A Princess for Hire Book

by Lindsey Leavitt

  “For not telling you everything.”

  “Like?”

  “Okay. Fine. You’re right.” I licked my lips. I couldn’t give her everything, but a little truth would help our relationship right now. “I like Reed. Kind of.”

  “I knew it!”

  “Well, I didn’t. Know I liked him, I mean. And I didn’t even know it was him I was liking.”

  “That makes no sense. Who did you think you were liking?”

  The Prince of Fenmar. Duh. “Um, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense! I’m an idiot and I’m so sorry and he’s totally your crush and I promise I’m not going to do anything about it, because there are far more important things to worry about.”

  “Like what?”

  Shoot. “Hmmm?”

  “What’s more important than both of us liking Reed?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said dismissively. “World peace. And our friendship! Besides, Reed and I are just friends. And we’re going to stay friends. Besides, hello, you know I’m not even allowed to date yet and—”

  “Desi!” Kylee snorted. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I was mad when you were lying, and, yeah, it hurts that you and Reed have this connection. But whatever. You can’t control that stuff. I get it. It sucks. But I get it.”

  There was silence and then a crunch on the other end of the line.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I’m eating a pear. You know they’re one of my favorite fruits.”

  “There were supposed to be grapes in there, too,” I said.

  “Already ate them.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked. “I mean, about Reed?”

  I heard her swallow. “I don’t know. It’s going to be awkward when the three of us hang out.”

  “It will be because you just said that. Anyway, the three of us never hang out. I’m only going to see Reed now because we’re both on the Winter Ball committee—”

  “No! What? When did you sign up for that? You can’t do the committee.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because I’m doing it. My parents wanted me to get involved with something other than music.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Were you going to tell me?”

  “I just did. Were you going to tell me?”

  Silence.

  “So looks like the awkward part just started now,” Kylee said. I noticed she wasn’t crunching on a pear anymore.

  Where was the magical button that turned off drama? What if I could hypnotize Kylee with my voice? Make it so soothing that she’d be lulled into a sense of peace and tranquility. So soothing that she’d listen to whatever I said.

  I cleared my throat. “It’ll be great!” I said, trying to keep my voice balanced between cheerful and crazy. The crazy won out. “Really!”

  “Oh, shut up or I’ll throw a pear at you. It will be fine. We’ll help out, hang out, and make sure nothing is weird. Besides, we might not even see each other.”

  “Right, you could, uh, help the orchestra with music things—”

  “And you and Reed can hang the mistletoe.”

  “Kylee—”

  “I’m kidding. Kind of kidding. Totally kidding.” Kylee sighed. “I’m not going to lie. It does hurt. Just don’t hide things from me anymore, okay? I’d rather hear about it from you than Celeste Juniper.”

  “Okay. And like I said, there isn’t really anything to hide. And everything is really going to be the same.” So much for soothing. How could I make Kylee believe the words when I didn’t believe them myself?

  That’s it. Magic was a waste. I was feeling gallons of empathy, and still nothing. No powers. Just stupid words. “We’re not going out, we’re just like we used to be, and the three of us can still hang out and it can be totally normal.”

  Kylee laughed. “Nothing with you is normal. But speaking of abnormal, I saw this movie where these two girls liked the same boy, and one girl was a werewolf, and the other was a dragon, although she didn’t know it yet, and it turned out the boy was a killer of, like, magical creatures, so both girls died and he took the head cheerleader to prom.”

  “That sounds like a stupid movie,” I said.

  “It actually was. But the boy had his shirt off a lot. I guess hunting magical creatures is great for stomach muscles.”

  I smiled. Kylee and I were good. Not great, but good. Good would hopefully get us through the next couple of weeks, or months, or however long it was going to take Reed and me to come up with a plan. “And is that story supposed to be foreshadowing for us?”

  “No. Unless you’re a magical creature and I don’t know about it.”

  Yeah. Well. At least not the creature part.

