Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(21)

“But if I had known I had a daughter, I would have found a solution.” He studies me, waiting until my eyes raise to meet his. “I would have swum across oceans. I would have scaled mountains. I would have crossed deserts. I would have found a way.”

The twist of pain in my stomach eases. Hope floats in my chest. That’s something. That’s more than a start.

That’s a beginning.





8


A small gathering, they said. A celebration dinner in your honor. Just family. No biggie. But also, did we mention the meet-the-press section beforehand? How about the handbell ringers? What about a brief concert by the imperial house orchestra? No? Sorry, our bad.

The quiet evening has started with a not-so-quiet bang. In other words, a balls-to the-wall welcome reception. It’s a shock to my system after the quiet walk with my father. A reporter from the imperial press club stares at me. His press badge reads Shigesada Inada, Japan Gazette. So far, his questions are little bits of fluff wrapped in cotton. “What is your favorite color?” None of the press carry notepads or recording devices. It’s odd. Also, they’re all men.

Red for the blood of my enemies, I think. Truth: I’m a little punch drunk. The transpacific flight is nipping at my heels. “Blue,” I answer serenely.

Mr. Fuchigami stands close to me. Correction: he hovers. He’s more nervous than Tamagotchi in a room full of vacuum cleaners. When I answer in a way he approves, a pleasant sound emanates from his throat. So far, I’ve accrued five happy noises. The reporter bows and thanks me gratuitously before leaving. Across the way, my father is being interviewed, too. Akio is also present, hanging around the edge of the room like a Gothic painting.

“Are we nearly done?” I turn to Mr. Fuchigami once we’re alone. “I’m so tired. I can smell colors. Or maybe it’s the cocaine.” At his bug-eyed stare, I say, “Joke! I’m joking.” I’m the only one laughing. Back in Mount Shasta, that would have killed. Noora once laughed so hard at one of my jokes that milk came out of her nose. True story.

“The dinner bell should ring soon,” he assures me. “The family usually enjoys drinks after in the parlor, but you don’t need to stay for that.”

I eye a cloisonné case with a fish scale background in the corner. It’s elegant and tall and fits in way better than me. We’re in a reception hall with celery-colored carpet bordered by a lacquered parquet floor, its walls the same color as the lightwood. Elegant and airy, it’s a part of Tōgū Palace, but separated by a series of sliding shoji screens. The press, handbell ringers, and orchestra aren’t allowed past this point.

My room is a three-minute walk away. If I think too much about bed, I’ll fall asleep. A change of subject is in order. “The press was so kind.”

Mr. Fuchigami appears surprised. “Of course they were. They are members of the Imperial Press Club, handpicked by the Imperial Household Agency.”

A flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. I’ve been plunked down in the center of a maze, and the keys to finding my way out lie in a vortex of royal protocols, traditions and rules I haven’t got the first clue about. I swallow down the giant ball of stress. I’ll figure out what to do later. Procrastination has served me well in the past. My mission: survive the night. It feels as ominous as it sounds.

The dinner bell rings. The group splits, and the gaggle of reporters and handbell ringers disappear through a door.

“This way.” Mr. Fuchigami leads me to the formal dining room. The long table is dressed up in starched linens and gleaming silvers. A white-gloved attendant pulls out a chair for me. My heart sinks when I see where I am seated. “Not by my father?” I gaze at Mr. Fuchigami.

A single shake of his head. “No. Seating has been carefully considered. We’ve placed you next to your extended family. This way, you’ll have optimal and equal time with each member.” He pauses, considers his next words carefully. “As the daughter of the Crown Prince, it is paramount you show attention to each. There should be no favorites. Now…” He opens his hands. “Please, go ahead.”

The tables have gone quiet. Everyone stands behind their chairs, and all eyes are on me. It’s clear my family is waiting for something. My father smiles. Close to him sits twin girls, no doubt Akiko and Noriko, the charms in the imperial bracelet. I see why. They’re strikingly beautiful, with oval faces and lips the color of ballet slippers. So alike and perfect it’s a bit creepy, as if they sprung fully formed from one of the silk tapestries.

Their father is my father’s brother and second in line to inherit the throne. He’s down at the end of the table, too. His wife is next to him, and though she’s dressed immaculately, her face is tight, pale, and withdrawn.

“I’m sorry?” I whisper to Mr. Fuchigami. I’m so confused. “What’s going on?”

“They are awaiting your introduction.” Mr. Fuchigami says it like that explains everything. When I don’t launch right in, he goes on. “Say a little about yourself.” With that, he bows and leaves. Leaves.

I stare down at my toes. The flooring is carpet and patterned with circles. I’m standing in the middle of one. I’ve been put on the spot, literally and figuratively. “Oh, um. Hi.” I glance up. My body feels like it’s on fire. I do a little finger wave, then remember I haven’t seen anyone wave since arriving. I jerk my arm back down. “Konnichiwa. I’m Izumi. But you all probably already know that. I live in Mount Shasta, California, but I suppose I also live here now, I think.” I tug on my ear and actively search for a balcony to swan dive off of. “What else? I have a dog named Tamagotchi.” The twins narrow their eyes in unison and whisper behind their hands.