Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(24)

Mariko speaks. “We won’t be able to accompany you to the wedding.”

Prime Minister Adachi will be wed in just over a week. I’m attending as my first official duty.

“Yes,” Mr. Fuchigami agrees. The two are in total cahoots. “You’ll be seated with your father. You are expected to know this.”

“You won’t be able to look to other family members for support,” Mariko adds. She must have spied me on the first night at the family dinner when Yoshi took me under his “leg.” Despite my royal blood, nothing is inherited. I need a pick-me-up. I reach for the plate of senbei crackers in the middle of the table. They’re made of rice and still warm, fresh off the grill. “No more crackers.” The plate is whipped from the table. My mouth hangs open as Mariko holds it hostage. “Now, which is the fish fork?” She nods at the table.

Again, I stare at the place setting. At the extra small, small, medium and large forks. I start by eliminating the possibilities. The extra small utensil is an oyster fork. The next size up is the salad fork. That leaves medium or large. My odds are fifty-fifty. Not bad. But in a blinding moment of clarity, the answer comes to me. “This one.” I hold it up proudly.

Mariko arches her brows. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure?” I say it like a question.

“You’re right.” She doesn’t seem happy about it, but she does place the plate of senbei back on the table.

Mr. Fuchigami clears his throat, stepping forward. “Perhaps we should practice your Japanese. Ogenki desu ka?” He launches right in.

Mariko crosses her arms, clearly ready to enjoy the show. The butler begins to clear the place settings.

Table etiquette to a second language. I shake off the whiplash. In addition to a crash course in culture and table manners, I have to learn Japanese, starting with the hiragana and katakana alphabets and memorizing common phrases, such as: “Genki desu.” I’m fine. A perfect response to his question, How do you do? Truly, it’s been a blur of conjugating verbs and perfecting the palatal d. Japanese is hierarchical to boot. There are different levels of formality, all depending on the speaker and their relationship to the person.

Mr. Fuchigami nods approvingly. “Ojōzu desu.” He nods to the table; along with the senbei, there is a dried fruit platter and selection of nuts. “Nanika meshiagarimasu ka?”

I cock my head, thinking hard. “Ano…” That’s a space filler in Japanese, the equivalent of saying um. A genius word. I use it a lot.

Mr. Fuchigami takes pity on me. “Nani ka meshiagarimasu ka? Would you like something to eat?”

I perk up. “Hai. Ringo suki desu. Oppai tabetai!” Translation: I like apples. I want to eat a lot of them. Only … Mr. Fuchigami’s face turns the color of a tomato, and he can’t meet my eyes. Mariko chokes. The butler drops a crystal glass. It doesn’t break, but it clinks against a place setting, taking a chip out of the priceless china. “What?” I ask, alarmed. Mr. Fuchigami can’t even look at me.

Mariko rubs her eyebrow. “You’ve mispronounced the word a lot.”

“A lot? It’s oppai, isn’t it?” I say it a few more times to get the hang of it. “Oppai, oppai, oppai.”

Mariko’s eyes go wide. “Stop. Saying. It.”

“Your Highness,” Mr. Fuchigami says slowly, carefully, quietly. “The correct pronunciation is ippai. The word you said refers to…” He can’t say it. His eyes flicker to Mariko.

Mariko can’t say it either, but her hand drifts up, fluttering around her breasts.

“Oh.” My eyes grow wide. I’ve just sung “boobs, boobs, boobs” to the royal chamberlain and my lady-in-waiting. “Oh!” A knot twists in my belly. “Sorry,” I murmur. The butler is gone.

Mr. Fuchigami checks his watch. “I need … I have a meeting.” I glance at the antique clock on the wall. Zodiac animals mark the time instead of numbers. We were scheduled for another hour, right up until lunch with my father.

“Sorry,” I call out again as Mr. Fuchigami hastily bows and leaves. Eye contact is too much to ask.

“We’re done,” Mariko says abruptly, then trots after him.

Alone, I push away from the table. I wander from the dining room through the living room, catching my reflection in a black and gilt mirror. I still look pretty good—my makeup hasn’t budged, and every hair is still in place. But isn’t that how it always is? Pretty on the outside, slowly crumbling on the inside?

My steps take me to the entryway. After slipping on shoes, I’m out the door and sitting on the concrete step. I hug my legs. My vibe is glum, totally insecure. The air is cool and it’s drizzling, but I stay dry, protected by the porch overhang. Movement catches my eye—Akio. He’s as handsome as ever. The wind lightly tousles his damp hair. He’s wearing some sort of dark coat. All in all, he’s fit to be on the cover of Vogue. Whatever. So annoying.

He eyes me, brows lowering into a definitive glower. Yesterday, I overslept, and a tour of the wild duck preserves and a fishing party had to be rescheduled. Later on, a clock was delivered to my room … by Akio’s request. I cross my arms and return his frown. His deepens in response. I’m pretty sure he’s commanding dark forces to gather upon me. Likewise, buddy. Likewise.