Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be flying into Japan on a private jet beside Travis Javierres two months after our marriage, about to meet an actual Imperial Crown Prince, I would've laughed. Loud. Probably snorted my coffee.

But here I was—36,000 feet in the air, halfway between Manila and Tokyo, staring at the in-flight menu like it held answers to the meaning of life.

"Do you want miso soup or wagyu?" the attendant asked politely, bowing like I was more important than I actually felt.

I squinted at her, then at Travis, who was, of course, already working. "Do I look like I'm emotionally prepared for wagyu at ten in the morning?"

Travis didn't glance up from his laptop. "Correct."

I groaned, dropping the menu onto my lap. "I hate you."

His lips twitched. Barely. "Miso, then."

The attendant smiled, bowed again, and disappeared.

I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. The leather was buttery-soft, the cabin silent except for the faint hum of the engines, and across from me sat the man who somehow turned my life upside down with a glowing dragon tattoo and three words: You saw it.

And now, apparently, he was dragging me into international royalty-level business.

I kicked his foot under the table. "Hey."

He didn't look up. "Hm?"

"Are you seriously not nervous? You're about to meet Japan's Crown Prince. Like... actual Imperial bloodline. Chrysanthemum Throne. History that stretches back longer than our family drama."

"Prepared."

"Prepared," I echoed, rolling my eyes. "Of course you're prepared. You probably have his favorite tea memorized. Meanwhile, I'm over here panicking because what if I bow wrong? What if I sneeze in his face? What if I—oh, I don't know—accidentally blurt out that his palace looks like a Studio Ghibli set?"

This time, he looked up. His gaze was calm, steady, unreadable. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Say that."

I gasped dramatically. "You mean the palace won't look like a Studio Ghibli set?"

Silence.

I leaned closer, smirking. "You're picturing Totoro by the Imperial gates, aren't you?"

His mouth twitched again. Victory.

The soup arrived. I slurped it while watching him work—his fingers flying across the keyboard, his posture perfect, his attention razor-sharp.

"This is insane," I muttered into my bowl.

"What is?"

"Me. Here. Doing this. I mean—look at me." I waved a hand at my silk blouse and tailored slacks. "I used to spend my mornings memorizing scripts or dodging paparazzi outside my condo. Now I'm on a jet, being flown to Tokyo to... what? Smile at an Imperial Crown Prince while you buy a hotel?"

His eyes flicked to me. "Correct."

I groaned again. "God, you're impossible."

But the truth was, my chest buzzed with something I couldn't quite name. Anxiety, sure. But also... excitement.

The descent into Tokyo was smooth, the city sprawling beneath us like neon veins pulsing with life. Even from the air, Tokyo was a contradiction—glass towers piercing the sky while tiny temples nestled quietly between them, bullet trains zipping past rivers that had seen centuries of history.