“Super spies here.” She pointed to my sisters. “Running away. Dressing up like you. Driving through the city like…like…no one leaves!”
“Oh,” I said. “They threw the paparazzi off my scent, Mama. It was helpful. I got to play a dart game and ride a rollercoaster. I had a cherry blossom milkshake.” In my excitement about my adventure, I grabbed her arm and gave it a little shake. “It was so much fun. I didn’t ride the Ferris wheel, but I will next time.”
Her gaze softened and she patted my arm. “Kumiko. There won’t be a next time, my love.”
The laugh of disbelief nearly choked me, but I kept it inside. “Okay, Mama.”
She smacked me with the back of her hand. “Don’t ‘okay, Mama,’ me. I’m the queen, and this is how it will be. The princes will be kept away—”
“Mama!” I cried out, horrified. She’d promised.
“The princes will be kept away…” She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “If you refuse to act in accordance with your station, or if you continue to put the guards and your family at risk.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” Mama took my uninjured hand in hers and stared into my face. “Your sisters sped around this city like it was a race track, for no other reason than you wanted to ride a Ferris wheel. What would have happened if they’d gotten into an accident? What if they hurt some innocent person as they returned home from work? What then?”
None of those possibilities had crossed my mind when I’d snuck out of the house to go to Suita Park. “I’m sorry.”
“You have to think about more than yourself,” Mama said. “I know your sisters have had freedom to rebel—to do those things teenage girls to—so perhaps you are rebelling now. But I will told you what I told them. You are a princess, Kumiko, and it is your job to think of Sara, and the citizens of Sara, before you think about yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
Mama sighed and let me go. “Where are you going looking like this?” She raked a gaze from the top of my head to my feet and I barely resisted the urge to adjust my clothes.
“I wanted to see the princes,” I said.
“They’re not here,” Mama said, waving her hand dismissively as if her words hadn’t rocked my world.
“They left? You said you wouldn’t send them away…” My body swayed with dizziness. For all my internal monologue about them leaving, I wasn’t prepared for it happening. I stumbled and reached for something to steady myself, knocking my broken hand in the process. A cold sweat broke out along my spine, and I locked my lips against a wave of nausea.
“They were recalled to Iriogaki for a time,” Mama said, her eyes widening with whatever she saw. Quickly, she grabbed my elbows. “They’ll return, Kumiko. It isn’t forever. Their family is as upset about what you did as we are.”
I’d gotten them in trouble?
“They promised they’d be back,” Aoi said, her voice soft. “I believe them.”
“They didn’t want to go,” Fuyumi added. “They were pretty pissed. But what could they do? They had no choice.”
“How long?” I asked, and was horrified when my voice broke.
“They didn’t say,” Miori answered. “I don’t think they knew.”
Tears threatened and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “So that’s it then.”
I turned around to go back into my room.
“You need to apologize to the guards,” my mother called to me. “And I expect you to write, or record, an apology to the city.”
“Fine,” I answered. My broken hand throbbed at the thought of picking up a pen and resentment welled inside me. I’d never been more than an afterthought and a curiosity to the people of Sara. They didn’t need me. In fact, if my misadventure had taught me anything, it was that I was a drain on this country.
The most I could do was stay inside and try not to make more of a spectacle of myself.
But I wasn’t going to do that. It’d been nice—ha, nice—it’d been everything to have the princes here, supporting me. They made me feel things.
So, fine. No ocean. No Ferris wheel, for now.
I’d had a taste of living, and I wasn’t going to give it up.
18
Reiji
“I wish you hadn’t packed the hat,” Wataru said. “It’s too recognizable.” His lips barely moved as he spoke, but I heard him clearly all the same. Cameras flashed and I blinked at the lights. From Kumiko’s house to the airport, and then from the airport to the Governor’s Estate where our families lived, the media had dogged us.
I’d put my headphones over my ears to drown out their questions, but it hadn’t done much when they’d merely lifted their voices until they were screaming at us.
How badly is the princess hurt?
Are you only interested in her dowry?
Which one of you is in love with her?
Once I’d finished throwing my temper tantrum, I’d found Aoi to ask for Kumiko’s phone number. For the length of the flight, I’d stared at the open message on my phone, trying to will the courage to send it.
Kumiko, hi. It’s Reiji. I’m sorry I had to leave. I’ve been recalled to Iriogaki and I had no choice.
It was the “no choice” part that felt like a lie. I did have a choice. All of us did, and we should have fought harder against our parents and their expectations.
“This was a mistake,” I said, earning a glare from Wataru.
“What choice did we have?” he asked before his lips thinned and he shook his head. The car went over a giant pothole and Wataru’s forehead smacked into the window. “Fuck!” He punched the window with the side of his fist as if it had jumped out of nowhere to hit him. “Everything on this island is falling apart.”
“Think this route was planned as a reminder of our duty?” Dai asked as we all bounced in our seats after hitting another hole.
“Probably,” Goro said. “It’s something my father would do.”
“And my mother,” Dai replied.
“We get there, we make our statements, buy our tickets and we’re out of here by tonight.” Wataru’s knee shook as he stared at us. He’d propped his elbow on the door and rubbed the red mark on his forehead.
