by Erin Hayes
I slap the pen down on my clipboard and paste a fake smile on my face.
“You did that at our session last week, too,” Phillip says. “Look, whatever is happening to you, figure it out. Because you deserve to be happy, too.”
No, I don’t. I’ve believed that for years now. Even beyond that happened with Lex, I’ve done horrible things. I should have been there when my mother died. I should have stayed and helped Henry to get past it. So much could have been different if only I’d just gotten my head out of my own arse.
In fact, after all that, I’m surprised Henry is willing to speak to me these days.
I give Phillip a placid smile. “Thank you for your concern.”
He sighs with a groan. “And there you go, clamming up again, dammit.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? There’s nothing I can do to change the past. There’s nothing I can do to fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to change the past, Ferdinand,” Phillip tells me, leveling me with his gaze. “I’m asking you to be happy in the present. When was the last time you were truly happy?”
I clear my throat, considering his question. I’m not sure I know the answer to it. And even if I did, what good would that do?
Still, though, I find myself saying, “A little over fifteen years ago.”
My mind grinds to a halt. Because I do the math and realize that the fifteenth anniversary of losing our baby and Lex ending everything with me is coming up in a few days. No wonder I’ve been so scattered, even taking my new niece into account. Every year, I’ve celebrated that anniversary in my own swirl of sorrow. Regardless of what I did to forget it, my body knew.
Just like my body knows now.
It was the death of a happier future.
“And what were you doing ‘a little over fifteen years ago?’” Phillip asks me, bringing me back to the present. “Where were you?”
That is something I can answer without raising too many questions. “Tokyo.” I comb a hand through my hair. “I was in Tokyo.”
He blinks in surprise. “Interesting,” he says. “Well, Ferdinand, as your unofficial shrink, I think you need to find happiness again. And perhaps, go back to Tokyo to remember what it was like.”
Going back to Tokyo wouldn’t bring Lex or my baby back. But, perhaps there is some wisdom in his words. Phillip can be arrogant sometimes. Stuck-up.
But sometimes he’s right.
Like right now.
“I’ll think about it.”
Perhaps a holiday back to Japan would do my heart some good. I can’t think of any place more different to Mediterranean Dubreva right now than Tokyo. It was why Lex and I had gone there in the first place. We did it to get lost in a world completely unlike ours.
I think it would be good for me now.
“You do that,” Phillip says with a smug smile. He holds out his hand. “Now that will be two hundred-fifty euros for Dr. Phillip.”
Eric is being too damn precious about his private jet.
I rub at the space between my eyebrows, which is sore due to the headache I'm getting. Arguing with him tends to cause massive headaches. "Just let me borrow the damn thing, Eric."
My cousin shakes his head. "No."
"No?"
"That jet is like my baby," he says. "And if you take it out for a spin, how do I know that you won't crash it? Or at least scuff it up like you did last time? I still haven't forgiven you for taking it, by the way."
That last time he's talking about was with Lex when we flew to Japan. He’s refused to let me within a hundred meters of it ever since.
I cross my arms and give him an unimpressed look. "Those were...extenuating circumstances," I tell him. “And that was your family’s jet, not yours. Different planes.”
He snickers, totally misinterpreting my reasons for wanting to fly his plane when I was eighteen years old. We all thought with our dicks back then. Well, most of us. I'd been in love with Alexandra from the time I was fifteen. "I'll bet those were extenuating circumstances," he mutters. "Why don't you just buy yourself a private jet? You have the money for it."
I frown. "It's superfluous to have this many private jets in a single country. It's not like we couldn't do more meaningful things with that kind of money. You can take a break from jet-setting and flying around the world to let your beloved cousin go on a sabbatical."
Shit, I said too much, because he gives me a scrutinizing look.
"A sabbatical? What from?"
I rub at my temples again. "Nothing. It's private."
My cousin narrows his eyes, and I wish it weren't a crime to punch the crown prince of Dubreva to get his head screwed on straight. It should be my right, being his older cousin. Eric is a good guy, but sometimes, he's just a little too proud and full of himself.
And I recognize that trait, because I have a lot of it in myself. I'd be a shitty therapist if I didn't notice the same flaws within myself.
"Look, which one of us has been in the military?" I ask him, to appeal to his better senses.
His lips press together in a firm line. "We both were."
Fuck. That's right. I keep forgetting that while I had been stationed far away from Dubreva to escape the ghosts of my past, my brother's and my cousins' lives still moved forward. Eric was in the Dubrevian Air Force as long as me, but I used the intense training and combat situations to try to take my mind off everything. That took much longer than I had anticipated before I could face everyone again. So there are gaps in my memory about my family's lives and what they did during that time.
There's that sensation of an aching hole in my chest again, the one that hasn't really been filled in fifteen years.
"I'm five years older than you," I tell him. "I cleaned out your nappies."
He looks aghast. "Did not."
I nod, secretly glad that I could still rile him up. "Did too. And when I'm asking you a favor like this, Eric, please know that I have a good reason for it."
