by Meg Cabot
All the girls want to take selfies with Rocky, even the high school girls. Queen Amina called him “adorable” and lifted him up high into the air.
And Rocky doesn’t even mind! I can tell because he hasn’t mentioned farting or dinosaurs once (although this might be because he’s shifted his full attention to iguanas now instead).
The only person who seemed to mind was Luisa.
“Disgusting. He isn’t even royal!” I heard her mutter.
This made me mad, but I didn’t say anything because I’m trying to be more understanding and tolerant of Luisa now that I know about her parents. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a princess, it’s that being gracious and kind to others who are less fortunate than you is important. And usually your kindness will be returned in the form of others being kind to you—like Prince Khalil helping with the iguana problem at the palace.
So maybe the mean, bossy snobs like Luisa will get the message and start trying to be more like the person I aspire to be.
Although I’m not sure how well this plan is working. Luisa doesn’t even seem to have noticed how kind I am to everyone, let alone that I’m being kind to her.
And I think I might have been a little too kind to Prince Gunther. No matter how many times I tell him we’re just friends, he still thinks there’s a chance I might change my mind and visit him in Stockerdörfl.
“Lederhosen are what we normally wear there,” he told me while Victorine was making us pose together for a photo. “For relaxation and for sport. That is why I am so relaxed in them. When you come to visit me this summer, Princess Olivia, you’ll see.”
Uggghhhh!
Victorine thought this was very funny. She and Marguerite think Prince Gunther looks “very hot” in his lederhosen.
Luisa says Prince Khalil looks hotter. I said it’s not a contest. It’s important for princesses to be diplomatic.
But I was lying. Of course Prince Khalil looks hotter! Prince Khalil is definitely the cutest boy in the sixth grade. (Not that I like him. I’m only saying that from an artist’s point of view, Prince Khalil is better looking than Prince Gunther. And of course Prince Khalil doesn’t have green hair.)
So it would be very nice if Prince Gunther (and my cousin Luisa) would stop embarrassing me in front of him.
I still don’t want to hurt Prince Gunther’s feelings or anything, but there is no way I’m going to Stockerdörfl over the summer to visit him.
So in response to his invitation (the third time he’s asked me), I said, “I don’t know, Prince Gunther. My sister is leaving for her honeymoon, and she asked me to take care of her cat, Fat Louie, while she’s away. She’s going to be gone for a very long time … two weeks.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, when she gets back, then—”
“Yes, but then she’s going to have her formal coronation, accepting the throne from my dad. It’s a whole big thing, and obviously I have to be here for that.”
“Of course,” he said. “But then after that—”
“Well, after that, she’s having twins, and I’m probably going to have to help her take care of them and run the country while she’s on maternity leave and stuff. It might be very hard for me to get away. Maybe we can write instead.”
He looked kind of surprised, but in a good way.
“Write? Like letters? I love to write letters! I’m very good at writing letters. And texting. Maybe we can do both!”
So now I’m going to have to write letters (and texts) with Prince Gunther over summer break.
But I don’t mind. It’s better than going to visit him.
“Great,” I said. “Well, good-bye.” I held out my hand.
“Good-bye?” He looked surprised again, but this time not in a good way. “Why good-bye?”
“Because after the performance, I’m probably going to have to leave in a rush,” I said, “to go home to start getting ready for my sister’s wedding. So we should just say good-bye now.”
“Oh,” he said, and shook my hand. Fortunately, since I’d given him my lecture about being more careful with his flexing, he didn’t crush my fingers into tiny sausages. “Auf Wiedersehen, Your Highness.”
“Auf Wiedersehen,” I said.
PHEW. I’m glad that’s over. Especially since the motorcade is here! Can’t wait to get finished with this performance so I can:
• Go home and have mani-pedis with Nishi and my sister
• Be done with the Royal Genovian Academy for the whole summer
• Finally get out of this stupid costume
• Never sing “All Roads Lead to Genovia” again
• Never, ever dance with Prince Gunther again
• Or even see him again until September
YAY!!!!!