The next bounce caused the hat to fly off my head and I grabbed it before one of my friends did and tossed it out the window.
The Governor’s Estate was one of the oldest buildings on our island. From a distance, the golden dome shone in the sunlight, but the closer we got, the more its age became apparent. No amount of whitewashing could hide the cracked brick exterior and dingy upper level windows.
Like everything in Iriogaki, our home had seen better days.
The car rolled to a stop and we exited only to be met with a sudden swarm of photographers and journalists shouting the same questions we’d heard at the airport. And like I had then, I ignored them until I heard this question: “How can you stand to look at her?”
I skidded to a stop and spun. The journalist who asked the question looked triumphant, smile wide and eyes gleaming with something I didn’t like.
“The princess deserves your respect,” I ground out.
Dai grasped my shoulder.
“Then how do you counter claims that the princess is a drain on already taxed Saran resources?” The man went on, “Surely the deteriorating state of Iriogaki hasn’t escaped your notice. Your little adventure cost the government more than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Are you saying the citizens of Sara should respect a person like this? Just because she is a princess?”
I saw red. “Kumiko is nothing but kind and gracious,” I somehow got out. “She is more than her face.”
Dai squeezed me and I turned my back on the man.
“So she is as ugly as they say?”
“Reiji,” Dai warned, but it was too late. I ignored him and shoved the man who’d been stupid enough to follow me.
He stumbled backward and cameras flashed until someone jerked me. I glanced over
my shoulder, expecting to see Dai, but it was my diminutive mother who stared daggers at me. “Let’s go,” she said.
Someone behind me laughed and I could only imagine what would be replaying on television tonight. The grown man who had to be held back by his mother.
My face flamed and I considered finishing what I’d started, but Mom’s nails dug into my hand in silent warning. “Let’s go,” she repeated, this time slower and through her teeth.
Goro touched my shoulder, a silent reminder to listen, and I followed her into the building. We went inside, the interior so much darker than outside that I had to stop and allow my vision to adjust.
“What the hell was that?” Goro’s father asked.
Great. All of our family waited for us. There was my mother and father, Goro’s dad, Wataru’s grandmother, parents, and Dai’s mother.
All of them were sour-faced, and all of them looked like they’d be happy to push us back out the doors and leave us to the wolves.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” my father asked. “Why in the hell wouldn’t you have told us what you planned? What were you thinking?”
There were too many questions to answer. “What do you want me to answer first?” I asked, snottily. Their attitude was not bringing out my best side.
“How about,” my mother said. “Why would you do this? You’ve made Iriogaki a laughing stock.”
“How?” I asked, genuinely wondering.
“How?” Dai’s mother asked. “You went to break the curse. It’s the biggest joke in the kingdom. Iriogaki is poor, but we have our pride.”
“Why do you think we did it?” Wataru suddenly asked. “Do you think we did it for ourselves? If we break the curse, Kumiko’s dowry comes to us!”
Wataru’s words made my throat close.
“Wataru!” Goro shoved his glasses up and got into our friend’s face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“They want to know why, and now they know.” Wataru crossed his arms, defiant, but his stare dropped to the ground momentarily. “But everything changed and we’re leaving as soon as we make the statements you want.”
“Well, that’s not going to work anymore,” Wataru’s father said. “Not after Reiji’s performance. You need to stay visible and even-tempered.”
“No,” I said and glanced at my watch. Kumiko was probably awake by now, and wondering where we were. Hopefully her sisters had explained everything, but even so, I should have sent my message to her earlier. “Tell us what you want us to do and we’ll do it. In the meantime, I think we should go home.”
“Your building is surrounded by reporters,” Wataru’s grandmother said. “You’ll have to stay here until they lose interest.”
I groaned, grabbed my hat off my head and threw it against the wall.
“Come on.” Goro pushed against my back. “The sooner they tell us what to do, the sooner we can leave.”
The next hours were a blur of meetings, all of them about fixing our “image problem.” We released a statement apologizing for misusing the protection of the royal guards and wasting money we promised to pay back with money we didn’t have.
Then there was my personal apology which would have to be issued to the reporter I pushed outside the estate. The only thing that got me through was at the end of it, I’d return to the main island and Kumiko.
Part of me knew my anxiety to get back to her didn’t match how long I’d known her, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I’d had a taste of her humor, her kindness, and her stubbornness, and I wanted more.
There was no time to send her a message and it wasn’t until I fell into bed in my childhood room that I was finally able to check my phone. When I saw the message waiting, I smiled. I should have known Kumiko wouldn’t wait.
Kumiko: I can’t believe you left without saying goodbye.
Reiji: I had a message to send you.
Kumiko: …
Reiji: I didn’t send it. I’m sorry.
Kumiko: …
I smiled. She wasn’t letting me off the hook and I was glad. After the shit storm of today, it felt good to banter, even if she was handing me my ass.
Reiji: I am so very very sorry. I should never have left without saying goodbye. None of us wanted to go.
Kumiko: I get it. Family demands. I’m not allowed out of the house. Ever. Again. Period. Exclamation point.
