Royal Wedding Disaster

by Meg Cabot

  As if that isn’t bad enough, we’re going to be singing it while wearing the traditional national costume of Genovia, which for girls involves something called a dirndl, which is a dress with a stiff puffy skirt and a tight black corset!

  But for boys the national costume of Genovia is even worse: It’s lederhosen, which is a kind of overalls, only with shorts!

  No wonder poor Rocky was screaming so loudly.

  Madame Alain—who’d rushed back to the sixth-grade room after getting Rocky “settled”—said, apparently not noticing my horror, “Our performance of ‘All Roads Lead to Genovia’ will be the Royal Genovian Academy’s wedding gift to your sister and the future prince Michael! We’ve been rehearsing it for over a week now. But of course you mustn’t tell her! It’s to be a surprise.”

  Oh, Mia is going to be surprised, all right.

  “Your joining us, Your Highness,” Madame Alain went on, “will truly be the icing on the cake!”

  Icing on the cake? More like the crumbly bits of gravel at the bottom of a mud pie!

  I know it isn’t polite or princessy to correct your elders, so I couldn’t exactly go, “Uh, Madame Alain, I’m sorry, but there is no possible way that my sister and Michael are going to stop by your school on Friday, the day before their wedding, to watch us perform some goofy song in even goofier costumes, because I’ve seen their schedule, and they’re going to be way too busy. For one thing, that’s the day they’re having their final wedding rehearsal—at which I have to be, by the way, and so does Luisa and Rocky, because we’re in the wedding! It’s also when all of the out-of-town guests who aren’t here already are going to start arriving, such as the president of the United States, the king and queen of Bhutan, and the queen of England, just to name a few! That’s also the day of the prenuptial dinner, which we have to get ready for and attend, and of course when Grandmère and I have to do all the final checks on the gowns, the flowers, the food, and the seating arrangements, and when Mia and Michael have to pack for their honeymoon in the Greek isles, which they’re going to on the royal yacht! So, even though it’s a really nice thought and all, and I’m sure my sister would be extremely grateful, it’s never, ever going to happen.”

  Except that Madame Alain—and all the students in the class—looked so happy and excited, I couldn’t say a word about any of that. I didn’t want to disappoint them.

  So I only smiled and went, “Oh. That is so nice. But, er, perhaps you might want to check with the palace about my sister’s schedule—”

  “Oh, I already have!” Madame Alain said. “I consulted with Prince Philippe himself. And his office informed me that it’s all arranged!”

  Prince Philippe? My dad?

  My dad is very amazing and wonderful in many ways, but he is not exactly organized, or even aware of anything that’s been going on, other than his work on the summer palace and listening to Mia and Rocky’s mom, Helen, talk about how much she hates her cream-colored mother-of-the-bride dress (which I personally think could really be improved with a little purple dye).

  The father of the bride’s only duties, according to Grandmère, are to:

  • Show up to walk the bride down the aisle

  • Make a nice speech during the reception

  • Do the father/daughter dance

  • Pay for everything

  • Loan the mother of the bride his handkerchief if she starts to cry

  So I’m pretty sure my dad has NO IDEA his office agreed to schedule a visit from my sister and her future husband to the RGA on the day before their wedding.

  But all I said was “Oh. Great,” with a huge fake smile on my face.

  Madame Alain looked really pleased and said, “I’m so glad you think so, Your Highness! Now please take your seat. We’ve arranged a very special new desk for you!”

  I went to the “very special new desk” they’d arranged for me—all decorated with my name, Her Royal Highness Olivia, in sparkly stars—only to see they’d wedged it right between Luisa’s desk and …

  Luisa’s crush, Prince Khalil.

  Luisa looked pretty unhappy about this. She flounced down into her seat, then whipped out her cell phone and began furiously texting.

  I don’t know who she was texting (her mom, maybe, to complain?), but it didn’t seem to be Prince Khalil. He wasn’t on his phone. He was reading a book about snakes.