Friday, June 19
2:30 P.M.
Royal Genovian Palace
Well, that did not go well.
Or I guess the problem is that it went too well.
Because my sister loved the RGA’s performance of “All Roads Lead to Genovia.”
She loved it so much that she’s invited all the students (and teachers) at the RGA to her wedding reception, where she says she “really, really hopes” we’ll perform “All Roads Lead to Genovia” again, because it is now her favorite song.
Madame Alain says this is a “huge honor.”
Frankly, I don’t agree.
Not that I don’t think my sister really, really enjoyed our performance. I know she did. When I came up to her afterward, she was crying because she was so moved.
“Oh no,” I cried. “What’s wrong?” I thought maybe she’d shut her finger in a door or something. The doors at the RGA are very old and heavy, just like the ones in the palace. It would be easy to smash your finger in one.
But that wasn’t it at all. Mia grabbed and hugged me and said, “That was the funniest—I mean, best—thing I’ve ever seen in my life! You guys were so, so good.”
And then I saw that she was laughing! So was Michael.
Both of them were laughing so hard that they were crying.
I don’t know what about our performance made them laugh—“All Roads Lead to Genovia” is quite a serious song. It isn’t supposed to be funny.
But I guess it’s good that they enjoyed it, especially since it was their wedding gift.
Only now I have to sing it—and dance it—again. And everyone I know at school is going to be at my house … just like Dad said was going to happen!
Including Gunther.
And I know it’s a very big house (a palace, actually) with a lot of rooms in which I can hide from him if I have to. But I wasn’t planning on having to hide from him at all, especially at my sister’s wedding. I was planning on having a good time!
Even worse, Luisa pointed out just now that Gunther could ask me to dance with him.
“And not promenade Genovian-style, either, Olivia,” she teased, “but slow dance in the moonlight in the royal gardens.”
“Ooooh,” Victorine and Marguerite said. Then they burst out laughing.
I really don’t see what’s so funny about any of this, even though I’m a Sagittarius and we’re supposed to see the bright side of things.
But I guess I don’t have a choice. We’re in the gardens right now, having aromatic salt rubs done on our hands and feet, and our finger- and toenails painted blush pink. Obviously, I wanted to get mine done bright yellow with purple sparkle polka dots, but we have to get what Paolo, the style consultant, says.
And he says we’re all getting blush pink, so we’ll match tomorrow on television.
We’re each getting different hairstyles, though, with flower arrangements in our curls. “Because every woman is unique,” Paolo says. “Like the flower.”
I like this idea. I wonder what kind of flower I am. I think I’m a daisy. Daisies are cheerful but reliable.
I’m not saying anything to my sister about how inviting my entire school to her wedding may not have been the best id
ea (even though I don’t think it was) because Mia is in the first really good mood I’ve seen her in all week, and I don’t want to add to her stress.
I guess it’s one thing to be called “the World’s Prettiest Princess Bride” by RateTheRoyals.com, but it’s quite another actually to have to be a princess bride and have people coming up to you going, “Princess, we don’t have a school for all the refugee children now that we have housing for them. What should we do?” and “Princess, we don’t have enough food for all the wedding guests. What should we do?”
When I went to grab Snowball out of the kitchens (I knew she was in there! Fortunately I caught her before anyone noticed.… Now I’m keeping her on a leash next to my sun lounger) I overheard Chef Bernard freaking out.
“I just got the last shipment of spiny lobsters in all of southern Europe!” Chef Bernard was yelling. “How am I going to stretch it out to feed seven hundred people? How? How?”
I know Mia thought she was doing a kind thing inviting everyone from the RGA to the reception, especially since we so touched her with our moving vocal and dance performance.
But not everyone is happy about it. Like Chef Bernard, for instance. Or me.
Oh well.
