Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(34)

I smooth my jeans and look out the window at the park we’re passing. A couple kisses under a cherry blossom tree, their bodies lit from behind by a street lamp. Blooms flutter around them like paper snow. The buds have just opened and already they’re dying. Mono no aware—it’s a Japanese phrase expressing a love for impermanence, the ephemeral nature of all things. “Sneaking out, using a bathroom, and a wrong turn hardly seems like the end of the world,” I say to Akio.

“You’re right.” His voice is even, calm. “Again, I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m mad at myself. You could’ve been hurt and it would’ve been my fault.”

“Forget it,” is all I say.

When I was five, I decided I didn’t need training wheels anymore on my bike. So without my mom’s consent or help, I removed them. I rode for five sublime seconds sans helmet, then took an epic fall. I needed two stitches to the back of my head. The blood was copious and glorious, and so was my mom’s fear. Her only defense against such helplessness was to become righteous with anger.

We don’t talk for a while. I get tired of staring out the window but don’t want to look at Akio. The tabloid article brushes my thigh. My face is on the front—a picture of me the first day at the airport. Burning curiosity gets the better of me. “What is this?” I thrust it at Akio. He has no choice but to take it.

Surprised, he studies it for a moment. “It’s a picture of you at the airport when you first arrived.”

Akio must have had some training on how to deflect. The art of dodging. “Very helpful. What does it say?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

That bad, huh? Now I have to know. “You said you were sorry. If you want to make it up to me, tell me what the article says.”

“You’ll forgive me if I read you this?”

I nod.

Akio rubs a hand across his face. “It’s a newspaper called The Tokyo Tattler. It’s not considered reputable.”

“Noted.”

“For the record, I am against this.”

“Also noted. Now read.”

His sigh is beleaguered. “It reports on the clothing you wore at the airport. An imperial blogger was interviewed. She was of the opinion you should have dressed up more.” That hurts. “In addition, she remarks on your behavior, saying you were rude to your imperial guard during the restroom break and refused to acknowledge the crowd once outside. She paints you as snobbish and challenging.” Okay. That hurts more. A lot more. “However, a janitor seemed to like you. He’s selling the handkerchief you used. The money will help fund his retirement. It finishes by wondering why you haven’t been seen in public and suggests you’re being kept hidden away.”

I expel a breath. It’s worse than I thought. Actually, I didn’t even think that much about how I’d be portrayed in the tabloids. There’s the media ban, and I’ve been so focused on my father.… I’m dumbstruck. “Japan hates me?” I squeak out.

“Like I said, not reputable.” Akio folds up the article into a perfect square and sets it on the seat beside him. “People are always rooting for those above them to fall.”

“I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”

“I understand.” Do I detect a slight softening of Akio’s sharp features? “But we cannot change the circumstances of our birth, can we?”

I suppose not. Plus I wouldn’t trade it or go back in time. So far it’s been worth it just to get to know my father, but wishes come at a price. This one comes in the form of public scrutiny. I rest my head against the back of the seat. “You know, I’m very good at a lot of things. Spelling, for example. In fact, back in the States, I was a hangman champion.” At his silence, I explain the game.

“You were best at a game that teaches children if they don’t spell correctly, they may be put to death?” I open my eyes and peer at him. His lips quirk up just a fraction of an inch. Akio is making a joke.

I smile back. “You’re right. We, as a society, probably don’t discuss that enough.”

His laugh is low and husky. Could we be getting along right now? Wonders never cease. I guess a heart does beat inside that cold, super fine chest. “Isn’t there any magical imperial wand we can wave and make them say nice things about me?” I ask. “Or better yet, maybe I should have an interview and set the record straight.”

“Sometimes, silence is your greatest weapon.” He shifts. “Famous Japanese proverb.”

“Really?”

He laughs again. “No. I just made it up.”

I cross my arms. “Don’t you think sarcasm is beneath you?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” He stares directly at me. “What I do know is these tabloids are beneath you. They don’t deserve your time and attention.”

I touch my chest. “Why, Akio, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He says nothing. I break eye contact. We’re in a tunnel now, shiny tiles on all sides. Not much to look at, but I suddenly find it fascinating. “I’m not sure.”

“Not sure about what?”

My smile is rueful. “Not sure if the tabloids are beneath me or not.” Most times, I feel so small.