Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(41)

There are also captains of industry, like a famous tech manufacturer whose company starts with the letter S and a car titan whose family name starts with the letter T. Topping it all off are the Kasumigaseki, Tokyo’s bureaucratic beehive.

We come to the tables, circular with white linen cloths and low flower arrangements—lilies and pine branches to symbolize the crests of the two joining families. Seating is assigned. People shuffle around, examining place cards. Yoshi and I part ways. He’ll be with the extended imperial family at another table. Rather than family, the most prominent members of society are given the honor of sitting with the bride and groom. It’s hierarchical—meaning, the Crown Prince, his daughter, my uncle, and his love spawns (aka the Shining Twins) sit with the PM and his bride. My aunt, the twins’ mother, should be here, but she’s absent. I’ll try to remember to ask Mariko if she’s ill.

I drop down into a black lacquered chair and try not to burn to ashes under my twin cousins’ withering stares. Things I wish I could say to them: Don’t you think this is a little cliché, being mean to the outsider? Relational aggression is a terrible plague among young women. When did torturing others become a rite of passage?

The prime minister enters, my father next to him. The bride follows behind. In a white silk gown overlaid with pearls, the prime minister’s new wife is the definition of a unicorn bathed in other unicorns and glitter. Her diamond tiara glints in the candlelight as she takes a seat.

My father greets me. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You look lovely—um, I mean, nice, too.” I preen under his attention. We smile at each other. The room waits for my father to sit before doing so.

Speeches are given. My father toasts to the bride and groom. Everything’s in Japanese and I don’t understand most of it. When he’s finished, the Shining Twins whisper to each other just loud enough for me to hear.

“He forgot to mention Adachi’s sister,” Akiko says.

Noriko clucks her tongue. “He should’ve said something about her not being here. How unfortunate it is she could not join us.”

My father has made a mistake. I wonder how that could happen, but it makes me feel better. We’re all fallible, I guess.

Dinner service begins. It is an elegant choreographed dance by servers in white gloves and coattails. More speeches are given. My father chats with the prime minister. I chat with the bride. She’s a former diplomat, but now she plans to stay home full-time and support her husband. We slurp a clear soup with dumplings and eat savory custard with eel and mushroom, grilled baby ayu, and bowls of sticky white rice with red beans. Mariko told me clearing one’s plate is polite. That I can do.

My father wipes his mouth with a crisp, white napkin. “Izumi-chan,” he says. “You seem very happy this evening.”

“I am,” I say back. A slow dance. A wedding. A girl in a ball gown. What could be wrong?

“Japan is agreeing with you.”

“It is.” A waiter clears our plates. My stomach is near bursting. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Your Highness.” The prime minister draws my attention. He’s older, his black hair streaked with gray. His first wife died of heart disease. “Thank you so much for attending this evening. My wife and I are honored by your presence.”

Technically, I didn’t have much of a choice. But I am glad to be here. “It’s a beautiful event. Thank you for having me.” I remember Akiko and Noriko’s comments earlier. “It’s such a shame your sister couldn’t attend.” My smile is bright, expectant. Ready to receive the PM’s warm reception, maybe he’ll answer with a fun anecdote about his sister. Maybe my father will thank me for coming to his rescue. Maybe I have a future in diplomacy. “I bet you wish she could be here.”

My father nearly chokes on a bite of rice. The conversation around me flatlines. I look around, clueless. There is a suspicious quirk to Akiko’s and Noriko’s mouths, like the sharp edges of knives. The prime minister hangs his head, curls his fist around his napkin. Then he starts to speak in Japanese—softly at first, then louder as he gains momentum. His wife hurries to soothe him.

I don’t understand. “What—”

“Izumi.” My father’s voice is harsh, full of censure. He’s never used this tone with me. “The prime minister and his sister aren’t on good terms.” He drops his voice, and says under his breath, “She accused him of horrible things. We don’t … we don’t speak of her. Ever.”

My father enters the fray and tries to placate the prime minister, who continues to rant and wave a hand at me. Now I know what the word catastrophe looks like. The room is folding in on itself. Guests avert their eyes. The prime minister goes on and on. My twin cousins laugh into their napkins. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. Finally, the prime minister grows quiet, but his body still hums with anger.

“I’m so sorry, Prime Minister Adachi,” I say. He’s furious in his silence. All I can see is the top of the prime minister’s head. He’s ignoring me now. I’ve been ostracized. I touch my father’s arm, but he won’t look at me. It’s true the blows you least expect hurt the most. Something breaks inside of me. “My sincerest—” I push back from the table. “E-excuse me.” I stumble over my words, over my dress. Humiliation unfurls in my chest, slices it open, and burns a path up my throat. I remember Mariko’s advice. “Bathroom,” I manage to get out.