I guess that’s not the point. Spreading joy throughout the land is. Prince Gunther is super happy about it. He’s already texted me three times while I’ve been writing this to say how excited he is:
Oh no! What could the surprise be?
I just showed this text to Nishi, and she went, “Awwww! I want a prince to bring ME a surprise.”
“I know what it is,” Luisa said from her sun lounger. “Skis!” Then she and Victorine and Marguerite laughed uproariously.
“Stop it, Luisa,” I said. “It’s not going to be skis.”
At least, I hope not.
“What are you girls laughing about?” my sister’s friend Tina wanted to know.
“Nothing,” we all said in unison. Because it didn’t seem very princessy to talk about boys in front of grown-ups.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought it might be Boris P. Because you know he’s going to be here any minute. Not that I care.”
It was awesome of her to say this, because it distracted Luisa and the other girls away from me and the Gunther situation. They all started squealing excitedly about Boris P, because it turns out he’s a really big rock star, even in Genovia, where people are more interested in royalty than they are in rock stars, generally.
At least, people like Grandmère. I feel kind of bad that we didn’t invite Prince Gunther’s parents to the wedding.
But he said (in another text that I just got! Number four!) that they couldn’t have come, due to being at a yoga retreat in India. He was going to have had to stay at school all weekend anyway because his parents weren’t coming to pick him up until Monday, partly due to not being home and partly due to having heard the traffic in and around Genovia tomorrow was going to be so bad, thanks to the wedding. They’ve already issued warnings up and down the coast about it!
Poor Gunther!
But when I mentioned this to Grandmère just now (about the traffic warnings), she got excited instead of concerned. She started bragging to everyone who would listen, gesturing so violently with her hands that Rommel, who was sitting on her lap as she got her toenails done, almost fell off.
“Traffic jams along the coast,” she cried to Michael’s mom, Dr. Moscovitz, who was sitting on the sun lounger next to her. “Did you hear? Traffic jams along the coast!”
“Oh,” Dr. Moscovitz said, looking bewildered. “Is that a good thing?”
“Of course it is!” Grandmère shouted. “It’s a tremendous thing! It’s a spectacular thing! More traffic means more tourist dollars for Genovia! This wedding is going to save this country from financial ruin!”
“Oh,” Dr. Moscovitz said, smiling. “How lovely. I’m delighted my son could help.”
I’m glad Grandmère is in such a good mood.
And things are only getting better, since Sebastiano really liked her idea about dyeing all the bridesmaid dresses purple. He just came over to the side of the pool and said, “Look at all these beaut ladies! You are look like the mermaids by the crystal grotto!” (My cousin Sebastiano, the fashion designer, speaks about as much English as I speak Italian, and often remembers only the first syllable of words.)
Luisa and Victorine and Marguerite and Nishi and Mia’s friends asked Sebastiano if their dresses were ready, and he said, “Si” (Si is yes in Italian). “They are ready, and are even more beaut than you will remem!”
Then I saw him wink at Grandmère, who only smiled mysteriously (a royal never winks).
Which must mean the dye worked!
Everyone is going to be so surprised … especially Mia.
But surprised in a good way, hopefully, like she was with the “All Roads Lead to Genovia” performance.
I just wish I could figure out what to give Mia and Michael as a wedding present. Because I really don’t think a dance in dirndls makes a good present for anyone.
Friday, June 19
4:00 P.M.
Royal Throne Room
Wedding Rehearsal
I cannot believe my cousin Luisa.
Seriously. I cannot believe someone like her actually exists!
I know it’s not completely her fault because she has an unhappy home life (at least according to Princess Komiko and Grandmère, too, if everything she’s said about Luisa’s grandmother the baroness is true).
But that doesn’t give her an excuse to act like a complete brat!
Everything was going fine—we were getting along pretty well at the pool—until it was time to get dressed and go to the wedding rehearsal.
