Seoul Spankings by Anastasia Vitsky

and….”
    It was my turn to stare. “A job interview?”
    She blushed. “Forget it.”
    “You thought you were coming here to interview for a job ?”
    She hunched her shoulders. “I’m stupid, okay? I get it. I said forget it.”
    Stammering, I tried to find words to correct the misunderstanding. “Indigo,” I murmured. I took her hand in mine. “I’m not looking for an employee; I’m looking for a wife.” Madame Eve-nim promised one night, but my research showed her clients often spoke of receiving so much more. Marriage. A perfect mate.

 
     
     
Chapter Seven
     
     
    A wife . Hyunkyung’s words rang in my ears, and my head spun with conflicting reactions.
    She likes me. She really likes me.
    What am I, some modern-day picture bride?
    Maybe it meant something to her, too, when we talked at dinner. I knew it wasn’t just a business conversation!
    Wife? In this a backward country? What kind of barbaric rituals do they have? Will I have to eat dog?
    Indi, she’s rich. She could be your sugar mama .
    At the crassness of the last thought, I recoiled. I might not know Hyunkyung well yet, but I liked what I did know. Whatever I liked about her, it could not be money. The ice princess had surprising depth and tenderness.
    The fountain display shuddered to an end, and the children around us groaned. Parents packed up strollers and backpacks, and whining rose from kids who had been content three seconds earlier. It surprised me, the universal tone of whining. Without understanding a word, I could feel the nagging petulance of children and the weary, long-suffering replies from parents who had already yielded in many ways.
    The kids should be in bed by now . It was easier than facing Hyunkyung’s answer.
    “Indigo-ssi? Does that upset you?”
    “No,” I lied. You idiot. She said she was looking for a wife, not you as a wife. She might mean someone different .
    “Indigo,” she said, taking my arm. “I’m not proposing.”
    “I know.” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. “I’ll go home tomorrow, and you can find your wife.”
    “Tomorrow….” She colored. “Excuse me, I shouldn’t have been so hasty. You don’t have to go back so soon. If you don’t want to.”
    “But I do.” I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t get into nebulous territory. Already I’d been yanked around more times than I wanted to admit. I, who had considered myself too civilized for a backward third-world country, found myself wanting to stand on equal ground with this aristocrat. “I’d like to go home.”
    The white collar set off her petite collarbones, drawing attention from the sleek, black bodice and regal carriage. In the shadows of the bright lights against the night darkness, her figure slumped. I wanted her to argue with me, but I didn’t know what that would mean.
    “At least, you must eat.” Satisfied with her decision, she nodded for Minhee to precede us.
    The two exchanged rat-a-tat Korean before Minhee pulled out her phone and seemed to convey Hyunkyung’s instructions. Standing in the darkness, all at once a wave of homesickness washed over me. Maybe it was jet lag or fatigue or the newness catching up with me, but I wished I could crawl into my bed at home. I sighed. I’d broken down my bed and donated it to the local thrift shop.
    “Come in,” Hyunkyung said, seating herself in the limousine. Minhee reclined the seats almost horizontal and covered us with pink blankets decorated with rows of flowers and edged with pink piping. They gave me a fluffy soft and exquisitely warm hug, bringing instant drowsiness. “Sleep now, and you will feel better when we arrive.”
    I wondered why we should sleep when the trip to the concert had taken half an hour, but I accepted the creature comforts with pleasure. I fell asleep before Hyunkyung’s driver pulled out of the driveway. I dreamed of fields full of pink flowers.
     
    ***
     
    “Indigo,” a voice insisted, interrupting my frolic in the fields. I