Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(25)

I shift away from him and covertly dig my phone from my bra. I succumb to my pathological need to share my humiliation and text Noora.

Me

Today I mispronounced a word and accidentally told my chamberlain I want to eat boobs.

I wait for her response, turning the phone over in my hands and wondering what the AGG has been up to. I wish I could stalk them on social media, but their accounts are private, and Mr. Fuchigami made me delete all mine. Royal protocol. There’s also a ban on consuming media on imperial property. No tabloids. No newspapers. No television.

Finally, Noora’s name lights up my phone.

Noora

Bah. Could happen to anyone

Me

I’m not sure I can do this

Noora

Strongly disagree

Noora

Remember that time Glory said you couldn’t eat a whole pie from Black Bear and I bet you could and you actually did?

Me

Your point is…?

Noora

My point is: I believe in you.

Me

Riiight, because being a princess is the same as eating pie.

Noora

It’s not. But you’re still fantastic. Men weep at your feet. Women want to be you. Birds fall from the sky stunned by your glory.

Noora

That help?

Me

A little.

Noora

Good.

Noora buoys me. She’s never steered me wrong. Okay, there was that one time she convinced me to shave my eyebrows and draw them on. My phone buzzes.

Noora

Also still waiting on that bodyguard picture

Glory

Ditto

Hansani

Yes please.

She’s added the girls to the text thread. Ever so discreetly, I check Akio out over my shoulder. He’s staring off into the distance, hands clasped in front of him. I hold my phone, snap, then send. His head swivels. “Nani o shite imasu ka? Did you just take my photograph?”

I rise, brushing off my skirt. “No. Of course not.” My voice is heavy with a dose of as-if-I’d-ever.

The screen lights up. I glance at it.

Noora

OMG. Make out with him already.

Hansani

I’d go down with that ship.

Glory

I bet he smells amazing but kind of rare, too, like his cologne is made with panther tears. #sexpanthercologne

I mute all. Akio grunts. Such a poet this man is.

He shifts away. Not so fast. Remembering the clock sitting on my nightstand, my blood heats. I sidle up next to him. He’s making a show of canvassing the estate, like he can’t see me.

“Akio?”

“Your Highness.” So stiff. So formal.

“I’ve been wondering. How does one become an imperial guard?”

He scowls, as if this is the worst time he’s ever had. One can only hope. “I prefer close-protection officer. I believe Mr. Fuchigami supplied you with my qualifications.”

“He did, but it was mostly police credentials.” I toe the cement with my sensible navy heeled shoe. “Is there like some imperial—sorry, close-protection officer school you have to attend?” I widen my eyes and put a hand over my mouth. “Have you ever killed someone? And if so, did you like it? I bet you have, and I bet you did.” It’s always the strong and silent types who are hiding something. “Tell me, do you have a locked room where no one’s allowed?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His hands are folded in front of him. His back is perfectly straight. “It’s a basement. Better temperature control down there. You know, for the bodies.”

My eyes narrow to slits. “It’s scary because I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

He breathes a deep, impatient sigh.

“I think we should establish the chain of command. Am I, like, your boss?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. He may have cracked a tooth. If so, I know an excellent royal dentist. Mr. Fuchigami squeezed in a physical and a full dental exam yesterday. I’m still wearing the Band-Aid from the blood test. Crime shows hold true. DNA doesn’t lie. I am the Prince’s daughter. “Your security and safety are paramount,” he says. “They come first.”

“Meaning…”

Now I have all his attention. “Technically, I am the boss of you.”

Oh, he is smug.

I purse my lips. I don’t care for that at all. “Has anyone ever told you charm isn’t your strong suit?”

His patience has run out. “Charm doesn’t keep royalty alive.”

Touché. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I was late. You had a clock sent to my room. Let’s just call the whole thing off. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Why do you want to know that?” His gaze is sharp, suspicious. The rain starts again. Fat drops hit the pavement.

“I just think we should get to know each other better. You tell me something about you, and I reciprocate. You know, it’s how you make friends. It’s bonding.” Then, once I find out all your secrets and vulnerabilities, I will use them to destroy you. Just kidding. Kind of.

His lips twitch. He scans the estate again. Silence stretches on until he finally says, aggrieved, “I am fond of Die Hard.”

I blink twice. “Die Hard? Like Bruce Willis, ‘Yippee-ki-yay, mothereffer’?” I would have taken him more for an American Psycho fan. You know, suits, business cards, a predilection for order, and hiding bodies in closets.