The Royal Treatment: A Billionaire Prince Romance

by Erin Hayes

  I avert my eyes and look down at my empty cup. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “She was sad, yes. But putting out a Jizo statue helped give her peace of mind. It’s not necessarily a sad thing here. It is a way of honoring our loved ones.” She tries to pour another cup from the carafe, but we’ve drank our sake down to a trickle. “I think you came to Japan to find an answer. A reason why this happened.” She eyes me. “And this may be what you need.”

  I stare down at my empty cup, wondering if doing that would help. I think of the heartbreaking number of statues that I saw at the temple earlier today, at how some of them are faded from the elements and others are kept pristine, like someone still comes by. They are like little grave markers for children that don’t tend to be remembered.

  And I still remember everything. I may not be here to tend to the statue, but, maybe...maybe just showing that I do care and that I forgive myself for the choices I made in those days can help me process this.

  And maybe fully heal.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “Yes,” I whisper softly. “That may be a good thing.”

  Sachiko beams at me. “This will help. And then you can have a good future ahead with your senator.”

  I lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling as it slowly turns above me. I’ve never drank so much before and not felt tired one bit.

  It must be from the time zone change. Yet I can’t stop thinking about what Sachiko and I talked about tonight. She’s coming to join me in the morning, and we’re going to go back to Zojoji Temple to set up my statue in the Mizuko Kuyo ceremony.

  It feels weird, the thought of putting a marker out there for the world. The secret that I’ve kept hidden for the past fifteen years will have a physical presence now. And while no one may know about the significance of my own personal Jizo statue, I’ll know that it’s there.

  And hopefully, my unborn child will know that I never forgot her.

  I sigh and throw the covers off. It may be three in the morning in Japan, but I’m going to call James. I’m too drunk to do the math, but I do know that it’s morning in Salem, Oregon. Picking up my phone, I see that my app tells me that it’s actually 11am.

  Perfect timing. I need to hear James’s voice, something that grounds me in the present, rather than the past.

  So I call him.

  He picks up after the second ring.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he croons in my ear, and I can’t believe how much I’ve missed his American accent. It’s a little slice of home and being in a foreign country makes me homesick for the country that I’ve called home for the past ten years. “What are you doing up? Isn’t it like three a.m. your time?”

  “Yep.” I sit up and fluff the pillows behind me. “Miss you, lovely.” He doesn’t know how much. Not by a long shot.

  He chuckles lightly. “Have you been drinking?”

  I smile, despite the fact that he can’t see it. “Yep. Sachiko got some good sake, and we talked about…” I gulp back the lump that’s there in my throat because I’ve almost blurted out too much, “a lot of things.”

  “Good. You’ve been working so hard; you needed a break.” He sounds amused, but there’s a muffled pause as he talks to someone on his end of the line. Then I hear his breath, like he’s just turned back to the phone. “How is work going, by the way?”

  “Work?” Shit, I told him that I’m here on a work trip, didn’t I? “It’s been fine. Just busy.”

  “Well, take the time you need,” he says, like the wonderful fiancé he is. “And don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

  “I will,” I promise him. Then I open my mouth, about to tell him everything. What I’m doing tomorrow, why I’m doing it, and my past. And then I shut it. That’s a conversation to have in person. Not over the phone. And suddenly, I don’t know why I’ve called him up. “You need to follow your own advice, okay?”

  “You know I am,” he says warmly. “And I’ll see you when you’re back in the States. Any idea when that is?”

  “Not yet,” I say. “But you’ll be the first to know as soon as I get everything done.”

  “Okay.” More murmurs on the other end of his phone. “Alex, I have to go. Is there anything else you needed?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “All right, well, I love you.”

  He hangs up before I realize that I didn’t get a chance to tell him that I love him back.

  And as I turn off my phone and try to lie back down, I realize that I’m not that bothered by it. In fact, the only thing I’m bothered about is the fact that I’m not bothered.

  “Alexandra,” I say to myself, shaking my head, “you’re all sorts of fucked up.”

  11

  Ferdinand

  Jet lag is killer. Or maybe I’m too wrapped up in my own depressive thoughts on this anniversary to really feel the energy that I need to get myself going the next morning.

  I just lie in this big empty bed in the Presidential Suite at the Ritz Carlton as the sun rises over Tokyo. I’m such a walking stereotype. A sad little rich prince goes to a faraway country and stays in the most expensive room in the most prestigious hotel in the country. I could have gone a little less flashy.

  I also should have stayed home, which I regret now.

  It just feels like I’m all alone at the top of the world.

  What am I supposed to do here? Maybe I had some sort of semblance of an idea when I left Dubreva, but right now, the emptiness that accompanies me is almost stifling. I doubt there’s much left from when Lex and I were here last. Our favorite sushi shops may be out of business or sold. The jewelry shop where I bought her engagement ring is probably absorbed into another jewelry empire. And because we were here under the radar, I probably don’t have anyone who could even remember me.

  So what is the lesson here? That time keeps marching forward and I should fall in line, even if I don’t like the destination? Is that truly what I’m supposed to take away from this little excursion?