  I know that as a wildlife illustrator I should appreciate all animals. But snakes? I feel the same about snakes as I do about iguanas (with the exception of Carlos): No, thank you.

  Khalil said hello to me, but that’s it. He hasn’t even smiled, which I don’t think is a very friendly way to behave for

  A. A cousin, even one three or four times removed

  B. A prince

  C. A human being

  Maybe he’s afraid if he says anything else to me, Luisa will get even more mad? I guess I’d be scared of Luisa, too, if I were Khalil. Although he probably doesn’t know what she has planned for him on Saturday, with the dancing and the fountain and the moonlight.

  Even worse, my other cousins three or four times removed, Marguerite and Victorine, are also in this class (and also wearing skirts, like Luisa, not shorts. I’m the ONLY girl in this class who chose the shorts instead of the skirt)! They keep looking over at me and whispering and laughing to each other.

  Great.

  Now Madame Pinchot, the singing instructor, is making us stand up to practice.

  (Oops, wait, not me. She’s upset that I don’t know the words to “All Roads Lead to Genovia,” which is apparently the most famous song in the entire country, except for the national anthem.)

  I want to raise my hand and go, “Uh, no offense, but I only just got here a month ago. Also, I’m pretty sure my sister’s future husband doesn’t know it, either, and I think as a wedding gift he would rather have a Star Wars calendar or socks or really anything Star Wars, because he really likes Star Wars.”

  But I know that would be rude.

  Also, I don’t know what my sister would like as a wedding present (besides donations to her favorite charities) because she basically has everything. Probably she would like a candy bar, because she told me the other day that the twins are making her hungry all the time, especially for chocolate, but she’s afraid that if she eats too much of it, she’s going to explode out of her wedding gown, and then Sebastiano, the famous fashion designer who made her wedding dress and all our bridesmaid gowns, will have a fit. He’s also a cousin of ours from the Italian side of the family, and though he’s very, very talented, he’s also very, very dramatic.

  I apologized to Madame Pinchot for not knowing the words to “All Roads Lead to Genovia” and said, “I’ll try to learn them as soon as possible, Madame.”

  She’s given me a paper with the words on it and told me to memorize them. They don’t seem that hard, but they don’t make much sense, either:

  “All Roads Lead to Genovia”

  (Author Unknown)

  I’ve traveled far

  So far have I roamed

  But Genovia

  Will always be home

  Land of green palms

  And ocean so blue

  No other land

  Can compare to you

  No matter how far

  I happen to roam

  To Genovia

  I’ll always come home

  Genovia, Genovia

  Land of green and blue

  Genovia, Genovia

  All roads lead to you

  (Repeat seven times)

  But we have to sing it in traditional medieval Genovian, which is a mix of Italian and French.

  So basically it sounds like an old man gargling with onion soup.

  Oh well. This is the least I can do for my new country.

  I guess things can’t get worse.

  Monday, June 15

  1:35 P.M.

  Royal Genovian Academy

  Things have gotten worse. Much, much worse!<
br />
  Now I not only have to learn a stupid song (I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t call one of the oldest, most traditional songs of the country over which I could someday rule stupid, but it is), but I also have to dance with a stupid PRINCE!

  I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m prejudiced against princes, because I’m not. I know some princes who are very nice. My dad is a prince, and he’s great (when he’s not yelling about how long it’s going to take to fix the foundation over at the summer palace or how much this wedding is costing).

  Michael isn’t a prince yet, but I think he’s going to make a fine one when he’s crowned (at the wedding), even if he’s going to be only a prince consort.

  Consorts are the spouse of the ruler of the country and aren’t actually in line to inherit the throne. Consorts don’t have to come to high tea, or help make decisions of state, or even wear their crowns. They just have to look good in photos and say things like “Everything is going to be all right” to the ruler.

