At the party, nobody would dance with the Japanese millionaire—until a waitress invited him in his own language
The wedding unfolded on the glass-wrapped terrace of Guadalajara’s Demetria Hotel, where orange dusk bled into city lights. Everything gleamed—tailored suits, choreographed smiles, perfume drifting like mist. The orchestra delivered a spotless bolero that somehow lacked a heartbeat. Everyone tried to look delighted—except one man. At a round table slightly off-center sat Kenji Yamasaki: Japanese,…