  I started my Floressa research the next day. Reed and I agreed that we needed to keep working like nothing was wrong. Although I hoped I’d have a while until my Match started, Façade was notorious for doing what they wanted when they wanted. And with the holidays coming up, my life was going to get busy. I had the rest of the week to research, then the first Winter Ball committee meeting was on Monday, Thanksgiving was right after that, and then December and my birthday and the ball and maybe Reed and I would have time to squeeze in a hostile takeover somewhere in there, too.

  I still hadn’t received any information from Façade, so I read loads of Floressa Chase gossip online and bought every Floressa magazine, which was nearly half of the grocery store aisle. My dad asked when I had become so interested in celebrities, and I just told him I was comparing old Hollywood with new Hollywood, which seemed to make sense to him. Although I don’t know how it could—old Hollywood was the GOLDEN AGE.

  Here was the hot buzz around Floressa: she was the long-lost daughter of King Aung of Tharma, which made Floressa a princess. Floressa’s actress mother, Gina, had secretly married the king some eighteen years earlier, before a political upheaval led her to leave him for Hollywood. At first, the king reacted badly to the news that Floressa was his daughter, but now there were rumors of reconciliation, that he’d been seen with Gina in random places all over the country. I didn’t know if any of that was true, but I hoped for Floressa’s sake that the king was at least talking to her. He had another daughter named Isla who was also a big fan of Floressa. Maybe some weird, new family dynamic was being worked out.

  My insider information finally came on Saturday morning when a box was dropped off at my house. Make that boxes. Make that moving truck.

  There were eight boxes in all. The UPS guy had to use a dolly, and he nearly slipped on a patch of ice on our driveway. My mom stood there in her purple satin jammies, her frown growing deeper with each package. Meredith must have forgotten what it was like to have a real life with a real family and really curious parents; otherwise, she would have never sent the boxes like this. Didn’t they have delivery bubbles?

  Then I remembered. Meredith wasn’t my agent anymore, and Genevieve was taking care of this kind of business now. If anyone knew how important it was to be secretive, it was the head of Façade, and yet here she was sending me stuff through regular mail. The only other explanation I could come up with was that Floressa had sent this herself—but how would she have gotten my address?

  I signed for the boxes, noting mirage incorporated on the return address. Mirage was a modeling agency that also served as Façade’s cover. So this was from Genevieve. Maybe she was so busy that she didn’t have time to think of a more secretive way to ship.

  “What is all of this stuff?” Mom asked.

  “T-shirts.”

  “How could you afford eight boxes of T-shirts?”

  I hefted the third box into the front entryway. I hardly got it off the ground. “There was a special. And I told you and Dad—my business is doing really well.”

  “There are stores on Main Street that don’t get shipments like this.” Mom ran her fingers over the shipping label. “What is Mirage Incorporated?”

  “They’re, uh, like a clothing company.” I gave up on carrying the boxes and started
kicking one down the hallway to my bedroom.

  Mom shuffled behind me. “Well, can you make me a shirt?”

  “Sure.” I wiped the sweat off my forehead. This wasn’t just files or pictures. Floressa must own a brick company. “Well, I better get working. I think I hear Gracie crying in her crib.”

  “Your dad took her out for doughnuts. I want to see what’s in the box.”

  “I told you, T-shirts.”

  “T-shirts don’t make a two-hundred-fifty-pound UPS guy grunt when he’s picking them up.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m serious, Desi. You’re father told me he was worried about you, and I told him you were fine. Was I wrong?”

  “No! Are you joking? What kind of trouble could I be in? I live in Sproutville, Idaho. The wildest thing I do is put snarky comments on T-shirts. Oh, and I’m volunteering for the Winter Ball. Better call the cops now.”

  Mom marched over to my desk and grabbed a pair of scissors. “Then open the box.”