I chuckled. I could almost hear her mother and father’s voices in my head, but the humor quickly left me when I remembered what had happened when we left.
Reiji: How is your hand? Are you okay? In pain?
Kumiko: My hand hurts like hell. No piano for a while. How are Dai, Goro and Wataru? You’re the only one who has replied so far. I’m surprised.
She was surprised I’d replied to her? Why? It hit me—maybe Kumiko didn’t feel the same way I did. She’d texted my friends, had she been hoping to hear from one of them and was disappointed it was me? I spent so long thinking about this, my thumbs hovering above the letters, that she sent another message.
Kumiko: I mean, I’m surprised because I saw you on tv, with the reporter. I thought you’d be in the most trouble, so I checked on you with everyone. I’m relieved you replied. I don’t have to rely on anyone else telling me you’re fine.
I let out a breath.
Reiji: I’m fine. I wish I’d punched him. I guess Dai got one of the reporters at the amusement park. No fair.
Kumiko: Ha! I won’t be punching anyone for a while, but if I could, I’d have punched that guy. Oh! Now they’re answering.
I should let her go to talk to them, but I didn’t want to. I hadn’t had time alone with her, and this was an opportunity to have her undivided attention. Still—Reiji: Do you want me to leave you alone?
Kumiko: No! It’s lonely without you. I meant to tell you, I like your hat.
I busted out laughing. No one liked my hat.
Reiji: I kept your scarf. I’ll return it when I get back.
Kumiko: You can keep it. Will you be back soon, do you think?
Reiji: That’s the plan.
Kumiko: My birthday is Wednesday.
Wednesday? That wasn’t far off. I wondered if she’d ever had a celebration. Of the four of us, I liked parties and I decided I’d throw her a birthday party.
Reiji: Happy early birthday. We’ll celebrate.
Kumiko: Okay.
Her tone sounded off. Less lighthearted.
Reiji: We’ll be back before then. I’m sure of it.
Kumiko: I hope so.
Was she lonely? I pictured her, typing with one finger on her phone. Maybe that was why she was slow to respond.
Reiji: I’m going to call you.
Kumiko: You don’t have to.
Bullshit. I punched the number and waited for the call to go through. When she answered, her voice was hesitant. “Hello?”
“Hey,” I said. “Are you okay? In pain? Why are you texting with a broken hand?”
Her laugh came across the line throatier than I’d heard her before. “I’m okay. And it wasn’t easy. I hope you appreciate the effort I made.”
“I did,” I answered. “I do.”
A sigh blasted across the line. “It’s weird without you here. Feels empty.”
“We were all talking about you earlier,” I said. “How it’s felt as if we’ve known you so much longer than we have. I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t had to leave…” I thought I knew what would have happened. I thought I would have tried to kiss her.
“Would you have kissed me?” she asked. Leave it to the brave princess to lay everything on the line.
“I think I would have,” I answered. If she could be brave, so could I. “But it may have taken many kisses to break the curse.”
“Even after what you saw?” she asked, ignoring what I’d implied.
“What we saw were reflections of the worst parts of us. It wasn’t your face I saw, but my fear. My guilt. My anger. I think, when this curse is broken, you’l
l probably be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She gasped, and a second later I heard her sniffle.
“No one sees me,” she whispered.
I got it. I really did. “To hate your face is to hate myself.”
“You’re wonderful,” she cried and then groaned. “I mean—”
“Hey…” I tucked my arm beneath my head and stared up at the cracked plaster ceiling. A hundred years ago, it must have boasted a beautiful mural, but all that was left was half a cherub and some gilt. “Don’t take it back. Okay? Let me believe the girl I’m quickly becoming obsessed with thinks I’m wonderful.”
My phone beeped and I pulled it away from my ear to see a message.
Dai: Get off the phone! Other people want a turn to talk!
My phone dinged twice more.
Wataru: I’m five seconds from coming to your room. Hang. Up.
Goro: Seriously?
“The other guys are getting mad at me,” I explained. “They want to talk to you. I’ll let them know to call.”
“Each of them has tried to beep into the call at least once,” she said. “I’ll let you go.”
I sighed, turning onto my side. A wave of exhaustion hit me, but I didn’t want to hang up. “If I was there, I might ask to fall asleep next to you,” I said. She let out a tiny sigh and I could imagine her small shoulders lifting as she took a breath.
“I would let you,” she said, quietly.
Someone pounded on my door, surprising me and I scrambled to hang onto my phone.
“Reiji!” Wataru roared.
Kumiko laughed. She sounded like herself again.
“Goodnight, princess,” I said.
“Goodnight, prince,” she replied and hung up.
As I disconnected the call, I stood and stretched. Then, remembering Wataru, I opened my door. He was halfway down the hall already, phone at his ear.
“Hey,” I heard him say in a soft voice. “My turn.”
This girl was doing something to us, and fast. A strange sense of urgency built inside me. It was imperative to get our responsibilities out of the way, and get back to her.
Still exhausted, I sat at my computer and began the apology I was tasked to write. The sooner I finished, the sooner we all could leave.
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