  I thought I’d get closure from being here, that everything would make sense. Instead, it feels like my chest has been ripped open and my innards have been gutted.

  If I were my own therapist, I’d have myself fired and sued for malpractice, like they do in America.

  Instead, the only thing I can do is blame myself.

  My alarm goes off, and since I’ve been awake this whole time, I just palm it off before lying back down and looking right up at the ceiling.

  I should really get out of here and get outside of my own mind. I’m in another country, I should get out and experience it. But everything feels like it’s so hard to do. If lifting a hand is an impossible task, how much would it take out of me to get out of bed?

  “Brush your teeth first,” I mutter to myself. “Then go from there.”

  After all, I haven’t brushed them since I left Dubreva, which has been a couple of days, at least. Some dashing Prince Charming I’m supposed to be.

  The thought of me as some sort of Disney prince with bad breath actually makes me chuckle, which gives me enough energy to finally sit up and rummage through my suitcase to find my toiletries bag. Just as I pull it out, a slip of paper slides out and lands on the floor. Puzzled, I lean forward and pick it up.

  At the top is the familiar crest of Hanover Palace. Below it, is a handwritten note.

  It’s from Mrs. Armen.

  Dear Ferdinand,

  I saw that you forgot your floss and put that in your bag. Hope you don’t mind, but you apparently need someone to look after you.

  Yet again, she proves how much of a mother figure she is for me. I chuckle softly and shake my head. What would I do without her? Then I keep reading, and by the time I finish, my hands are shaking and there’s an odd stinging in my eyes.

  I don’t pretend to know where you’re going and why, only that I know there’s been something in your past that is haunting you. Do whatever it is you need to do to be happy.

  Your brother and your cousins have
found happiness. I can only hope the same will happen for you.

  Take however long you need. Hanover Palace will be waiting for you when you come home.

  Mrs. A

  Goddammit.

  Mrs. Armen always has a way of being short and succinct with her kindness, enough for it to blindside you and leave you breathless. Just as I am now.

  I set down the letter and pinch the bridge of my nose, unable to keep it together. I’m even more alone now, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Because it all feels like a fool’s journey at this point.

  Yet, once I steady myself, I start to feel more energy and more motivation to actually do something. Mrs. Armen called Hanover Palace “home.”

  Nothing’s felt like home for a long while.

  I need to change that. Move on with my life.

  Things like that are easier to fantasize about than actually implement. But I try my damnedest to get through the next minute, the next hour, the next day.

  I can do this. If not for myself, then for Mrs. Armen. For Henry, who I let down. For Elizabeth, my niece who was the first born of my family’s line. She needs an uncle. Henry needs his brother, who wasn’t there when our mother died.

  And Mrs. Armen needs someone to fuss around about.

  I brush my teeth and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, feeling oddly touristy, like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. I check myself one last time in the mirror before I go downstairs to eat breakfast at the buffet. The server immediately recognizes me and tries to get me to go to one of the fancier restaurants within the hotel, but I kindly tell them that this is what I want.

  A nice, low-key breakfast.

  Although as I look at the options available, I realize that the Ritz Carlton’s version of low-key is anything but; they offer both a traditional Western-style breakfast and a Japanese breakfast. I just want to eat some fresh lettuce and get some greenery in me to make me feel refreshed again.

  I sit down by myself and start to chew on the food, starting to feel more and more like a human being. I take my phone out of my pocket and start to thumb through my messages. I pause at a text message from Henry, before leaving it unread. I’ll go through that guilt trip at another time. It’s three in the morning in Dubreva, and I know that there’s a possibility that Henry may still be awake with a young baby.

  Yet, despite the early hour, I take a moment and send a message to Mrs. Armen.

  Me: Thank you for the floss. I got your note. Be home soon.

  A part of me hopes that I’ll hear back, that I’ll see a response from her as a reminder that there is someone waiting for me. But I receive nothing throughout the rest of breakfast.

  I eat in silence and finish off my meal with a glass of orange juice.

  What I need to do is figure out how I can start to heal on this journey.

  Maybe a trip to see if that jewelry store is still around.

  I take one last sip of my orange juice, grab my jacket, and head out to the lobby, where the concierge wants to call a limo for me. I tell him that I’m fine and I don’t need a limo. He seems perplexed that I would turn it down, but I really just need a ride on the train to Harajuku.

  That’s the thing—after fifteen years, I remember that the store was in Harajuku, but I don’t know exactly where it is or what it’s called. If it’s even called the same name.

  Funny how time wipes away the finer details of our memories.

  Fortunately, I still remember how to take the subways, a throwback to my first visit here. As expected for a weekday, the train is packed, and I stand the entire way, watching as the buildings rush by in quick succession.

  Tokyo is enormous. I forgot the sheer scale of the city and how many people here are living their lives. It makes my own problems seem tiny and insignificant by comparison, that so many people keep going, despite whatever happens to me.

