Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(35)

Akio leans forward and captures my gaze again. He splays his legs, rests his elbows on top of his knees. “They are. Trust me.”

I make a dismissive gesture, but inside me, the rising tide of resentment against Akio eases. The tunnel stretches on. I cast my eyes skyward, tapping my fingers on the seat. Do I dare ask for more? Last time I tried to befriend Akio, he called me a radish.

“I am sorry.” His voice is quiet. “You know, a superior once suggested I am not the easiest person to get along with.”

I perk up and look at him. “You don’t say.”

A ghost of a smile. “I have a tendency to be stuck in my ways.”

The tunnel ends. I recognize the crumbling rock walls around the imperial palace. We’re almost home. I pick at my thumbnail. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.” If he can try to do better, so can I. I’ll start by setting my clock thirty minutes ahead. And I’ll stop comparing him to vampires and serial killers in my head.

“I’ve seen worse,” he says.

“In the police force?”

He dips his head, but doesn’t say anything else. I won’t press him on it. Maybe someday he’ll want to tell me. “It doesn’t seem fair. You’ve seen me at my lowest. I’m afraid the only way we can tip the scales back to even is if I know something embarrassing about you.”

He thinks for a moment, regards me through half-lidded eyes. “Not sure I should trust you.”

“If you can’t trust an imperial princess who constantly runs late and sneaks out, who can you trust?”

“Good point,” he states matter-of-factly. “How about this: when I was little, my school mates called me Kobuta.” At my blank expression, he says, “It means piglet. I had very chubby cheeks.”

My fingers curl into the cool leather seat. “Wow. I’m definitely going to need to see a picture.”

He shrugs. “I loved cookies. I’m not ashamed.”

The car rolls to a stop. The palace gate creaks open. “My mom calls me Zoom Zoom.” It seems only fair I share my nickname as well.

He half grins. “It suits you.”

I bounce a little in my seat. The car starts forward again. We only have a couple minutes left together. Can I trust him? Should I trust him? “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a princess.”

“I see,” he says. “You’re in excellent company then. I’m not sure I’m meant to be an imperial guard.” He’s serious. There’s a sort of fragility in his confession. I’m not sure, but I might be the first person he’s ever told this to.

The car stops and we jerk away from each other. I don’t know why, but it feels as if we’ve been caught. The chauffeur opens the door. I step out and cold air assails me. I feel suddenly alone, lost again. I turn, hanging on to the open door. “Thanks for saving me.”

The Adam’s apple in Akio’s throat works. He inclines his head in the deferential way I’ve seen others do with my father. “It’s my job.” I get out of the car and start to move toward the door. I hear Akio before I head inside. “But … you’re welcome.”





14


I find myself with a day off. Rare. Unprecedented. Inconceivable. Mr. Fuchigami says I may go anywhere in Tokyo. And I know exactly where I want to spend the day: the Imperial Dog Kennels. Honestly, it’s needed. It’s really needed. Even though Akio told me The Tokyo Tattler was beneath me, it’s been hard to get the article off my mind, hard not to overthink everything I might do wrong. Tomorrow kicks off a series of events. I’ll accompany my father to assorted public outings. Cameras and press will be present, a soft launch of sorts before the prime minister’s wedding. My nerves are frayed. What will the press say about me? I smiled too much? I didn’t smile enough? A royal puppy pile is definitely in order.

Now we’re en route. It’s a fine day, the sun bright, not a cloud in the sky. Cherry blossoms have finally bloomed and weigh heavy on branches. Mariko sits beside me, the stink of I’d-much-rather-be-anywhere-else radiating from her body. There is also a lint roller noticeably tucked into her purse and a pack of tissues because dogs make her “sneeze.” Akio is across from us. He is distracted, a bit off today. More grumpy than usual. Every couple of minutes, his phone buzzes, and he swipes to ignore, but he doesn’t turn it off. Have I mentioned his scowl? It is noteworthy.

I wonder if maybe it’s his girlfriend. He’s never mentioned one. I imagine the woman Akio might date, his female equivalent. I know the type. I’ve seen her in comic books and action movies before. Beautiful. Deadly. Plays war games for fun. His phone buzzes again.

“Is something wrong?” I ask finally.

He shakes his head once. “Nothing, Your Highness.” His grip on the phone tightens.

Mariko speaks to him in Japanese. I frown at her. I don’t like it when she does this, and she does it often, on purpose, to cut me out of the conversation. Worse is when I can tell she’s speaking about me, because I hear my name interspliced between angry-sounding words. This time my name doesn’t tumble from her lips, but I do understand one word: okāsan. Mother.

Akio’s response is clipped, terse.

Mariko’s mouth dips in concern.

Now I have to know what is going on. I nudge my lady-in-waiting. She whips her elbow away from me and holds it, rubbing it like I’ve hurt her. “What’s going on?” I ask lowly.