I have to get to Japan without being noticed. This is a private thing that I need to do for myself, and I don’t want the news outlets to pick up my presence. Dubreva is more prominent in the media these days, as opposed to when Lex and I went there, so I have a much higher chance of being recognized.
Using Eric’s private jet will allow me to sneak in with relative anonymity.
“Hey, Ferdie,” another voice says.
My back stiffens at the nickname, and Eric gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he notices. He knows that I hate the name, even though he doesn’t know why.
Only one person can call me that.
I turn to see Cara coming up to playfully lean against Eric. Out of everyone in our family, she has probably interacted the least with me, so I can imagine that Eric told her to call me Ferdie without telling her the reason why.
“Hi, Cara.”
She looks up at Eric with a sly smile, and it strikes me just how happy my cousin is. Before he married Cara, he slept with anything that had tits. Cara really helped him to find happiness.
I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes.
“Is Eric giving you some trouble?” she says in her American accent. It’s mellowed out over the years, combining with the Dubrevian accent to create an accent all her own. I wonder if Jessica and Cat’s accents will get more of a Dubrevian lilt to it after a time.
“He’s not letting me take his private jet to Japan.” I cross my arms. “I just need it for a couple of weeks.”
Cara rolls her eyes. “Eric…” She gives him a playful slap on the chest. “Give him the damn jet.”
And I like her even more now.
Eric’s face falls into a frown as he digests her demand, and his eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “What?”
“You’re not using it. We don’t have plans to go anywhere for a bit.” Cara glances back at me. “And it’s a waste just letting it sit there for the next five months.”
That makes me frown now. “Is ther
e something I don’t know?”
Cara and Eric exchange a look, a conversation passing between them. Finally, Eric looks back at me. “Cara can’t travel because she has gestational diabetes, and her doctor wants her to stay in the country.”
He watches me curiously as it takes a while to dawn on me. “You’re pregnant, Cara?”
She blushes adorably and nods. Her fingers entwine in Eric’s and give them a squeeze.
I blink rapidly. “What? Why?” I fumble for words. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or…anyone?”
Cara shrugs. “With Cat having the royal family’s first child, I didn’t want to steal any of the limelight.”
“But this…” I step forward. “This child would be the third in line to the throne in Dubreva!”
Eric puts a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Exactly.”
How could they have been able to keep this from the media? Even looking at Cara and knowing that she’s four months pregnant, I still can’t spy a bump on her slim frame. And thinking of Eric as a father is something that I had never even considered. I can imagine Cara being a good parent. Eric...not so much.
But that may be my bias against my cousin. I have to give him a hard time.
“Congratulations,” I say. “I really mean it. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Cara beams as Eric rubs her upper arm. A lump forms in my throat as the shock has slightly worn off, and I’m left thinking about my own past.
Henry’s baby was first. And it seems like the rest of the couples in my family will be starting families of their own soon. Everyone except me.
Goddammit, I need this trip. And possibly to see a therapist.
Cara seems to catch on to my mood. “Let him take the jet, Eric,” she tells her husband. She winks at me. “He’s a better pilot than you, anyway.”
At first, it appears as though Eric is having trouble reconciling this change in the conversation. His mouth twists into a frown as he looks at Cara. Finally, he sighs. “Fine. Take it. But if you come back and there’s a scratch on my jet—”
“Yes, yes,” I groan. “You realize you sound spoiled, right?”
He shrugs. “Well...yeah. We’re billionaire princes. And you need to get your own private jet.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Not when I can borrow yours.”
6
Alexandra
My plane touches down in a different country, a different continent, and I think I’m about to puke from my nerves. The woman next to me doesn’t speak a word of English, but she smiles and pats my hand warmly.
I wish I felt the same.
I step off the airplane in Narita and take a deep, cleansing breath, letting it fill my lungs.
I exhale, getting rid of some of the tension that I’ve been carrying with me ever since I set foot on this Japan Airlines flight. I’m hoping my trip here will help me purge more bad memories from that time and I will finally be able to move on with my life.
This heartache that I’ve been carrying with me is just too much to bear all this time.
I just had to travel halfway around the world to do it.
“I can do this,” I murmur to myself. I shoulder my handbag and pull my suitcase with me that I picked up from the baggage claim. I clutch my diplomatic passport to my chest, along with my customs declaration. “I can do this.”
I go through customs, which is a fairly quick process for a diplomat. I hand the immigration officer my passport and my form, and I can only imagine what he sees.
Name: Ms. Alexandra Daae
Nationality: Swedish
Occupation: Diplomatic First Secretary, Swedish Embassy in Washington, D.C.
“What are you doing in Japan, Ms. Daae?” he asks me. I know it’s a casual question and not official—being a diplomat, they aren’t allowed to search me or detain me, but I still give him a smile.
“Holiday,” I lie. If you can call giving yourself a metaphorical heart transplant a holiday.
