Chapter 3
Three
The marble steps of the Japanese ambassador’s residence in Washington DC are blinding under the late-afternoon sun. I stand perfectly still, praying I don’t sweat through my makeup as my younger sister, Rei, and I wait for our car.
Rei and I are five years apart. I’m twenty-two, she’s seventeen. Physically, we look alike. She’s about two inches taller than me, standing a graceful five-six, with the same dark eyes and jet-black hair. But that’s where the similarities end.
Rei is shy and soft-spoken and prefers literature, while I’ve always been the outgoing one, far more comfortable with the logic of a calculus equation than the nuances of a poem.
I have two left feet on a dance floor; she’s a gifted swimmer who moves through water like it’s her natural element.
But despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, she remains one of my best friends.
This evening, we’re both dressed in our heavy formal silk kimonos, on our way to the state dinner with the American president at the White House. Mine is a deep-indigo, hers a soft-peach. Normally, I love any opportunity to wear it, but right now in this weather, the layers feel more like a cage.
“I don’t know how you’re going to survive living in Florida,” Rei whispers into my ear, her voice breaking through my thoughts. “It’s bad here, but TikTok says Orlando is a literal swamp. There’s huge spiders, alligators, snakes, and did I mention huge spiders?”
I suppress a shiver at the mention of spiders, one of my mortal enemies, a fact Rei knows all too well. “If you’re still trying to talk me out of moving, it isn’t going to work,” I murmur. “I’ve signed my lease and my contract with Excelsior Parks. I’m going no matter what.”
Rei wrinkles her nose. “But why? You can’t tell me it’s your dream. Because I know it’s not. If you were moving to Orlando to work for Disney, that’d be one thing, but you’re not. This isn’t you. You’ve always been dead set on London.”
“I’ve changed,” I say, though my heart stutters. “Right now, it’s important for me to pay my dues. After a couple years, I’ll have the track record and the experience to write my own ticket and go anywhere.”
“What if you had Papa make a call—”
“No.” I cross my arms. “I haven’t worked my butt off to take a handout.”
Rei sighs.
I turn slightly to study her. She’s grown so much while I’ve been away at college, but she’s still the same kid who used to sneak into my bed during a thunderstorm. “What’s the real reason you’re so upset?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she glances down at the heavy embroidered sleeve of her kimono, her fingers nervously tracing the silk. “I thought we’d be closer to one another this year,” she admits, her voice small.
A sinking feeling hits my stomach. “Please tell me you didn’t decide to study English in Wales because you thought I’d be in London this fall.”
Her shoulders slump, and the tips of her ears color pink. “Okay, I won’t.”
“Rei-chan.” I groan softly. “You can still change your mind.”
“No, I can’t,” she says, her eyes fixed on the driveway. “Everything’s been arranged.”
The sound of tires on gravel cuts our conversation short. The blacked-out SUV pulls up, the door opened by a white-gloved hand man who bows to us. “Your Highnesses.”
We slide into the car. The door slams shut and we pull away from the curb.
“You’re never stuck. You always have choices.”
She tilts her head. “Like what?”
“Admit to Papa you’ve changed your mind. Sure, it’ll ruffle a few of the Imperial Household Agency’s feathers, but they’ll smooth things over like they always do. If I were in your shoes, I’d use this as a learning opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To find your voice.” I place my hand on top of hers and squeeze it.
“We’ve been apart for the last four years while I’ve been in Massachusetts.
You didn’t just survive—you thrived. I’ve always been a call or a text away, Rei-chan.
A different time zone isn’t going to change that.
I am still your sister, even if I’m wearing steel-toed boots and a hard hat instead of a kimono. ”
Rei glances out the tinted window, watching the passing monuments of the capital blur into gray streaks.
She draws a shaky breath, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her silk sleeve.
“What if I don’t make any friends, Kaori?
What if nobody likes me? I’m not you. Speaking to people is hard.
English isn’t easy for me like it is for you. ”
So that’s it. She’s afraid.
“Do you think starting a new job and moving to a brand-new city is easy for me?” I ask softly.
She looks back at me, her eyes wide. “No?”
“Exactly. It’s terrifying. I’m moving to a place where I don’t know anyone or the area. But it’s all part of the experience. We can’t grow if we’re always comfortable.”
She returns her gaze to mine and nods, taking in what I’m saying.
“One of the best pieces of advice Papa ever gave me is that you’ll never please everyone.
If people don’t like you, you can’t dwell on it.
You can’t let their opinion become your reality.
All you can do is be yourself and hope that’s enough.
And if it isn’t? Then they weren’t your people to begin with. ”
Rei takes a deep breath. “Why do you always have to be right?”
“Because I’m older and wiser?” We giggle.
The motorcade begins to slow as we approach the security gates of the White House. The playful light in Rei’s eyes shifts, replaced by the focus we’ll need for the cameras. I reach up, smoothing a stray hair near her temple, and then check my own reflection.