  But the prince I got assigned to dance with today? He’s a real prince, and he is totally not nice! He’s barely even okay!

  And I know we’re not supposed to judge other people, at least not until we’ve walked a mile in their shoes.

  But Prince Gunther is the WORST!!!!

  I know why he was the only person left in class without a dance partner, and that’s because he’s a boarding student who:

  • Wears shower shoes to school with kneesocks and shorts

  • Picks his nose, then flicks what he finds in there at Monsieur Montclair when he isn’t looking, and then laughs

  • Makes fart noises out of his mouth every chance he gets

  • Likes to show off his “guns,” which are what he calls his arm muscles

  • Has green hair—not because he dyed it green, which would be cool, but because it turned green from all the swimming he does in the school pool

  • Brags that he’s such a good swimmer, he’s going to be in the next Olympics

  But I don’t see how this is possible. Surely his native land of Austria wouldn’t want a green-haired booger flinger representing the country in the Olympics, even if he is a prince.

  Because of all the swimming, Gunther really does have huge shoulders and biceps. So when I have to take his arm in the part of the dance where “the Genovian gentleman promenades his Genovian lady” down the center, Prince Gunther flexes his biceps under my fingers.

  This is not only gross, it practically cuts off my circulation, because Prince Gunther squeezes my hand so tightly against his side.

  I want to complain about this to Mademoiselle Justine, the dance instructor, but I’m not sure if Prince Gunther is doing it on purpose to show off or if this is just how boys’ arms work. I’m not very experienced with boys other than Rocky, and he’s only nine, so how would I know?

  The last time it happened, I got so grossed out that I ran away from Prince Gunther and joined the girls on their side of the room. After each rehearsal, the boys and girls split off to opposite sides of the room. I don’t know why. We just do.

  “Kee-yow, Olivia,” Luisa said when she saw my face. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t even get mad at her this time for saying ‘kee-yow,’ because I was so freaked out by what had just happened. At a moment like that, even the companionship of someone like Luisa was welcome.

  “Every time we promenade,” I whispered, “Prince Gunther flexes like this.” I showed her.

  “Ewwwwwwww!” Luisa cried. “He is so disgusting!”

  Of course all the other girls overheard and then gathered around, wanting to know what we were talking about. Even the shy girl—the only other princess in class besides me, Komiko, who never speaks to anyone at all, as far as I can tell.

  I should have known that Luisa can’t keep a secret. Now every single girl in our entire class refers to Prince Gunther as “the Flexer,” which I feel bad about. I’m the princess of Genovia. I’m supposed to be setting a good example, not spreading gossip about other people.

  “Maybe he’s not doing it on purpose,” I said.

  “No, he is definitely doing it on purpose,” Luisa said. She considers herself an expert on boys. “He isn’t like Prince Khalil. Prince Khalil would never do something like that. He is a perfect gentleman … except, of course, that he will not stop reading about snakes.”

  She said this last part while gritting her teeth and staring across the room. It’s true! In between dance rehearsals, Prince Khalil heads to his desk to pick up his book about snakes and then reads it.

  I haven’t seen him speak to Luisa once—except to apologize for stepping on her toes, because of course Prince Khalil is Luisa’s dance partner—which must be frustrating for her, since he’s her boyfriend-to-be.

  “Ah well,” Luisa said, tossing back some of her long hair. “He wouldn’t dare bring that book to the wedding.”

  “Of course not,” Marguerite said sympathetically, and patted her on the shoulder. “Although he could download it to his cell phone.”

  Luisa looked dismayed. “He wouldn’t!”

  “You never know,” Victorine said. “The Flexer would do something like that. He sits next to me, and all day long he draws mean pictures of Madame Alain, giving her a very big…” She pointed to her butt. “You know what.”

  I was shocked. The rest of the girls giggled, even Komiko, who is so shy she hardly ever even smiles.

