!”
Joe: “I already booked a small, traditional shrine just outside the city. It’s beautiful this time of
year. As for guests, I figured we’d keep it small. Your friend, my friends… anyone else is
optional. And I know a baker who owes me a favor.” He leaned against the doorframe, looking
entirely too proud of himself. “I told you. I’ve been planning this for a while.”
She looked from him to the dress, then back to him. She opened her mouth to argue, to yell, to
call him an impulsive, arrogant idiot. But the words wouldn’t come. He had thought of
everything. He had thought of her.
Just then, the apartment door burst open.
Friend: “Taiga, I heard the news! Are you—OH. MY. GOD.”
Her friend stopped dead in the hallway, her eyes landing on the dress. Her jaw dropped, and her
hands flew to her mouth.
Friend: “Is that… Is that a wedding dress? For you? Joe, you magnificent bastard, you actually
did it!”
Taiga groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Taiga: “You told her already? I said not to tell anyone!”
Joe just shrugged, his grin never wavering. “She’s your maid of honor. Kinda has to know.”
Her friend rushed forward, fawning over the dress with the unrestrained excitement that Taiga
was trying so desperately to suppress.
Friend: “It’s gorgeous! The lace, the sleeves! Taiga, you’re going to look like a princess! A fierce,
tiny, beautiful princess!”
Taiga peeked through her fingers, watching her friend gush. She looked at
Joe, who winked at her. A slow, reluctant smile finally broke through her defenses.
Taiga: “Fine,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands. “Next month. But if the cake is bad,
I’m blaming you.”
(To be continued in Chapter Five...)