He nods, staples a slip of paper to my passport and stamps my entry. He says something to me in Japanese, and I bow my head. I should have listened more to my Japanese language tapes on the flight over here, but I ended up staring out the window the whole time, lost in thought.
So finally getting through customs—at least willing my feet to walk—feels like I’m accomplishing something.
Narita Airport feels like the last link from the familiarity of America. Every sign is foreign to me, and I pass by shops and restaurants with little displays of plastic food in front of them.
But I realize one thing, even as I’m spending my first hour at the airport: I’ve missed this country. I’ve missed the sense of adventure that I felt here. Granted, I was here with Ferdie the last time. And this was where he proposed to me...
“Daae-san?”
I blink and look up to see a man dressed in a suit, holding a sign that has my name scrawled across it. Somehow, I’ve made it to ground transportation, and I’ve met my ride. I’ve been so absorbed in my own thoughts, I nearly forgot about my ride to the city.
“That’s me,” I say, giving him a smile as I bow my head. I can’t help but feel some guilt about the taxi driver from when Ferdie and I were here. He was so angry that night.
This limo driver looks delighted that I’m his passenger and tucks the sign under his arm. “I am Watanabe. I am to drive you to your hotel, Daae-san.”
I fight the urge to tell him to call me Alexandra. As a diplomat, I’ve adapted to many different cultures. Japan is about as far as one can get from America when it comes to traditions, but that’s exactly why I’m here.
Japan is entirely alien, and even though I’ve been here once before, everything feels both fresh and different at the same time. Like sensory overload. I hope it can shock my system and get me out of this depression.
I follow Watanabe to his Mercedes Benz, watching curiously as he pulls on white gloves. He puts my luggage in the boot of the car before opening the door for me. I slip inside and lean my head against the headrest, taking a long, deep breath.
A few seconds later, he gets into the driver’s seat, and I’m momentarily disoriented before I remember that the Japanese drive on the other side of the road. No matter how many times I go to England or Australia or any Commonwealth country, it still takes my mind a few days to re-orient itself and get used to seeing cars on the opposite side.
They drive on the right side of the road in Dubreva. I banish that thought, though.
Watanabe meets my eyes in the mirror and gives a nod. He turns on the car, pulls away, and we’re traveling down the Japanese motorway from Narita to Tokyo.
I look out the window at the lush landscapes. Narita is fairly isolated compared to the rest of Tokyo. And with every kilometer, the houses grow closer together and taller. I start to see more evidence of the Tokyo I remember. It will probably take us three hours to get to the Shangri-La, and the limo ride is an expense I shouldn’t have taken, but I wanted to use this time to center myself and meditate.
Watanabe glances in the mirror at times, watching me, and I wonder what he sees. Does he see a thirty-something-year-old woman who has lived a jet-setting life and is successful in every way but one? That she can’t get over a mistake she made fifteen years ago?
No, probably not. He probably just sees me as Alexandra Daae.
After a while, I hate being lost in my own thoughts, so I try to strike up a conversation with Watanabe. For all James thinks that I’m some sort of political and social protege, I can’t stand to be alone with my thoughts for too long. Even during a three-hour drive.
“How long have you been a driver?” I ask.
Watanabe glances in the mirror again, looking surprised that I asked him a question. “Oh.” He lets out a chuckle. “Most of my life.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You like it? Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes,” he says. “There are many, many interesting people who come to Japan.” There’s another flick of h
is eyes to the mirror, this time more curious. “First time in Japan?”
I knew I’d probably get this question, innocuous as it is. I thought I steeled myself for it, but it knocks the wind out of me. I wet my lips and sigh.
“I’ve been before.” Best to keep it vague.
Yet Watanabe meets my eyes in the mirror again, this time, a huge grin on his face. “You must have liked it to be back.”
I hesitate before nodding. “Yes. I had a wonderful time here.”
I turn away from his eyes and look out the window at the congestion of buildings and cars and people. We’re getting close to the center of Tokyo.
I hope Watanabe doesn’t see the single tear that I brush away from my cheek.
The Shangri-La Hotel is the epitome of luxury. I didn’t have to book such an expensive, high-end hotel, but I figure if I am here, I’m going to indulge a little bit. Ferdinand and I had stayed at a far cheaper hotel the last time and I always wanted to stay here. Maybe it’s too much, but I want this out of my system, after all.
And that means doing it right, in my opinion.
The hotel clerk at the front desk immediately recognizes me by name and calls over two bellhops to take my luggage up to my suite, an Executive Suite on the 34th floor. The clerk is sure to tell me that I have access to a private club and concierge service, as well as free meals.
Now I really wonder if I did end up spending too much on this trip. The lobby looks like something out of a movie, something like where billionaire princes stay when they travel.
I force the mental image of Ferdinand from my mind.
Yet, as the bellhop opens the door, and I step into the opulence of the Executive Suite to see the glittering metropolis of Tokyo spread out before me, I can’t help but feel as though I made the right choice.
