by Meg Cabot
Grandmère sank into an armchair, clutching the fur collar of her vest. “No nanny,” she murmured. “No nanny, and there’s a coup afoot! May the good Lord help us all.”
“I don’t get it,” Nishi whispered to me. “How can these people say that you and Mia have no right to the throne just because you’re part American?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “But I’m sure it will all turn out okay.”
Nishi didn’t look convinced, probably because of the scroll on the bottom of the television news station that Dad had just turned on. It said:
ROYAL WRECK!
Apparently, Cousin René had sent a copy of his letter to the press as well as to the palace this morning.
“Aren’t you a little bit worried?” Nishi whispered to me.
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
But I was lying. Of course I’m worried! Especially since a little while ago I overheard Mia saying to Michael, when she didn’t know I was listening, “Why does this kind of thing always have to happen right when everything seems to be going great? Why can’t I just have a nice, normal family like everybody else?”
Michael said, “Because no one has a nice, normal family. There’s drama in everyone’s family.”
“Not like this,” Mia said. “My family seems to have way more drama than anyone else’s.”
Which is so true! And I know why, too:
Because other people’s families don’t have thrones— not to mention crowns—over which to fight.
Monday, December 28
8:00 P.M.
Royal Dining Room
Dinner started out super depressing … and then it got AMAZING.
Depressing because Mia, my dad, and Michael weren’t there—they were busy doing stuff with Cousin René’s court case, and Helen was busy looking after the babies—which just left me, Nishi, Luisa, Rocky, and Grandmère to eat Chef Bernard’s award-winning roasted prawns.
Amazing because of the phone call I got in the middle of one of Grandmère’s speeches on the importance of knowing one’s royal duty.
“The future princess—or prince—of Genovia has a great many challenges ahead of her,” Grandmère was going on, over her prawns. “One of them is to make sure that every citizen of this country feels as if they are part of this community, and that none of the rich culture and heritage of this country is lost or forgotten in an era when most people won’t even look up from their screens.”
It took me a minute to realize she was saying all this because she’d caught Luisa checking her cell phone under the dinner table—a major etiquette don’t at the palace dining table!
“Oh,” Luisa said, when she noticed Grandmère’s death stare. “I do beg your pardon, Your Highness. But I’m expecting an important call.”
“Are you, my dear?” Grandmère asked acidly. “From the prime minister?”
“Uh, no,” Luisa said, slipping her phone back into her bag. It was a Claudio, of course. Lady Luisa only ever carries Claudios. “My boyfriend, the Duke of Marborough.”
“Your boyfriend,” Grandmère said. “The duke. How nice. You do realize, don’t you, that unless it’s an urgent matter of state, phone calls at the table are an abomination?”
“Well,” Luisa said snootily, “I doubt Princess Mia actually gets that many calls that are urgent matters of state.”
This was not the right thing to say. Grandmère nearly upset the silver tureen of vegetables (lightly coated with Genovian olive oil) that one of the footmen had been about to pass to her.
“I will have you know, young lady, that there isn’t a charity in this country that a member of our family hasn’t helped raise awareness of or funds for. The prime minister is most indebted to us. The money we generate in tourism alone has kept Genovia’s economy afloat for decades. And for centuries the princes and princesses of Genovia have also acted as ambassadors, diplomats, and even warriors for this country, saving it from invasion and ruin time and time again.”
Luisa’s big blue eyes widened even further than they had when she’d seen her reflection while wearing the royal crown. “I … I’m sorry, Your Highness. Of course I knew that.”
“Then why is it,” Grandmère asked, “that you told my granddaughter Olivia that it wasn’t like Princess Mia would ever actually do anything once she’s crowned?”
Luisa swung her wide blue stare accusingly at me … but all I could do was swallow the mouthful of prawns I’d just taken and shrug.
“What?” I whispered. “I didn’t tell her! I swear!”
I hadn’t, either.