  I hear a giggle, and I look up to see a group of teenage boys sitting together. They’re all in their school uniforms, talking to each other in Japanese. There’s one boy who is sitting by himself, apart from the chatter of the others, and his nose is buried in a manga magazine.

  Then, as if sensing my eyes on him, he looks up and our eyes meet.

  It strikes me that this boy and his classmates are about the age that my child would be if she had lived. It hits me like a blow to my gut, and all the air escapes my lungs as I hold onto the wrist straps on the train.

  I avert my eyes, hoping that the student doesn’t think I’m some sort of...pervert. That’s a way to ruin a vacation, to be accused of something like that.

  By the time I get off at Harajuku station, I’m relieved to be off the train.

  I wander through the streets of the Harajuku district, flashes of my memories coming back to me as I catch glimpses of buildings and structures that look somewhat familiar, like a dream I’m trying to hold onto. Lex and I had been here at night, so of course everything looks different in the daytime. And it’s been fifteen years. I wouldn’t expect it to look the same.

  But I wish there were something that looks familiar.

  We had eaten dinner. We were walking arm-in-arm when I saw the place at the end of a street.

  Problem is, there are so many streets here and so many people. I walk for a while longer and ask some of the locals in English if they know of any jewelry stores nearby. I check a few out, but none of them have that woodgrain look to their rings that the shop of my memories had.

  It’s at this moment that I realize I’m having trouble remembering what Alexandra’s engagement ring looked like. I tried to keep it for a while after she left, hoping that she would come to her senses and come back to me. When she didn’t, I threw it as far as I could out into the desert when I was stationed in Afghanistan.

  I immediately regretted it, but I never found the ring again.

  And it’s this thought that creates a knot of dread in my stomach and settles there. What other memories have I forgotten over the years? Will I eventually forget what Alexandra looked like?

  Will I forget what happiness feels like? Maybe this is what Mrs. Armen was referring to, and she knew that I had been so unhappy that it has become my usual mood. I don’t know what it is to be happy anymore. I don’t know what I want out of this life.

  I just want to go back in time and make things right. Except life doesn’t ever go that way.

  And then, as if out of the cobwebs of my memory, I’m standing in front of the store.

  I stop and stare at it, feeling my heart in my throat. There are the windows that showcase the jewelry. The magenta walls. The magenta awnings over the windows with Japanese letters scrawled across it. “Jewelry Store” is small underneath it in English, however, and I smile to myself. Whatever this place is called, I’m glad that it’s still here.

  I walk up to it and look at the windows, keeping my small grin on my face as I look down at the jewelry there.

  However, now that I’m here, I wonder what I wanted to achieve. And this is the whole problem with my trip.

  I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing here.

  I step aside as a young couple pass by me and into the shop, speaking with each other in Japanese. I peer in the window as they speak with the shopkeeper. Did Lex and I look like this that night? So young and full of life? Did we look as innocent as this couple?

  Like a stalker, I watch as they try on bracelets. I’m actually somewhat relieved that they’re not choosing an engagement ring. It seems to make our own time here that much more special.

  Fuck, I’m a sap.

  The woman notices me staring in the window and pauses, as if she’s unsure about my presence here. My cue to leave.

  I straighten up and adjust my shirt before turning away, like I’m trying to maintain my dignity and go about my business.

  I can just imagine the newspapers now. Dubreva prince caught peeping on couple. Henry would hate that.

  And now that I have that done, I’m at a loss as to what to do next. Did I get clos
ure from that?

  No, there’s still that hollowness inside me.

  Exhaustion overtakes me again. I don’t have anything else to do in Harajuku—I certainly don’t need to do any shopping or sightseeing. I think I just need to go back to my suite, crawl underneath the covers, and sleep until I feel up to doing something else.

  So I head back to the train in a daze and ride all the way back to the Ritz Carlton, feeling like a fool. What did I expect? A redo of the past fifteen years?

  At a stop, I notice a family of tourists come onto the train, a couple with their two children who look to be in primary school. My ears prick up at their Australian accents, as it reminds me of Henry, and I’m glad to be able to understand what people are saying.

  “Is it really tall?” The boy, who couldn’t have been older than eight, looks up at his dad. “Like the tallest building in the world?”

  The father chuckles. “Not quite. But Tokyo Tower is where we can get some great views of Mount Fuji.”

  “And get lunch?” the girl asks, rubbing at her eyes.

  “And get lunch,” the mother agrees.

  Yet, as they speak, I start running that thought through my mind. The Tokyo Tower is an Eiffel Tower-inspired tourist attraction that overlooks the city, featured in almost every movie and show that comes out of Japan. Alexandra and I had wanted to go there when we were here but didn’t get a chance for it.

  But the Tokyo Tower has a bit of romance to it. Like the Empire State Building in Sleepless in Seattle. And suddenly, I feel like I have enough energy, at least for that.

  Especially as it’s near my hotel. I guess I didn’t notice how close it is last night.

  “Excuse me,” I ask them. “Is the Tokyo Tower on this line?”

  They all glance over at me. “On the Hibiya Line,” the father says. “You get off at Hibiya station and then it’s a few stops from there.”