Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(19)

“I—” he begins to say, but catches himself. He’s got nothing. Neither do I. Time stretches on. We are strangers. Why did I think it might be different?

He smiles, unsure. “I’ve stared down bulls in Spain and haven’t felt as frightened as I do in this moment. My hands are shaking.” He shows me. There is a slight tremor in his blunt fingers.

Relieved, I manage a light laugh. “Never ran with the bulls, but I did glue Tommy Steven’s butt to a chair in the second grade after he stole my crayons. I was so scared of getting caught I confessed right after.”

His eyes flash with pride. “You have a strong sense of justice.”

My knees unlock and I answer with a blinding smile.

“Perhaps we should start over.” He sticks out a hand. “I’m so glad you’re here. I look forward to getting to know you.”

I place my palm in his. His grip is firm and reassuring, but not familiar. We erase (d) and choose (c), a handshake.

It’s not much, but it’s a start, helps me remember why I’m here. To meet my father. To make sense of who I am, the shape of my face, the origins of my stubborn attitude.

“The gardens are beautiful this time of year,” he says as we disengage.

I brighten. “Yeah?”

“Would you like to see them?”

I think for a moment. Fresh air makes everything better. “That sounds great. Lead the way.”



* * *



The air is cool and wet against my cheeks. Pea-sized gravel crunches under my feet. My father saunters next to me, head low, shoulders relaxed—a portrait of a prince, deconstructed. Gooseflesh breaks out on my arms.

“You’re cold,” he says. He fixes his gaze somewhere, and by silent command, a royal attendant materializes. A trick I’d like to master.

My father speaks in Japanese, and the attendant bows low and disappears. Broad-shouldered black shapes shift in the trees—security. I even spy Akio. This is something that will take getting used to. Even when you’re alone, you’re never really alone. The attendant reappears, and it’s staggering how fast he moves. Sweat dots his brow, but he keeps his breaths even. He bows and offers my father an ivory cashmere wrap. My father takes it and drapes it around my shoulders. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” I hug the shawl around me. Never saw myself as a fine wool kind of gal, but I could get used to this.

“Shall we continue?” He motions ahead.

We fall into amicable silence. The sound of the wind and traffic of Tokyo settles between us. My father points out species of trees. The white birch is his personal emblem. The path opens, expands, and circles around a pond. We pause near a sculpted black pine. Across the water, Mr. Fuchigami and a handful of chamberlains stand, making a big deal of watching us by not watching us.

My father’s smile is rueful. “Mr. Fuchigami is probably upset we’ve gone outside. Not on the itinerary.”

I tighten the shawl around me. “Seems to be a recurring theme. I thought Akio’s head was going to explode when I asked to use the restroom at the airport.”

The sun dips lower. Attendants light stone lanterns. The garden is cast in a hazy, yellow glow. My father hums. “Ah, Mr. Kobayashi. I chose him myself. I thought you’d be more comfortable with someone younger.” I nod, not wanting to appear ungrateful.

Boom. I startle. Fireworks sparkle against the night sky like sprinkled sugar. Shimmering pinks, deep purples, wild blues. In the distance, the lights of Tokyo wink at me.

My father shifts, tipping his head to the sky.

“They’re beautiful,” I marvel.

The sparks reflect in his dark eyes. “It’s for you. Tokyo is welcoming its new princess.”

For me? I gulp and do my best not to let it go to my head.

An attendant approaches carrying a silver tray, laden with drinks in heavy crystal. My father plucks up the shorter glass filled with amber liquid. I take the flute with something bubbly in it. I sip and grin. It’s sparkling cider. Delicious.

He arches an imperial brow at me (pun intended). I explain. “It’s the sparkling cider. The way to my heart is anything coated in sugar.” The second way is by hugs. Lots and lots of hugs.

He sips the amber liquid. “I don’t believe that was on your preference sheet.” True. But I did list various desserts that I’d consider serious relationships with. He stares at the liquid in his glass, frowning. “A man shouldn’t have to read about what his child likes on paper.” He sounds wistful, a bit forlorn. I wonder if he’s mad at my mom. “I’d rather hear your answers than read them. What are your hobbies?”

Does watching Real Housewives count? “I dabble in a few things, but nothing has caught my eye yet. Except for baking. I’m an excellent baker.” My buttercream and cream cheese frosting is to die for.

“Your cousins Akiko and Noriko raise silkworms,” he says, naming the twins. In the royal biographies, hobbies are listed first for females. “Sachiko enjoys mountain climbing. The Imperial Household Agency had a conniption over that—a princess in cargo pants. Very cutting edge.” He smiles over the rim of his glass as if we’re sharing a private joke. “Your grades. How are they?”

Subpar at best. But my father is a Crown Prince, so I shine up the truth a little. “Great.” So good, I’ve earned entrance into two community colleges and one state school. I sip the cider to keep from elaborating.