by Meg Cabot
But people like things you make—at least if you do a decent job. It’s always good to give people you love something from your heart.
I was especially happy that Mia and Michael had liked my gift enough to give me a gift in return, one I’d especially wanted … until I found out a few minutes later that Nishi had gotten the exact same gift.
Then I was ECSTATIC. Because it meant that Mia really, really understood me!
“Can we wear them to the reception?” Nishi and I asked Francesca, who looked very pained when Nishi burst into my room wearing her gift and started jumping up and down, screaming.
“If you must,” Francesca said. “Apparently that was the idea.”
“It’s like your sister knew about us being naiads,” Nishi kept saying, dancing around and around in her sequined bathing suit and floaty skirt. “It’s like she’s psychic.”
“I think it was her friend Shameeka,” I said. “Or Lana. They know more about this stuff. But whoever. It doesn’t matter. Because we look amazing.”
I was so happy! I didn’t think I could be happier.
But I was wrong.
Because after we went down to the party, and Princess Komiko and Queen Amina and all the other people from school began to arrive, and Boris P came out onto the stage and began to play, Nishi and I forgot all about our swimsuit-naiad dresses and started having the best time at a wedding reception we have ever had in our lives.
(Well, actually, for me it was the first time I have ever been to a wedding reception. But it was still the best time!)
Chef Bernard made lobster mac and cheese so there would be enough food to go around, and also added mini grilled-cheese sandwiches with tomato soup in cocktail glasses, and this turned out to be exactly what Mia and Michael had wanted in the first place, but Grandmère said it wouldn’t be elegant enough for a royal wedding.
So they were super happy!
And Lilly’s suggestion, having tables and chairs outside in the garden and by the pool, was just perfect, because all the old people, like the baroness and Grandmère and the world leaders, sat in the ballroom at the banquet tables in the air-conditioning, while the young people had a party outside … which is much better, if you ask me.
Out at the kids’ party, Boris P was playing, and we were dancing and having fun.
But of course we weren’t dancing the way Luisa had hoped there’d be dancing—no one held each other in the moonlight under the swaying Genovian palm fronds. No one danced together at all … well, except when we sang “All Roads Lead to Genovia,” which we did one final time, for my sister’s sake, because Michael begged us to, as a special favor. I have never heard people applaud so much!
I don’t know what it is about that song.
But that was the last time I’ll ever have to sing it, thank goodness. And thank goodness, too, that no one could locate Prince Gunther at the time we performed it, so I only had to promenade with Rocky, and not the booger-flinging Flexer (although to be fair, Prince Gunther doesn’t fling boogers anymore, or flex that much, either).
There were a couple of dances that people did together. Mia and Michael did a first dance as a married couple to some old song that no one had ever heard of (or not me, anyway). Everyone stood around and watched and clapped. It was very nice.
And then Mia and Dad did a father-daughter dance, and Michael and his mom did a mother-son dance.
Then everyone started dancing to Boris P, but in a big group, not in couples or anything. The boys took their jackets off, and we girls took our shoes off, and we all started jumping around, acting crazy, trying not to fall in the pool. It was so fun.
Well, fun for everyone except Luisa. Not that she fell in the pool (which would have been hilarious). She just wouldn’t dance, not even when Victorine or Marguerite or I tried to pull her onto the dance floor. She said we were being “immature” and “didn’t know anything.”
Then, when I brought her a tomato soup cocktail and a mini grilled cheese, because I thought maybe her problem was that she was just hungry and sad because her parents hadn’t come to the wedding on account of hating being in the same country together, she didn’t even say thank you. She said, “You and your friend look stupid in those matching dresses.” She meant Nishi, who was dancing in a big group with Rocky, Princess Komiko, and a bunch of other people. “In case you didn’t know.”
“Really?” I felt mad, but also kind of like laughing. She was just such a … Luisa Ferrari. “They aren’t dresses. They’re swimsuits, with skirts.”
“Well, that’s even stupider,” Luisa said. “This is a royal ball, not a swim meet.”
