Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(59)
I eye her warily. Wish I had x-ray vision. What’s behind her back? Another schedule? More gloves to fit? “I’m super tired.”
“This will only take a moment. I promise.” She drops her voice to a highly persuasive purr.
After a moment, I ease the door open and she ducks in. The door slides closed with a click. Mariko walks the perimeter of the room, positioning herself in a way that I can’t see what she is holding. “Papers don’t come out tomorrow, but there’s been quite a bit of chatter online about your hospital visit.”
My stomach churns. “Do I need to sit down for this?” My father’s disappointment after the wedding comes back to me.
“Maybe.”
“Mariko.” My voice carries a warning tone.
“Fine,” she says and whips a piece of paper from behind her back. She hands it to me. It’s a printed news article from The Tokyo Tattler. “I sneaked it in.”
There’s a picture of me cutting the ribbon, then another of me thrown over the newborn bassinet, Akio against my back. Still can’t tell if it’s good or bad. Based on Mariko’s enthusiasm, it’s probably okay. “This will take me a bit to translate.”
Mariko makes an exasperated sound. “I’ll read it to you.” She plucks the paper from my hands. “Her Imperial Highness Princess Izumi attended the Tokyo Metropolitan Children’s Medical Center’s new maternity ward today. It hallmarked the princess’s first event since returning from holiday in Kyoto.” She goes on, breathless. “Joined by Their Imperial Highnesses Princesses Akiko and Noriko, the new princess cut the ribbon on behalf of the imperial family. She sported a lovely orange A-line dress.” Mariko grins at me, proud of her outfit choice. She focuses back on the article. “A bit of excitement happened during the tour of the maternity ward. While handing out teddy bears and blankets, a new sleep-deprived father tripped over a cart and sent it clattering. ‘I thought it was gunfire! It was very scary,’ Sadako Oyami, our own Tokyo Tattler reporter on the scene, said. ‘Everyone ducked for cover,’ she explains. Everyone except for the HIH Princess Izumi, who threw herself over a newborn baby, protecting him.” Mariko waits a beat. Beams at me.
I do need to sit now. I stumble back until I find the edge of the bed and slump down.
She clears her throat, continuing. “Careless of her own life, the princess sought to protect the precious new life first. This is in contrast to her cousins, Princesses Akiko and Noriko, who shoved their imperial guards in front of them.” Mariko stops and takes one overexcited breath. Her cheeks are flushed. She is dreamy-eyed. This is what gets her excited. Good to know. “They compare you to the empress after the 1923 earthquake!” The empress rolled up her sleeves and laid bricks for a new school. She refused to leave until the town was fed, the children safe. There is a famous picture of her hugging a mother who lost her son, both of their cheeks coated in dust. “They end with calling you our very own royal.”
Words fail me. Mariko seems to know I need a private moment. She places the article in my lap, then glides out the door. When she’s gone, I pick it up. I rub my thumb over the last sentence of the article. It’s not the royal part that warms me. No, it’s the other two words. Very own, it says. Very own. Yes. That’s me. A true daughter of Japan.
25
Once upon a time, shoguns ruled Japan. A rigid hierarchical society was established, lasting for two and a half centuries. Tokugawa, the last shogun, fell in 1868, when two powerful clans (whose names I don’t remember) joined forces and seized control. They placed the emperor back in power and threw open the borders. It was the end of feudalism. The class system was abolished. Modern Japan emerged. The country transformed into a world power.
I’m standing in the new imperial palace built on top of Edo Castle, the former seat of the Tokugawa shogunate. In fact, the buildings have been burned and rebuilt a few times. Under my feet, there have been births, deaths, and coronations. Wars have been waged, lost, and won. All of it happened inside this whirlpool design of a citadel.
“Maybe one by the windows?” the imperial photographer asks me, voice echoing. The room we’re in is usually reserved for state dinners, but today it is vast and empty.
I adjust the hemline of my Hanae Mori gown—cherry blossom pink with a floral motif and chiffon sleeves—and step to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, into the sunlight. I stare out the window while the photographer captures my profile. Crowds are already gathering outside. They’ve come to celebrate the emperor’s birthday, a national holiday. Businesses are closed. The palace grounds are open to the public.
Snap. Flash. “Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll confer with Mr. Fuchigami, but I believe I have everything I need.”
I incline my head to the photographer. One of these pictures will become my royal photograph. Whenever I see it, I will always remember how it was taken a few minutes before I met my grandparents. I’ve officially arrived. My father is with the emperor and empress already. Now, I wait in the antechamber for him to fetch me. The photographer leaves. Akio enters.
He checks his watch. “A few more minutes.” Before I meet my grandparents, he means.
I worry my lip. “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. Do I look okay?” I ask. “Nothing embarrassing like toilet paper on my shoe or food in my teeth?” I flash him my pearly whites. Please don’t let there be anything in my teeth.