Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(57)

“It is lovely.” His eyes rise to mine. They’re misty and genuine. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. I’m going to have it framed and put it on my office wall there”—he motions to the back wall—“so I can see it every day.”

I’m not crying. You’re crying.

“Thank you,” he says. He admires the scroll for a while. Then he retrieves a manila envelope from the corner of the desk. He hands it to me. “For you.”

I hold it for a moment. It’s thick and weighty. “Should I open it?”

“Please.”

I bite my lower lip and slip the contents out. Black-and-white photos flutter from the pages. “Tanaka family history…” I read out loud.

“Before you left for Kyoto, I asked why you came to Japan. Do you remember your answer?”

“To find myself,” I whisper.

“My side of the family is an open book, literally. The imperial family has been cataloged for generations. But your mother’s … Well, I had a professor at University of Tokyo dig into her family genealogy.”

I scan the pages. There’s so much history. Names and dates going back a hundred or so years. It’s hard to fathom. I have a kamon, a family crest, on my mother’s side, a three-leafed holly. I trace the image with my fingers.

“Your grandmother was a picture bride.” My father stands, coming around the desk. He finds a photograph on the floor and hands it to me. It’s a woman in kimono standing next to a man in a tweed suit. I see my mother in both of them. “Seems your maternal grandmother chose life in the United States over an arranged marriage in Japan, although picture brides were an arranged marriage of sorts. I suppose she was keen on choosing her own destiny.”

“Maybe she wanted adventure.” I stare at the photo, then at all the papers, all the photos. All too much to possibly go through right now. I itch to start sifting through it. “This is … this is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Now you know where you come from.”

“Thank you.” I’m overwhelmed. Elated. I’m not lost anymore.

The clock chimes. The hour strikes eleven. Mariko or some chamberlain will knock soon. Our time is not our own. My father knows it, too. I rise from my seat. He walks me to the door, but stops before sliding it open.

I think he might hug me. But his arms hang loosely at his sides, hands curled into his palms. Yoshi said affection isn’t really a thing in Japan. So I hold back, stand by. “It’s good to have you home,” my father finally says.

I couldn’t agree with him more. My face fixes into a smile. I hug the papers to my chest. “It’s good to be home.”



* * *



After dinner, I find Akio outside. The sun is setting, and everything is cast in burnt oranges and blazing reds. Other guards mill around, and my father is in his office. If he glances out his window, he might see me. Better be quick.

I step carefully to him, note in hand, heart beating against my rib cage like a panicked bird. “Akio,” I call out, and he turns.

“I think you dropped this earlier.” My hand stretches out and he plucks the folded note from me.

At first, he frowns. But then he smiles, understanding. He inclines his head. My stomach tumbles. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

I skip away toward the front door and turn at the last minute, in time to see Akio unfold the note and smile so fully it takes over his entire face.

Now I understand

How lonely the sun must be

The unending job

To rise again and again

Setting fire to all it sees





24


A few days later, I’m on my way to an official appearance at a nearby hospital. We sit in the car, Mariko rattling off instructions and bits of information. “Princesses Akiko and Noriko will be there,” she says.

Tokyo whips by. Since it’s an official imperial visit, the stoplights have been programmed. No red lights. No breaks for me. I can’t seem to catch my breath. It doesn’t help to know my cousins will be present. Every story needs a villain. I just wish mine didn’t come in double.

“Their mother was supposed to attend. She’s an honorary member of the board. But she is … indisposed,” Mariko says carefully.

No need to say more. Princess Midori has been bludgeoned in the press. Once a famous soap opera actress, she struggles now with her role as princess—the expectations are too much. The Imperial Household Agency calls it an “adjustment disorder.”

“Ah, sō desu ka,” I say. Yes, I see.

Mariko calms a little at my use of Japanese. “Your accent is improving.”

“Arigatō,” I reply.

It only takes a second or two for her to wind back up again. “You’ll cut the ribbon with the twins, then tour the new maternity ward while handing out blankets to the new mothers and babies. Remember to keep your hands still. No picking at your nails.” Mariko nibbles on her lip. “I confirmed the color of the ribbon, white. The carpet will be blue. Nothing should clash with your outfit.” I’m wearing an orange dress and cream pillbox hat. “Perhaps we should practice waving again?”

This conversation is doing my head in. “Mariko.” I frown at her.

Her frown equals mine. “Izumi-sama.”