Chapter 22

22

It’s nearing midnight and I can’t sleep, too drunk on Japanese fine dining, silk kimonos, bodyguards in my debt, and lanterns in the sky. If ever there was question that a girl could fall in love with a city, the answer is yes.

The palace is sleeping. Mariko turned in hours ago, and Reina finally put Yoshi to bed. I creep through the palace corridors, thinking about Mount Shasta and the girl I was there. How there, everything felt wrong sometimes, and how everything feels like it’s coming together here, like things are how they should be.

A light is on in the kitchen. I turn and enter. It’s modern with clean lines, but the windows and wooden beams on the ceiling are original architecture. The island lights are on. A single figure sits underneath them. I stop short. “Akio.”

He turns from his laptop and shoves himself up from his seat, legs squealing against the marble floor. His suit jacket and tie are off. His shirt sleeves are rolled up. “Izumi … I mean, Your Highness.” He reaches for his discarded coat.

I stick out a hand. “No, don’t. It’s okay.”

He hesitates, jacket bunched in his fist. I map the veins in his forearm. Watch them taper down to his wrist. After a moment, he sets the jacket down. “You’re awake.”

I shrug and step into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“In that case, join me, please.” He gestures to the island. “I have snacks.”

Ah, the real three words every girl longs to hear. I cross the room, nodding at the laptop. “Working?”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Revising the security detail. I’ve had to reorganize the schedule a bit with your cousin’s arrival.”

“Sorry about that.” I settle into a chair beside him.

His eyes rake over me from head to toe. I’m wearing his sweatshirt, the gray one he gave me after the karaoke bar. It’s only half-zipped, and underneath it is a lacy camisole. I jerk up the zipper. “So, snacks…”

Akio turns his head and swallows hard. “Right,” he says, pulling a couple of plates toward us. I recognize the confections: goma dango, small rice flour balls filled with anko, sweet red beans, and dorayaki. He did mention a sweet tooth that night in the car.

Of course, I go for the dorayaki first. I emit a little groan on the first bite. “Oh my God, I want to have this dorayaki’s babies.”

Akio clears his throat and slams his laptop shut. He’s not making eye contact. “So, what kept you up?”

I set the dorayaki down and swing my feet, hooking them on the base of the stool. “Oh, um. I was thinking about Mount Shasta. You know, my pre-princess days.”

His gaze settles on me. I pretend it’s the sugar from the dorayaki making me feel all stirred up. “What is it like, where you’re from?”

I finger the dorayaki. “It’s a pretty hip tourist spot. People like to camp in the forests during the summer and ski on the mountain in the winter. There’s literally one stoplight on Main Street.”

“Sounds nice.” His mouth is one straight, sincere line.

I straighten a bit. “It is, but…”

“Go on,” he urges.

My heart twists in my chest. “I dunno. It’s like … the thing that makes it so wonderful—the same people, the predictability—also makes it kind of awful. Like, there are these boutiques on Main Street, and they sell all sorts of tchotchkes. One in particular had a rack of little rainbow key chains with names on them. Still does to this day.” I glance at Akio. I have his full attention. “When I was eight, I wanted one so badly. It didn’t take me long to figure out my name wasn’t there. There were Carlys and Lindseys and Emilys, but no Izumis. I blamed my mom, railed at her. ‘Why couldn’t you name me Olivia or Ava?’ I hated my name. All this happened in the middle of the store. I can make a scene.” I smile wryly.

“What did your mom do?”

I slump down. “She just kind of took it. Eventually I calmed down, and in the car, my mom explained. Her parents died in a terrible car accident the summer before she left for college. She said my name was the only way she could give me a memory of where I was from. I never discussed it with her again. But I did start going by Izzy. I erased part of myself to make it easier for people, but it was also easier for me. Sometimes you just don’t want the headache, you know?”

“Honestly, I don’t. But I’m sorry.” Akio’s voice is deep and earnest. I hang my head and gaze at my lap. He places a hand over mine, curling it around my fingertips. “You shouldn’t be ashamed, though.” He quiets, squeezing my fingers before letting them go. “If I could, I would take your sorrows and bury them deep.”

I gape at him. “Do you just sit around and practice perfect things to say?”

He stares back at me, totally calm. “Yes. It’s really what all imperial guards do. We have a critique group that meets on Wednesdays. My buddy Ichiro works mostly with haiku,” he deadpans.

I smile. How many people get to see this funny side of Akio? His dry sense of humor? I think I am blessed to be one of the few.

“What a gross misuse of time,” I say.

“I’ll report your concerns to my supervisor.”

I find another grin.

“Nice to see you smile again.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Are you tired?”

“Not in the least.”

He looks over his shoulder, through the giant windows and the dark garden beyond. “My mother used to take me on walks when I couldn’t sleep. We’d count the stars. Want to try that?”

I nod and smile, playing with the hoodie’s drawstrings. “Couldn’t hurt.”