I shook my head. Luisa couldn’t hurt my feelings anymore, I realized, partly because of what Grandmère said, and partly because … well, I’m a true princess now! My sister said so.
And even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t care what she said. She’s Luisa Ferrari. She has no power over me.
Which is good, because when she finds out what I heard my sister tell Madame Alain over by the chocolate fountain—that in the fall, all the schools in Genovia, including the RGA, will be required by royal proclamation to make room for refugee children, or face fines and even closure—Luisa is going to plotz (plotz means drop dead from surprise. I learned it from Michael’s mom).
I don’t doubt this idea was cooked up by my grandmother in order to teach the Ferraris to have more character. I saw Grandmère over by the chocolate fountain as my sister and Madame Alain were speaking. I’m positive she planted the notion in my sister’s head.…
But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad one. In fact, I think it’s a good one. Going to school with a bunch of nonroyals is going to be very challenging for my cousin.…
And very educational, as well. A lot like it’s been for me, going to school with a bunch of royals.
“Here, Luisa,” I said, handing her a piece of wedding cake. “You look like you need this.”
“Are you kidding me?” She stared at it in horror. “I don’t eat cake.”
“Why not? It’s a wedding. It’s bad luck not to eat the cake.”
“Fine.” She made a face but took the cake from me and started eating it. “But if I burst out of this dress, I’m going to make your dad pay for it. This is a Claudio. Not that anyone at this party has noticed. Least of all him.” She stabbed her fork in Prince Khalil’s direction. He’d taken off his tuxedo jacket, too, along with all the other boys, and was dancing away to one of Boris P’s biggest hits, “A Million Stars,” which Boris was singing to Mia’s friend Tina, with whom he’d gotten back together, much to everyone’s relief. It turned out that he hadn’t cheated, after all.
I tried not to notice that Prince Khalil looked very, very cute.
“I don’t think boys like Prince Khalil care about designers,” I said as politely as I could.
Luisa made another face. “I suppose not. If I were wearing an iguana, he’d care.”
It was kind of a bummer sitting next to Luisa. But since I was one of the hostesses of the reception, I felt like I couldn’t just leave her there, feeling so sad, because that wouldn’t be very princessy.
And of course I remembered what Grandmère had said about how it was our duty as royals to guide those who were less fortunate … which is kind of funny, in a weird way, since Luisa had been assigned to me as my guide, at the RGA! But now there I was, guiding her. Or trying to, anyway.
But then—just like with my bridesmaid gift from Mia—suddenly I was rewarded for all my hard work when something amazing happened.
“Princess Olivia?” a voice called from the darkness.
And from the garden beyond the strands of fairy lights the gardeners and I had placed between the palm trees stepped a figure I didn’t recognize—though later I realized I should have, since it was a boy I knew. He had very big arms and shoulders—made to look even bigger by the oversize tuxedo he was wearing—an Austrian accent, and hair so blond that it was almost gold.…
“P-Prince Gunther!” I
stammered, standing up. “Your … your hair. It isn’t green anymore!”
“Oh, yah,” he said, bashfully running his fingers through his now yellow mane. “This was the surprise I texted you about.”
Luisa stood up, too. Her jaw was hanging open. “Prince Gunther, you look amazing.”
“Danke,” he said. “You do, too. Is that a Claudio?”
Luisa looked down at herself in astonishment. “What … what did you say?”
“I asked if that was a Claudio.” Gunther strolled up to us and pointed at Luisa’s dress. “I know that designer. My mother likes him very much. She used to be a model for him. She has had everything in his collections for the past ten years. She especially likes his resort wear, for when we go to Majorca at Fronleichnam.”
I thought Luisa might plotz with surprise. “My mom loves Claudio’s resort wear, too.”
I had no idea what the two of them were talking about, but as the hostess of this part of the party, I thought it was my duty to ask, “Prince Gunther. What happened to you? Where have you been?”
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m late, Princess,” he said. “The lemon juice I used to get the green out of my hair took longer than I thought. Please will you accept my apologies, and also give them to the bride and groom?”