It wasn’t a dress rehearsal, so no one has seen their bridesmaid dresses yet (thank goodness, because we don’t need any MORE drama, which is apparently what Luisa specializes in).
But it was the first time we’d seen the boys since the performance this morning.
Well, one boy in particular. You can guess which one.
Okay. Prince Khalil.
For some reason, when the boys were around—Michael and my dad and Rocky and the rest of the groomsmen, meaning you-know-who … PRINCE KHALIL—some of the girls in the wedding party began to act a little bit silly, doing the Whip and Nae Nae down the aisle instead of walking with proper grace and decorum, like Vivianne, the director of Palace Affairs, instructed us.
Okay, ONE girl in the wedding party started doing this: Lady Luisa Ferrari.
She wouldn’t take anything that Vivianne was saying seriously! She kept goofing off, especially any time she had to walk in front of me and Nishi, which was basically all the time!!
The way the royal wedding worked was, the boys walked down the aisle first, after the prime minister, who’s the person who’ll be marrying Mia and Michael tomorrow. So, first the groomsmen and Michael, then Rocky with the rings (for the rehearsal they were using fake ones, thank goodness, so there was less chance of his losing them).
Then the bridesmaids went.
Then the junior bridesmaids, Victorine, Marguerite, and Luisa.
Luisa and Victorine and Marguerite were supposed to scatter flower petals on the red carpet in front of my sister (white flower petals, not purple ones. Grandmère and I agreed that white flower petals would look better on the red carpet than purple ones).
Then Mia, escorted by her mom and dad (in Genovia, it’s traditional for both of the bride’s parents to give her away), walked down the long aisle, followed by me and Nishi, holding the fifteen-foot train to Mia’s bridal gown.
Only for rehearsal, Mia was wearing a fifteen-foot tablecloth as her train (because it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding gown before the big day) so that Nishi and I could get a feel for it … and so that the television people could figure out where to put their lights and cameras and everything.
So it was super annoying that Luisa was goofing off as much as she was, since some o
f us had serious practicing to do (and also because her goofing off kept making Victorine and Marguerite laugh, and then they weren’t concentrating, either).
Also, I personally don’t think it impressed Prince Khalil at all! He didn’t even seem to notice. He was standing up at the front of the throne room with Michael and Boris P and the rest of the groomsmen, showing photos on his cell phone to Rocky. Probably photos of snakes and amphibians, based on Rocky’s excited expression.
Of course, I understand why Luisa was trying so hard to get his attention. When she saw Prince Khalil, Nishi dug her nails into me and said, “OMG, Olivia! He’s sooooo cute! Why didn’t you TELL me?”
But still! No matter how cute Prince Khalil might be, Luisa was trying get his attention in the wrong way. It wasn’t very royal of her to waste everyone’s time, especially during a wedding rehearsal, when we all wanted to be somewhere else (like the pool), or, in the case of the prime minister, actually had somewhere important to be, such as her job.
Finally Grandmère had to say, in a voice so cold that it echoed through the throne room, “Luisa Ferrari. Perhaps you would prefer to attend this wedding as a guest rather than a junior bridesmaid.”
Only then did Luisa stop acting so full of herself.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” she said, and curtsied.
Ha!
Only instead of admitting she’d been in the wrong, Luisa came running over to me while we were sitting in the hallway while the TV people were working on the lighting, and whispered, “Kee-yow, Olivia! What is that bony old lady’s problem? Of course I’ll do it properly tomorrow. But unlike SOME people, I don’t need to rehearse WALKING. I’ve been doing fashion shows since I was a child. My mother signed me up with the top modeling agency in Genovia when I was a baby.”
I glared at her. “Don’t say ‘kee-yow’ to me. And if my grandmother hears you call her a bony old lady, she’ll throw you in the dungeon.”
Luisa rolled her eyes. “Oh please. There isn’t even a dungeon in this palace anymore. I heard your father converted it into a wine cellar.”