---

We steal away. A gentle breeze skirts the highest branches of the trees. It’s cool, but not too cold, dark and quiet with the occasional cricket chirp and the sound of our breaths.

A plane flies overhead, white and red lights blinking. I crane my neck. “Whenever I see an airplane, I always wonder where it’s going, who it’s carrying.”

Akio gazes up. His profile in silhouette. “That’s a commercial plane. Probably a twin-engine regional aircraft headed for Tokyo.”

I sigh. “That’s considerably less romantic than I thought.”

We resume course, traveling deeper into the garden. The palace disappears behind the tree line. “So, planes…?” I think of the model aircraft in his bedroom.

He says, “When I graduated two years ago, I decided to enlist in the Air Self-Defense Force.”

My face screws up. “Then how’d you wind up here?”

His steps slow a bit. “There was always an unspoken expectation that I would return one day and follow in my father’s footsteps as an imperial guard. My mother grew ill, forcing my father into early retirement. I did my duty.”

“That seems unfair.”

He huffs out a breath. “It feels unfair. But my parents were older when they had me. You know, the last remnants of a postwar generation, brought up to value sacrifice, discipline, and duty.”

“Whoa. Gimu. Peak Japanese.” Japanese language is subtly nuanced. There is a myriad of words to describe duty, and among them is the gimu—a lifelong obligation to family or country.

“Yes. Gimu,” Akio agrees resignedly. “My father is complicated but a good man. He loves my mother, though he shows it in strange ways. The other day I heard him demand she not die without him. We Kobayashis are anything but autocratic.” He scratches his head. “His dreams are ending while mine should be beginning.”

A bridge arches overhead. I cross my arms. “I used to think the world belonged to me. But I was wrong. I belong to the world. And sometimes … I guess sometimes, our choices have to reflect that.”

“Exactly.” Akio gives a pained sigh.

We’re on the bridge now, our steps echoing on the wide, wooden plank deck. Akio falls behind me and I drift to the edge, to the rail where the end posts are capped with upside-down bell-shaped finials. Below, the water lapses against the pebbled shore. Even in the dark, it’s a breathtaking sight. I turn to Akio and can’t help but smile. I’m still all keyed-up. He stands in the middle of the bridge, watching me. The hard line of his jaw shifts. “Izumi, come here,” he says.

I do as I’m summoned. Once in front of him, I tip my chin up. “Yes.”

“You know of gimu. But have you studied ninjō?”

It’s hard to think the way he’s looking at me. I rack my brain. “Ninjō?”

“Ninjō is human emotion, and often conflicts with gimu. A classic example is a samurai who falls for a shogun’s daughter. Bound by duty, he cannot act on his feelings.”

“Or an imperial guard who wishes to change careers but cannot out of familial obligation?” I say.

He nods and shuffles closer to me. “I have a proposition for you.”

“You do?”

“What would you say if I asked you to be Izumi? I’d be Akio. No titles. No duties.” He pauses. The muscles in his throat work. “What if we gave in to our ninjō?”

“I’d say it’s practically our duty as Japanese citizens.”

He cocks his head. “Just tonight?”

“Just tonight,” I whisper.

“All right, then.” He holds out a hand for me.

I close my fingers around his. I am breathless. The night seems blissfully endless. He uses our joined hands to pull me closer. I can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

Ever so slowly, he brings his lips to the shell of my ear. “I like you in my sweatshirt.”

“Oh?”

His hands come to my hips and slide up.

“That’s good, because I plan on keeping it,” I croak, my throat in danger of closing. Air. I need air. His fingers trace the outside of the sweatshirt, over my collarbones.

“I can’t believe I ever thought you were silly.” His thumbs caress my cheeks. “I was such a fool, I couldn’t see how wonderful you are.”

I finger the buttons on his fine shirt. I need to get something off my chest. “While we’re on the subject of past grievances, I think I ought to inform you that when I first arrived I took your headshot out of the dossier and blacked out some of your teeth.”

He chuckles but stays close, the warmth of his touch bleeding through the fabric of my clothes. We sway back and forth, dancing to the tune of the tinkling water. “Did you?”

I wince. Hide my face in his chest. “That’s not all. I also drew on a pair of penis earrings. They were really charming, actually. Dainty and classy. Not overdone at all.”

He nods sagely. “That’s good to know. Anything bigger would have been much too gaudy.”

My mouth twitches. I look up. “I’m very sorry.”

After a blistering moment of silence, he asks, “Anything else?” His eyes glitter, feverish and bright.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”

He cups my cheek. “Good. Because I’m going to kiss you now.”

Akio is a man of his word. Slowly, softly, sweetly, he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth, then the other corner. He pulls back, smiles, and lets out a breath. My heart swan dives with disappointment. “Is that all—”

He swoops down. I tighten my hold on him, understanding the term swept away. Our noses bump. Our mouths connect. I feel his stubble, the flutter of his lashes against my skin. There’s a sort of push and pull to it. He exhales, and I inhale.

The noises fade into silence. It’s just us. Izumi. Akio. One perfect evening.