But I’d always known that Grandmère had hearing like a bat … which, by the way, uses echolocation to find its prey.
I would have stuck around to hear Grandmère yell at Lady Luisa some more, except that at that very moment my phone vibrated in my pocket.
When I snuck it out and looked down at the screen (even though of course I knew doing this was very wrong), I saw that it was Prince Khalil calling!
“Um,” I said, feeling myself blush. “Pardon me, but may I be excused?”
“Retiring for the evening so early, Olivia?” Grandmère looked bemused. “It’s not like you to miss dessert.”
“Oh no, I’ll be right back,” I said, already out of my chair. “I have to go to the bathroom. I mean, the toilette.”
I felt terrible for lying, but it was for a very good reason. I hadn’t spoken to Prince Khalil in seven days (except for a few texts). He’d been in Paris for the holidays, visiting his grandmother. I had to take this call!
Grandmère frowned. “Well then, by all means, go,” she said, waving her hand. “There’s no need to announce your exact destination to everyone when leaving the table, you know, my dear.”
“Right,” I said. “I know. Sorry. Thanks. Bye. I’ll be right back—”
I didn’t wait to hear what anyone said next … although I was fairly certain Rocky giggled, as he always does when anything to do with a biological function is mentioned. I wasn’t going to blow this opportunity to speak to Khalil!
That’s why I ran down the hall toward the nearest lavatory, then out the French doors and into the Royal Genovian Gardens to press accept and also to write this, because if answering the phone in front of your relatives and best friend is rude, so is writing in your diary!
But what was I supposed to do? Prince Khalil is my boyfriend … sort of.
I’m not actually allowed to have a boyfriend because my dad doesn’t approve of girls my age dating. I only turned thirteen last month, which is also when Prince Khalil wrote me a letter telling me that he likes me more than any other girl he’s ever met.
He didn’t say he loves me, or anything, and I haven’t told him that I love him.
But he is a boy, and he is my friend, and we hang out together a lot, and there is no other boy who I like better, or who makes me feel more tingly when he smiles.
So I guess, technically, he’s my boyfriend … even though I’d never call him that, especially in front of him (or my dad, either)!
I don’t know what else to call him, though. “Boyfriend” sounds so … I don’t know. Like something Lady Luisa would say!
And that’s fine for her. I just don’t know if it’s right for me.
Anyway, I should be allowed to answer a call from my friend-who-is-a-boy if I want to (although not at the dinner table, of course. I know that’s rude). I’ve never had a friend-who-is-a-boy before. I seriously have no idea how I of all people got one, especially one as nice and funny and intelligent as Prince Khalil.
I still sort of can’t believe it …
“Hello?” I said, once I’d gotten to the privacy of the Royal Genovian Gardens.
“Hi, Olivia!” Khalil said. “Sorry if this is a bad time to call. Were you eating?”
“Oh, no,” I lied. “No, no, it’s cool.”
“Great. I just wanted to let you know we’re back in Genovia. My parents and I arrived on the seven-thirty train.”
/> “Oh,” I said, grinning like an idiot at the sound of his voice. “That’s a good train.”
That’s a good train? What’s wrong with me?
“It is. So when can I see you? I missed you!”
I laughed. It was so good to hear his voice. Also good to hear that he’d missed me, because I’d missed him, too … more than I liked to think about.
“I can’t wait to see you, too,” I said.
The thing I like best about Prince Khalil, besides how kind and thoughtful he is, is that he can always make me laugh, even when I’m sad or upset about something, which isn’t very often, but does happen sometimes, such as now.
Also, we have a lot in common, since we both want to be scientists when we grow up—Khalil loves herpetology, and I love wildlife illustration—although sadly for both of us, the royal thing might get in the way of our future careers.
Still, I’m third in line to the throne, and Prince Khalil’s country has erupted in a civil war, so there’s a strong chance we’ll both get to do what we love for a living instead of having to rule.