  “Maybe he’s just a bad drawer,” I suggested. “I like to draw, too, but sometimes it’s hard to get everything to look right. Maybe the Flexer isn’t very good at drawing, so it just looks like he’s sketching Madame Alain with a very big … you know what.”

  “Kee-yow, Olivia,” Luisa said with a smirk. “You are so immature! Of course he is drawing her that way on purpose. All the boys in this class are so babyish. Well, except for my Prince Khalil. He is perfect.”

  I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already getting very tired of hearing about how perfect Prince Khalil is.

  “But if that’s true about Prince Gunther doing those mean drawings,” I said, “we should tell someone. That’s not very royal behavior … or even very nice.”

  “But a royal never tattles.” Princess Komiko actually said something!

  I had to think about that one. “Actually, I think it’s probably more royal to tattle in some cases than it is not to tattle. Like in cases where someone might be hurt. And it’s wrong to make fun of your teachers. That could hurt their feelings.”

  Luisa blinked her wide blue eyes. “But if we tattle on Prince Gunther and he gets kicked out of school, then you won’t have a dance partner for the performance, Olivia!”

  “I’m okay with that,” I said. “I can make the sacrifice. I have a lot to do on Friday anyway.”

  “No, Luisa’s right,” Marguerite said. “We need you, Your Highness. You and your adorable baby brother.”

  “Well.” Luisa sniffed. “I don’t know if we need her … and if you mean Rocky, Marguerite, he’s not even really her brother. He’s Princess Mia’s half brother, and from her mother’s side, not her father’s. Technically he shouldn’t even be going to this school.”

  “Hey,” I said angrily. “He belongs here just as much as anyone else!”

  Luisa narrowed her eyes. “No, he does not. The Royal Genovian Academy is a training school for royals, which Rocky is not.”

  I couldn’t believe how snobby she was being. “He lives in a palace with a royal family!”

  Victorine and Marguerite looked impressed by my argument.

  “It’s true, Luisa,” said Victorine. “He does.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” Luisa laughed. “I was only joking. Don’t be so sensitive, Princess Olivia.”

  Grandmère told me that it’s rude for a royal to say something mean, then tell the other person they’re “sensitive” for getting offended. At least, I’m pretty sure she did.

  But before I could tell Luisa this, Mademoiselle Justine, the
dancing instructor, clapped her hands and made us return to our places. “Ladies, ladies! Less talking, more dancing, please.”

  Not five seconds later, Gunther was squeezing my fingers to death again. Not that it even mattered, since I couldn’t get any of the steps right. I’m definitely the worst dancer in the whole class. I think Mademoiselle Justine wanted to cry.

  “Please,” she said to me. “Please go home after school today and practice, Your Highness. Your footwork, your arms … all of it. Just all of it…”

  “I will,” I promised.

  But all I want to do when I get home is cry. Preferably in a bubble bath.

  Monday, June 15

  8:15 P.M.

  Royal Genovian Bedroom

  When I got home from school today, the first thing I did (after scooping up Snowball, who ran to greet me at the side of the limo, and letting her lick me all over my face) was knock on Dad’s office door.

  “WHO IS IT?” Dad yelled. “I SAID I WASN’T TO BE DISTURBED!”

  Snowball and I went in and found Dad sitting at his huge royal desk, which was covered in blueprints and millions of other papers. He had his reading glasses on top of his bald head, and his feet were resting on a stuffed boar that my grandfather had shot on a royal hunt way, way before I was born. I call the boar Annabelle because it looks a lot like a girl I used to go to school with who was named Annabelle.

  “I don’t care how much it’s going to cost!” Dad was yelling into his cell phone. “I need it done as soon as possible. As soon as possible, do you understand?” When he saw me, he said in a totally different voice, “Oh, hello, Olivia sweetheart. How was school today?”

  “It was great,” I lied, because I didn’t think he needed any more stress. “Dad, did your office schedule a visit from Mia and Michael to my school this Friday, the day before the wedding?”