I scroll further to see the reporter’s key pieces of “evidence”: photographs of teenage Grace holding baby me and the photos of young Grace and Auntie Suzy.
The photos I thought I’d lost. The photos I apparently did lose, only to see them turn up . . . here.
My body goes numb. My mind turns blank.
What do I do?
What do I even . . .
Adrenaline kicks in, forcing me to pull myself into a sitting position and scrabble around on the floor for my clothes. I can’t think, and my breath is coming and going in short little gasps.
I have to . . . I have to . . . I can’t . . .
How could I be so foolish? Why did I ever think this would end any other way for me? How did I ever believe anything resembling a happy ending was possible?
All these years, I’ve been trying to make myself small, to hide, to not stick out the way I naturally do . . . and now that’s all been blown apart by a single breathless headline.
This could destroy my family; the brunt of the scandal will land squarely on them. Anyone who’s ever been looking for a reason to toss all of us out of the community has it now, plastered in big block letters across the internet.
So many things are about to be destroyed, all because of me. All that hard work Auntie Suzy and Auntie Och have put into the restaurant for so many years, all the passion Belle’s put into being crowned Nikkei Week queen, the one thing she’s wanted forever . . . and Henry . . . Henry just landed the most important role of his career, may be about to get everything he wants and deserves . . . and that could be destroyed by this scandal, too.
I’m not a princess, about to float on dreamy clouds to her happy ending. I don’t know how I tricked myself into thinking I was anything other than a SECRET LOVE CHILD.
“Mmm?” Henry stirs behind me. His arm is still kind of draped over my waist, even though I’m sitting up, trying to pull my shirt over my head. “Rika?” he murmurs, utterly confused. “What are you doing?”
I shake my head, unable to string two words together. I don’t know where to even begin, so I hand him my phone and continue scrambling to get my shirt onto my body.
“What is this?” Henry says, sounding more awake now. He sits up, and I scootch a little to the left so we’re sitting side by side in the back seat.
“What does it look like?” I manage, my voice cracking on the last word. “I have to go.”
I finally manage to get my shirt on and shimmy into my shorts. Then I throw open the door, preparing to eject myself.
“Wait!” Henry cries, swiveling toward me. “What are you doing?!”
“I just said I had to go,” I snap. “So I’m going.”
“Not like this,” he fires back, shaking his head vehemently. “Try to calm down, breathe—”
“I don’t want to calm down,” I say, a sob cutting through my words. I don’t even feel any tears, just this rising panic in my chest. Like I’m about to explode.
“I know, I get it—” he begins.
“No, you don’t!”
“Okay, maybe I don’t understand exactly,” he says, holding up his hands. Somehow, his tone is perfectly even. How can it be even? How can he be so calm? “But let’s talk about this. Let me take you home and—”
“No.” It comes out in a roar, my temper bursting to the surface. The fire, the rage, is consuming my entire body, and I can’t stop it. It burns through me, obliterating all that’s in its path. If I don’t catapult myself away from him, it will destroy everything. “Just . . . stop,” I say, my voice ragged. “Stop being so calm and stop trying to get me to be calm—”
“I’m just trying to—”
“Didn’t you hear me? Stop trying.” I snatch my phone away from him. “Do you not get how serious this is?”
“Of course I do,” he says, his brows drawing together. “But—”
“Because it’s also serious for you,” I barrel on. “You just landed this incredible part that you wanted so badly, you’re on the verge of finally being taken seriously, and now you’re associated with this big, gossipy, trashy scandal. You’re associated with me. The secret love child.”
I grab my shoes and my giant Cinderella dress. I don’t even know where I’m going. I just know I have to get out.
“Rika.”
I heave myself out of the car, not listening. He follows me, somehow managing to haphazardly yank on his jeans. Then he tries to grab my hand, but I pull away.
“Will you please just . . . stop for a minute,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “Listen to me, we’re in this together—”
“We’re not together,” I snarl, crumpling all that tulle against my chest. It scratches my skin, aggravating me even further. My kaiju-temper is roaring now, smashing anything that gets in its way with giant fists. “I don’t know why you would even want that. This could ruin your career. It could ruin everything—”
“I don’t care!” he bellows.
My mouth snaps shut. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Henry Chen yell before.
“I don’t care about that,” he says, taking a step toward me. “How could I care about that more than I care about you?”
“Because you should,” I spit out.
He shakes his head, his face overtaken with disbelief. “Why do you make it so hard for people to love you?”
I clutch my dress tightly, the tulle scratching even more aggressively against my arms. “What?” It comes out as the most pathetic of whispers.
He takes another step toward me. I can’t seem to stop trembling, even though the summer sun is already on full blast. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run. Somehow I can’t do any of those things.
He meets my gaze, so earnest and open. Just like he always is.
“I love you,” he says, his voice strong and sure in a way that touches something deep inside of me. “And I won’t let
