Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(40)

We cross the threshold, passing a table piled high with ornate envelopes. At Japanese weddings, cash is king. The prime minister and his bride will be doling out the gifts, and each seat will have a beautiful, handmade paper bag stuffed full of little spoils underneath it.

An arm hooks through mine, stealing me from Akio’s side. “Ugh, finally, you’re here,” Yoshi grouses. “This evening has been dreadful so far. Uncle Tadashi cornered me and wouldn’t stop waxing on about his prize cock.” My brows go to my hairline. “All he talks about are his chickens and roosters.” Yoshi peers at Akio in a why-are-you-still-here? sort of way. “Stand down, man. My God, it’s a party. Try to look happy.”

Akio says nothing, just bows and dissolves into the crowd. Glasses clink. Women laugh. A man in tails plays a B?sendorfer piano. Yoshi’s parents, Auntie Asako and Uncle Yasuhito, approach us.

“Can you believe it?” Auntie Asako says, fingering the diamonds around her neck. “A prime minister descended from the Tokugawa clan marrying a narikin? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Uncle Yasuhito grunts in agreement. They chatter about the bride and how, in addition to being new money, she’s so much younger than the prime minister. Across the room, a woman gives Yoshi the stink eye. She’s severe-looking but beautiful, wearing a sleek black gown. “Who’s that?” I whisper, nudging Yoshi.

He plucks two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and hands one to me. “That is Reina, my imperial guard.”

Uncle Yasuhito hears and says, “Yoshi hired her himself.”

“Insisted on a woman, because I’m a feminist like that.” Yoshi puffs out his chest. He’s wearing black tie like everyone else, but there’s a hint of sparkle in his lapels. “She wears the most beguiling pantsuits and does handicrafts in her spare time, mostly scrapbooking. She knows ten different ways to kill a man with a piece of paper. She scares me, and I like it.” He mock-shivers.

“Yoshi is half in love with her,” Auntie Asako says indulgently.

He sends Reina a dazzling smile and she scowls.

Across the room, Auntie Asako nods at a woman. The woman nods back, then resumes her conversation with a much older man in full military regalia. A father and daughter? They share the same thin lined mouths and heavy brows. “The Fukadas,” Uncle Yasuhito says at my questioning look. “He’s a general with the Ground Self-Defense Force. His daughter is the son he always wanted.”

“They look as if they hunt people for sport,” I say, the champagne warming my belly and cheeks.

The three laugh and it feels good, like I’m on the inside.

Opposite the father-daughter-people-sport-hunters is a group of girls, the Shining Twins at the center. They meet my gaze head-on, whisper something to their friends, then laugh. No doubt it’s at my expense.

Yoshi sucks in a breath. “Yikes. You’ve caught the attention of the Gakushūin clique. Careful now, slowly divert your eyes. The moon is full tonight, which means their powers are at an all-time high.”

I do as he says. Gakushūin. I remember the name from my father and Mr. Fuchigami. It’s where Mariko goes. “Gakushūin?” I ask more loudly than I mean to.

Auntie Asako touches the bracelet on her wrist, a confection of diamonds and sapphires that complements her dress. “It’s the most exclusive school in Japan, maybe in the world.”

Uncle Yasuhito nods. “All the young royals and scions of prominent families attend. Yoshi was first in his class when he graduated.”

“You would have most likely gone there.” Auntie Asako looks me up and down. “Where did you attend school? I’ve heard California has some wonderful private institutions.”

“Mount Shasta High School, by way of Mount Shasta Middle School.”

Her smile falls. “Public education?”

“Yes,” I say unequivocally.

She shudders. “Well, if anyone asks, say you were educated abroad.”

“Careful, mother. Your elitism is showing,” Yoshi huffs.

“What?” Auntie Asako touches her chest. She turns to her husband as Yoshi pulls me away. “What did I say?”

“On behalf of my family, I apologize,” Yoshi says.

“It’s fine.” Really, it is. I’m not ashamed of the schools I went to.

“It’s not fine. Don’t try to hide your feelings. Clearly, you’re devastated.” Yoshi gives me a lopsided grin. I return it. I’m so glad he’s here with me.

He steers me deeper into the crowd. We skirt around a lumbering yokozuna, a grand champion sumo wrestler. Yoshi smiles at guests, then gives me the lowdown on each one, filling my ear with who’s who: The President of the Bank of Tokyo. A rice vinegar manufacturer. Two brothers who own one of the largest and oldest whiskey distilleries, and they’ve come all the way from Hokkaido, the Wild West of Japan.

There are members of the Kuge and Kizoku families—Japan’s former nobility, counts and countesses abolished after World War II. They lost their titles, but not their snobbish, social standings. They resent my grandfather, father, my uncle, and now my cousin Sachiko for having relationships with commoners—and by extension, me, too. Yoshi doesn’t say so, but I can read between the lines. It’s understood. Even though I’m full Japanese, I’m too American, not enough blue in my veins.