  I silently cursed Genevieve or whoever had sent me these boxes. Just because they stuck Mirage instead of Façade on the return address didn’t make the shipment any less suspicious. Of course my mom was going to ask questions. And I had no idea what was in there. I would think that most of the information—files and pictures and videos—would be uploaded onto the manual. So what Floressa details were inside these boxes?

  I went with the lightest box, figuring it was less likely to hold secret-revealing books or files. I tried to block my mom so I could pull back the cardboard flap and sneak a peek first, but she pushed me aside. She kneeled down in front of the box and pulled out…a T-shirt.

  I let out a sigh of relief. “See?”

  Mom held the shirt up, purple with a funky octopus design. “Why would you order shirts that already have pictures on them if you’re using them for graphic design?”

  I grabbed the shirt and pointed to the back. “Because I’m putting numbers and team names on them. This one is for Team Octopus. It’s this game they’re doing for the Winter Ball.”

  Mom pulled another shirt out of the box. This one was a black lacy blouse with little golden buttons down the front. Adorable, but there wasn’t an inch of space to print anything. “And what were you going to print on this?” She checked the label. “Desi, this is a Floressa Chase design. Her shirts cost hundreds of dollars.” Her eyes widened as she took in all the boxes. “Do you have an online shopping addiction? How much money did you spend?”

  “They’re all knockoffs,” I said. “Not that much.”

  “Where are you getting the money to buy all of this?”

  “I have a job. I’m fine.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you make enough money designing T-shirts to buy eight boxes of…whatever you bought. I’m opening the next box.”

  Mom sliced through the packaging tape before I could stop her. This box held roller skates and a huge makeup case filled with Floressa Chase cosmetics. Mom pawed through the lotions and perfumes, her eyes getting wider and wider. I wanted to cry. Of all the secrets I’d kept while working for Façade, I was not going to let a UPS delivery expose me. “Why don’t you trust me?” I asked.

  “I never said that.” She checked the price tag on the roller skates. “These are three-hundred-dollar skates.”

  I let one tear slip down my cheek. “I’m almost fourteen years old and I run my own business. I save for college, just like you guys say, even if college is over four years away. You’ve never put rules on how I spend the rest of my money, so I don’t see how I’ve done anything wrong.”

  “Honey, I just don’t understand why you’re spending money on all this Floressa Chase stuff.” Her gaze flicked to my desk. “And all those magazines. They’re all about her, too. This doesn’t seem healthy. She’s not a good role model, and besides, this is expensive and—”

  Then I had an idea. A brilliant idea, at least given the amount of time I had to get out of this situation. “Okay. I didn’t want to tell you this, because I didn’t want you to make a big deal. But the truth is…Floressa Chase is my client.”

  “What?”

  “I design T-shirts for her line. And instead of paying me, she sends me stuff. Looks like she went overboard, but you know celebrities.”

  “So now you’re friends with Floressa Chase?” Mom asked.

  “I didn’t say that. She found me. Online somehow. She likes discovering really obscure talent, and you can’t get more obscure than me.”

  Mom stared at me. I stared back, my spy training again super helpful. I made sure I didn’t blink or fidget or display any other quirk that would indicate dishonesty. Although, I wasn’t totally lying. I was telling the truth and allowing my mom to believe what she wanted. That should count for something, right? It’s not like Façade was giving me many options here anyway.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she finally asked.

  “I didn’t know if it was going to pan out. I sure didn’t think she’d send me eight boxes.” I tossed the black lace top to my mom. “This is more you than me. You want it?”

  I scooted on my knees over to another box and opened it. I kept my expression as neutral as I could. My mom stood, looking at all the boxes, a mixture of confusion and relief on her face. “So…this is all just because you design T-shirts?”

  “Uh-huh. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you my bank account. I think I have about one hundred and fifty bucks in there now. I’ve been saving hard.” No need to mention the thousands and thousands of dollars in my special Façade account, or that I had already saved enough to pay for the first three years of college.

