Chapter 16

16

Outside the New Otani Hotel is a parade of shiny luxury vehicles. Men dressed in coattails and women draped in furs alight from Jaguars, Bentleys, and Maybachs. Approximately 250 of the who’s who of Japanese society has been invited. Royal watchers have turned out in droves. Behind a barricade, they wave tiny Hinomaru flags and snap pictures of the guests.

The Imperial Rolls-Royce glides along the curb and stops. Akio steps out from the front seat, his earpiece and frown back in place. The door opens, and he extends a hand to me. I place my gloved fingers in his and let him pull me from the car. It feels like I’m in an old-world drama. It’s all so very Great Gatsby.

Cameras rise. Click. Flash. Snap.

“I don’t like how crowded it is out here,” says Akio. Imperial guards surround me. We blaze a path. No more photos for me. I am a tiny piece of silk caught in a gust of wind. We slip through glass double doors. More flashes. The doors swing shut. The crowd dims, redirecting their focus on the Tesla pulling up with a well-known movie actress inside. Outside the ballroom, a harpist plucks the wrong string, eyes wide and frightened at Akio’s I-eat-tiny-villagers approach.

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 Bösendorfer 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.

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.

“Gaijin,” Akiko spits out as I pass.

Just in case I didn’t hear it the first time, Noriko repeats it. “Gaijin.”

My cousins set me up.

Head down, I escape.