Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(76)

“We have to catch my father.” I grip on to her.

Noora clutches her keys. “Please. I’ve been waiting my entire life for this.”

Then, we’re in Noora’s car, speeding down the street and onto Mount Shasta Boulevard. Noora darts in and out of traffic.

“What are we doing? This is crazy!” Mom says. “Oh my God, Noora, if I knew you were this terrible of a driver, I never would have let Izumi in the car with you. Headlights. Please turn on your headlights.” It’s getting darker. Noora laughs and flicks on her headlights. A car lays on the horn as she passes it.

I kind of blanked out what happens next. Somehow, we jumped from point A to B, ended up near the ramp to I-5, and caught up to the imperial cavalcade. Japanese flags wave on the hood. My dad’s in there, in the middle car.

I reach over and press down on the horn. Beep. Beeeep. Beeeeep. Red and blue lights flash in Noora’s rearview mirror. Traffic slows to a near stop because of the commotion.

“Pull over, Noora,” Mom says. “We’re not breaking any more laws.”

“They’re so close,” Noora says, maneuvering the car to the shoulder. We’re just a few cars behind them. I don’t wait until Noora comes to a complete stop. I’m out the door and running into traffic, desperation in my steps. Arms out, I cry, “Wait!” A stitch forms in my side. I swear, if I make it back to the palace, I’ll start a new jogging regimen. My graduation gown flaps, my hair flying behind me. The imperial cavalcade brakes. Then a door is flung open. My father steps out. “Izumi-chan.”

I stop in front of him, put my hands on my knees. Traffic whizzes by. I hold up a finger. “Need a moment to catch my breath.”

He barks something in Japanese. A bottle of water is shoved at me. “What’s going on?” He helps me stand. “Hanako?” His attention turns to my mother, who’s walking up.

“This is a touch more dramatic than I thought it was going to be,” she says, folding a piece of hair behind her ear.

“We…” I gesture wildly between us. I say, between giant breaths, “We want to go to Japan.”

“You do?” The speeding laws we’ve violated. The traffic we’re holding up. Me nearly falling on my ass from exhaustion. Seeing my dad’s face light with joy. It’s all worth it.

“Do you have room for two more?” Mom is a little shy. We’re totally causing a scene. Imperial guards are holding back Mount Shasta police. We’ve narrowly avoided a standoff and an international incident.

Dad doesn’t seem to care. “Always,” he says. “Always.”



* * *



We decide to go home and pack a few things. Lock our doors, make sure Noora doesn’t get a ticket or jailed, that kind of thing. Dad comes with us and delays his flight.

At Redding Airfield, a small municipal airport nearby, we board a private plane. The inside is plush—white leather seats with mahogany accents, warm lighting, and tabletops with sprays of bright floral arrangements. The chamberlains sit up front, the imperial guard in the back, our little family huddled in the middle.

“You know,” Dad says as the jet ascends. “You could have just called.”

Mom stares out the window. She’s sitting next to him and hasn’t said much. She’s in a general state of shock, I think. Not sure what she’s diving into, risking it all for love. Whether it will work out. We’ll see. My own love story sure didn’t, but I have high hopes for them. I’m a sucker for romance that way.

Once we’ve cleared ten thousand feet and hit cruising altitude, the chamberlains descend. There’s much ado about our current situation. It’s decided Mom will be snuck into the palace and her visit will be kept secret. It’s what she wants. Then, I’m next on the agenda. What to do with me and how to clean up my mess are hot topics. The tabloids are still running the story of my affair. In the absence of new material, they’ve started to conjure all sorts of new outlandish stories: “Princess Izumi Pregnant with Bodyguard’s Love Child.” “Crown Prince Sent Daughter Away for Hiding Tattoos.”

The chamberlains have lots of ideas. A press conference by the Crown Prince? A strict media shutout? Deny it all, because photos can be doctored?

“If I may.” I clear my throat to be heard. There’s a stutter of excitement to my heartbeat. “I have a suggestion on what I’d like to do.”

It takes some convincing. My father is my biggest cheerleader. A plan is hatched and agreed upon. I inhale, staring out in the inky night. It’s a little intoxicating, this power. When we hit the tarmac in Japan, I’m still smiling.





36


Tōgū Palace is exactly as it was before. Mariko is reinstalled, and it’s as if I never left. God, I am blessed to have two places to call home. Mount Shasta, Tokyo—both are a part of me and not just separate pieces anymore. They’re braided together, tangled up, inseparable.

Forty-eight hours after our arrival, I’m sitting in the living room. Dad is present, but Mom is on a walk. Don’t want our visitors to see her. The room is abuzz. Chamberlains in their best suits are in varying states of worry. Imperial staff dart in and out, offering refreshments. My new guard is also present—a man with a wide jaw and a predilection for wearing sunglasses indoors, who looks as if he’s chewing wasps. Then, there is the press—Yui Sato and her photographer. Yui is the executive editor of Women Now!, a small boutique magazine with a good circulation and known for being progressive on women’s issues. This is my idea. There’s a saying: if you can’t beat them, join them. It’s unprecedented. An exclusive interview with a member of the imperial family, by a reporter outside of the elite Imperial Press Club. Mr. Fuchigami came through with a selection of women’s magazines for me to choose from, fanning them out on the dining table.