  Mom held up the black shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. “I’ve gotten perk packages from pageants before, but nothing like this. If that’s the case, then…well, I guess this is a good opportunity.”

  “It’s huge. Who knows what kind of word of mouth she could generate. One mention online and my sales will fly through the roof. Not that I would let this get too big, of course. School and grades and life are much more important.” I leaned my elbow against a box as casually as I could manage. “Try that shirt on; I bet it would look cute on you.”

  Mom sat down on my bed. “Desi, I think I should tell you something else.”

  “Fine; you can have the octopus shirt, too. Will you please just trust me now?” I felt a pang of guilt that I was asking for trust. This wasn’t a secret I would be able to keep forever. What if I got a job with Façade when I grew up? What would I tell my parents I did then? It wasn’t fair to either of us to keep this big part of my life hidden. But in this moment, well…what could I do?

  “I don’t want the shirts. I don’t think I’ll fit into either of them much longer.” Mom ran her finger over the stitching in my quilt. “Another thing your dad said you mentioned to him is that you noticed how tired I’ve been lately?”

  I forgot about the boxes, about Floressa, about Façade. This did not sound good. “Yeah?”

  “Well, you’re right. I have been.”

  My throat went dry. “Are you sick?”

  “No. Well, I am. But good sick.” She smiled. “Desi, I’m pregnant.”

  “You mean…pregnant pregnant? Like bun in the oven? Seriously? Again?”

  Mom laughed. “Fourteen weeks along. We heard the heartbeat last visit—I wanted to tell you, but I am older, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay. I’ve obviously been sick, and I was worried maybe I was missing some things going on with you because of I’ve been laid up—”

  “You’re having another baby,” I said. “Gracie is two, and I’m almost fourteen, and you’re having a baby?”

  “Yes. We’re surprised too, but excited, of course.”

  I thumped down next to my mom on the bed. Here I was, trying to change Façade, and my own family was changing right under my nose. I put my hand on my mom’s stomach. It was actually a little rounder than usual—how had I not noticed that? How could I miss something so huge? “A baby.
Wow…Congrats, Mom.”

  “You’re okay with this?”

  “Shocked.”

  “What do you think you’ll feel after the shock?”

  “I don’t know. I probably would have had a hard time a few months ago.” Before Façade forced me to grow up. A lot. “Gracie and this baby are going to be so close in age, but…I think it’s great, Mom. I’m happy for you.”

  “That means a lot to me, hearing you say that.” She gave me a hug, and it felt so good being close to my mother, knowing that she was okay and—wow—pregnant! “No matter what, I care about what is happening in your life, okay? Know that.”

  “I do.”

  She surveyed the boxes. “Well, I’ll let you go through your goodies. Tell Floressa Chase she needs to do a maternity line next, okay?”

  “I have a million T-shirt ideas if she does,” I said.

  She squeezed my hand and left. The fact that I just got away with the story proved that my mom had something else on her mind. It was an awful lie—why would someone like Floressa Chase do anything nice for a girl in Sproutville? Floressa had a sweet side, but not that sweet.

  Whoa. They were having a baby. Finding out about the pregnancy should have made me feel included, excited for our family, and it did, but I also felt alone. Alone because I knew what was happening with my parents, but they still didn’t have a clue what was actually going on in my life.

  I pawed through the rest of the boxes, finally finding a memo on Genevieve’s stationery and a handwritten note from Floressa.

  To: Desi Bascomb

  From: The office of Genevieve Petrova, Head of Council at Façade Agency

  Please find enclosed information from your Match. Further packages will be sent as we receive them.

  Regards,

  Dominick

  I hadn’t met Genevieve’s assistant, Dominick, not officially, but I had spoken to him via a video conference call on the manual. He seemed cold but professional, not the kind of guy to mess up something simple like shipping packages.

  He had to have been following orders from Genevieve, who needed to find me a real agent soon, since the woman was obviously so busy that she didn’t think about the consequences of sending Floressa’s information directly to my house.