“I can’t do anything right now, though,” I said, “because it’s kind of late and I’ve got my friend Nishi and my cousin Lady Luisa staying with me, and, well, uh, I don’t know if you’ve seen the news…”
“Yeah,” Khalil said. “I did. That thing about your cousin?”
“Yeah, that.” I tried to laugh airily the way Grandmère always does when someone expresses concern about something she doesn’t want them to think matters, even though it does, like her tattooed eyeliner. “No need to worry about that, though. The palace legal team is handling it.”
This wasn’t a lie. Michael’s sister, Lilly, and all the other lawyers who work for my dad are scrambling to deal with Cousin René’s legal filing. I have no idea how, since it sounds to me like he has a pretty good claim.
“Well, that’s good,” Prince Khalil said. “Still, it’s kind of a bummer.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is. But maybe we could hang out tomorrow?”
His voice brightened. “That would be great … especially because I have a surprise for you from Paris.”
“A surprise?” I was shocked. “From Paris? What is it?”
“If I tell you, then it won’t be a surprise, will it?”
“No … I guess not.” A surprise? What could it be? “But—”
He laughed in a mock-evil way. “You’ll find out what it is soon enough. See you later, Alligatoridae.”
I smiled. “Okay. After a while, Crocodylidae.”
Prince Khalil and I always use the correct names for the families of animal species. It’s our thing. Some people (such as my cousin Lady Luisa) might not find that romantic, but I do. Science can be very romantic, though not in a mushy way. It is romantic in a hands-on, evidence-based way.
And nothing is as hands-on as a surprise from your boyfriend—or your friend-who-is-a-boy—whatever it might be!
Monday, December 28
11:30 P.M.
Royal Genovian Billiards Room
Well, it’s past my bedtime (though it’s a school holiday and I have no public events tomorrow, so it doesn’t really matter what time I go to bed), but some of my guests don’t want to turn in.
Instead they want to stay up and play with my baby niece and nephew.
Which I totally understand—it’s fun to play with babies (when those babies don’t actually live in your house and you don’t have to listen to them cry all the time).
And when you’re royal, these are the kinds of things you have to do—sacrifice your own personal happiness for the happiness of your guests and subjects, one of whom includes your snobby cousin Lady Luisa, whom no one, not even her own parents, likes.
Actually, I guess you’re supposed to do those kinds of things even when you aren’t royal. It’s part of what they keep talking about in school—having good character.
But I’m so tired! I just want to curl up in my bed with Snowball and the nice book on the domestication of horses through time that Prince Khalil gave me for Christmas. (I gave him a book on snakes. We agreed that we’d always give each other books as gifts.)
Which is why I can’t believe he’s bringing me a surprise from Paris. The book on horses was enough!
“They’re perfectly lovely, of course,” Mia is saying to her friend Tina Hakim Baba, who just arrived from New York for the coronation. “But we do feel a little overwhelmed occasionally. They never sleep at the same time.”
She’s talking about the babies, of course.
“And when one of them does fall asleep,” Michael says, looking a little dazed, “the other wakes up and starts crying. They. Never. Stop. Crying.”
“That’s normal at this stage in their development,” Tina assures him. She’s in medical school, so she would know. “The twins are going through their six-week growth spurt. You have to feed them every two to three hours, or they’ll get cranky.”
“It’s an inherited trait, sadly,” Grandmère says, taking a sip of her evening cocoa, which I found out the hard way a long time ago by taking a sip isn’t really cocoa. “Your father cried for six years straight. That’s why I had no choice but to send him to boarding school.”
“Thank you for that, Mother,” Dad says.
“Well, you turned out well enough,” Grandmère says. “In the end.”
“Olivia,” Nishi whispers, gesturing for me to follow her. “Come here.”
I follow her from the billiards room to the palace hallway, wondering what could be going wrong now. Maybe she’d seen Luisa sneak upstairs and stuff the royal crown into her overnight bag.