The glasses are gone, replaced by contacts. I’m in a heavy layer of makeup and my hair is swept up into a functional yet elegant French twist. The only trace of Kaori Minami is the dainty diamond “K” necklace hidden under the juban of my kimono.
“Ready?” I ask.
Rei nods, her chin lifting. “Ready.”
The guests seated at the many round tables in the East Room of the White House stand. All conversation turns into a dull hush and eyes turn our direction as my father, my mother, the president, the first lady, Rei, and I enter the room.
I stand as tall as possible despite the heavy weight of the kimono and make eye contact with as many people as I can, offering them a practiced smile and a slight, measured bob of my head. It’s low enough to show respect, but high enough to maintain the dignity of my station.
Papa and the president find their seats at the head table. We sit after they do, following the etiquette that’s been etched into our bones since childhood. Chairs glide back in near unison. Napkins are lifted. Glasses are adjusted. Conversation resumes like a theater performance.
Rei and I are lucky tonight. We’re seated with the Japanese ambassador, his wife, the head curator of Japanese Art at the National Institute of Art, and the two senior senators from Hawaii and Washington. Almost everyone at this table speaks some Japanese. I won’t have to translate for Rei.
As the evening progresses, I fall into the familiar, exhausting rhythm. Smile. Nod. Listen. Respond with something open-ended. Ask questions that invite rather than challenge. Keep everything light enough to float.
“I’ve been to Kyoto several times,” the Hawaiian senator says, leaning in. “I enjoy it every time.”
“Kyoto is a wonderful place,” I reply smoothly. “There are so many things to see and experience, just like Honolulu. My sister and I were just talking about how we’d like to visit this summer. What are some of the must see and do things we should have on our list?”
“Hmm . . . that depends on how long we have.” The senator laughs.
“All night.” I smile, giving the appropriate “princess” answer.
He brightens immediately and launches into a story about hidden spots like the Ho’omaluhia Botanical Garden. I listen attentively, nodding at the right moments, and slide a quick glance toward Rei. She’s finally relaxed. Her shoulders are down, and her chopsticks move steadily. Good.
A little later, the senator from Washington turns to me, his gaze more scrutinizing. “I hear you’re a student at MIT, Your Highness?”
“Yes,” I say with a small, modest nod.
“That’s impressive. What are you studying?”
“Engineering.” I don’t add that I just graduated this past week.
His eyebrows rise. “Mm-hmm. My grandson is studying at the University of Washington. He’s majoring in aeronautical engineering.”
“He must be very smart,” I say warmly, falling back on the safe, supportive script. “That’s not an easy field by any means.”
“He is!” the senator says, delighted to have found an opening. “He gets it from me, obviously. Let me tell you all about him. Oh, and I’ll show you some pictures my daughter sent me . . .”
I listen, encourage, and gently steer the conversation back to safe ground whenever it drifts too close to anything that would require an actual opinion, or I risk breaking the illusion. Tonight, I’m a princess, not an engineer. The goal is to be seen, not heard.
By the time dessert is cleared, I’m mentally exhausted.
My facial muscles ache from maintaining the mask.
I find a moment of respite as Papa and the president rise to give their speeches about “openness and mutual friendship,” while my brain drifts off to the Atlantic coast, wondering how many fish Papa and I will catch once the world stops watching us.
When the applause fades and guests begin to stand, we make our exit.
In the car, Mama speaks in quiet tones to Rei, who is half asleep, resting her head against the window.
“You did well tonight,” my father says to me.
“It wasn’t easy,” I admit with a tired laugh. “I’m out of practice.”
Up close, the lines around his eyes are deeper than they were four years ago, etched in places no formal portrait ever shows.
“You could’ve fooled me,” he says, a small, genuine smile breaking through his own mask.
Then it fades, leaving behind the exhaustion he’s been hiding all night.
State visits are a whirlwind of event after event crammed together with little downtime or room to breathe.
By the end of it all, you need a vacation.
“I don’t know how you do it, Papa,” I say. “Being on all the time.”
He exhales slowly, the sound heavy in the quiet of the car. “It isn’t about being on, Kaori,” he says, looking out at the passing streetlights. “It’s about never being allowed to be off.”
I nod.
“There are days,” he continues, his voice low and roughened by so much conversation this evening, “when I miss being able to speak freely and sit down at a meal without wondering how it will be interpreted. But then I remember how privileged I am to be the emperor.”
I lean over and kiss my father’s cheek, the scent of his familiar cedarwood cologne cutting through the lingering smell of the White House lilies.
“I’ve never been more excited to have a few days to be able to walk beside my daughters, hold a fishing rod, and forget about everything else for a while.”
“Me too.” I rest my head on his shoulder, the heavy silk of my kimono rustling against his suit jacket. He reaches over and rubs my forearm in that rhythmic, comforting way he’s done since I was a little girl.