But I don’t see how that could be possible, since I’ve been watching Luisa all night and she’s done nothing but check her cell phone for messages from the duke (still none).
“Olivia, I have an idea,” Nishi whispers to me. “What if we were to offer to help out with the babies until the royal nanny comes back? We could make a fortune!”
“You mean babysitting?” I’m confused. “Like for money? But I already babysit all the time.” It seemed like every five minutes someone was saying, Olivia, could you watch the twins for a second? and the second turned into fifteen minutes and the fifteen minutes turned into half an hour. Not that I minded. I liked having a family who trusted and loved me.
“Sure,” Nishi says. “But you’re still doing it for free.”
“Yes,” I say. “Because I’m their aunt. That’s what aunts are supposed to do. That, and help sneak their nieces and nephews into horror movies when they’re old enough.” I know this from watching the Disney Channel.
“But with the nanny gone, and your sister so busy with this lawsuit thing, we could actually make money watching the babies for her.” Nishi looks excited. “We could even offer to babysit all the other little kids of the guests who are going to be showing up for the coronation … you know, if there is a coronation.”
I frown. “Nishi, how can you say that? Of course there’s going to be a coronation!”
“Then I think this is one of those win-win situations. Your family can obviously use the help, and I for one could really use the money. I don’t even get an allowance anymore. My parents cut it off last month. And they took away my cell phone.”
I’m even more confused. “They did?” I haven’t noticed not receiving any texts from Nishi, because she’s been visiting, but I ought to have noticed she’d taken zero selfies. “Why?”
She shrugs. “They caught me kissing Dylan. They can’t stand him.”
“What?” I knew Nishi and her new boyfriend, Dylan, had kissed, but she hadn’t told me the part about her parents catching her, or not approving of the relationship. “Why don’t your parents like Dylan?”
“Shhh,” she whispers, since Luisa had overheard my What? and was now getting up from her overstuffed chair by the fireplace and coming to see what we were talking about. Lady Luisa can’t stand not knowing everyone else’s business. “Dylan was a bit of a bad boy in
the past. But it’s not a big deal. If you think about it, the Beast, in Beauty and the Beast, got in trouble when he was younger, too. But with Beauty’s help, he was able to put it all behind him.”
“Nishi,” I say. “I don’t know how to break this to you, since I know how much you love that movie, but Beauty and the Beast isn’t real. It’s a fictional story.”
“True,” Nishi says. “But every fictional story has a grain of truth in it. And in this case, the truth is that everyone can change. My parents just don’t understand that. So they cut off my allowance, took away my cell phone, and said I’m not allowed to see Dylan anymore … except in school, of course.”
“That is so unfair!” cries Luisa. She’s shown up in the hallway just in time to hear Nishi’s sad story.
“I know, right?” Nishi says. “They almost weren’t going to let me come here to see you, Olivia, except that they thought the separation from Dylan might cause me to forget him—as if that would ever happen!”
“Oh!” Luisa looks outraged. “That’s so evil!”
“I know,” Nishi says, nodding. “But it won’t work. I love Dylan with all my heart.”
“Of course you do.” Luisa pats Nishi on the arm. “As much as I love Roger.” Roger is the name of the 12th Duke of Marborough. It’s their family’s tradition to name every eldest boy Roger, which almost makes me feel sorry for Roger … almost.
I can’t believe that Lady Luisa and my best friend are bonding over their boyfriends, both of whom seem equally awful.
“What kind of bad things did Dylan do in the past?” I ask Nishi suspiciously. I want to think the best of people, like Nishi always does.
But I know from experience—and Nishi should, too—that people don’t always have our best intentions at heart. I’m a living example: my aunt and uncle stole all the money my father sent them to take care of me when I was little, and spent it on sports cars and vacations—for themselves.
“Oh, you know,” Nishi says. “Just normal things kids do. It’s all so stupid. Way back in fifth grade he got caught cheating on a test.”