“Uh,” I said. “Sure.” I had no idea where Mia and Michael were. It was late, and I hadn’t seen them in hours. For all I knew, they might have gone to bed. I couldn’t blame them. They’d been smiling so much all day for the photographers, so I could imagine they were both probably exhausted.
Suddenly now Luisa was smiling, too.
“Is that a Claudio?” she asked, pointing at Prince Gunther’s tuxedo.
“Uh, yes,” Gunther said. “It is vintage. It belonged to my grandfather.”
Luisa sucked in her breath. “Vintage? Do you know how much a vintage Claudio tuxedo is worth?”
“Yes,” Prince Gunther said. “My father would kill me if he knew I was wearing it. But I figured, for an occasion like this, it would be worth it—”
The next thing I knew, Luisa was pulling Prince Gunther down onto a chair at her table and grilling him about his mother’s Claudio collection.
And Prince Gunther didn’t seem to mind, although he looked very nervous. In a good way.
I couldn’t believe it. Luisa wasn’t showing off in front of a boy to get attention, or being mean to him (or me, or anyone else). She was simply having a conversation with another person about something in which she was interested … and that person was interested in it, too!
I wasn’t sure if this proved she was finally showing character or common sense, but it seemed to show that I’d done my duty as a good hostess. I slowly began to back away, feeling a sense of satisfaction …
… when suddenly my hand was seized, and someone started tugging on it.
And it turned out to be the last person in the world I ever expected: PRINCE KHALIL.
“Olivia,” he said urgently, dragging me around the edge of the pool. “I’m so glad I found you. Come here, quick!”
I didn’t know what was happening—I thought maybe Mia and Michael were leaving for their honeymoon, and we were all supposed to go wave good-bye. Or maybe the fireworks were starting, or I was needed for a special photo op with the queen of England or Boris P or something.
But it wasn’t any of those things! Instead, Prince Khalil steered me toward the orange tree beneath my bedroom window—where it was was pretty dark, considering it was nighttime and none of us had thought to place any fairy lights there—and pointed.
“Look!” he cried.
I looked, but all I saw was that they’d forgotten to take away one of the live traps. Then, inside it, I noticed the faintest hint of movement.…
An iguana! Not just any iguana, though. A bright green baby iguana.
I gasped. “Carlos!”
Khalil looked at me curiously. “Carlos? Who’s Carlos?”
“Um,” I said. “No one.” I didn’t want him to know I’d named one of the iguanas. That was probably a violation of the Genovian Herpetology Rescue Society code of ethics or something.
“I just wanted to show you that we missed one,” Prince Khalil said. “I hope your grandmother won’t feel as if we failed her. I’m sure it’s the last one. I’ll come by in the morning and pick it up, if you want.”
“No,” I said quickly, before I could stop myself. “Please don’t! That’s Carlos.”
Even though it was dark beneath the orange tree, the moon had begun to peek out from above the palace walls, so I could see his face clearly enough to tell that he was baffled. “Wait … you have a pet iguana?”
“Well, not really a pet,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “He just hangs out here.” I pointed at the window above us, trying to figure out how to explain it. “That’s my bedroom, you see? I guess I’ve gotten … well, used to him. I’d miss him if he was moved to the golf course. Wouldn’t it be all right for us to keep just one? I’m sure my grandmother wouldn’t mind. Carlos is like family now.”
Slowly, Prince Khalil smiled. “Wow. I never thought I’d meet a girl who likes iguanas … let alone a princess. I thought princesses only liked dresses and things.”
“Oh,” I said uncomfortably, thinking of Luisa. “Well, you can be a princess and like lots of different things. Dresses, drawing, soccer, horseback riding, ruling the country, and, uh, iguanas. Though to be honest, I didn’t really like iguanas at first. But once I got to know them, they sort of grew on me.”
I realized I wasn’t only talking about iguanas … I was talking about the RGA … and my cousin Luisa … and maybe even Prince Khalil!
That made me feel even more uncomfortable, especially because of the way he kept staring at me. Why did his eyes have to be so brown?
“And anyway,” I added, “isn’t that your job?”
He was still staring at me like I had something on my face. “Isn’t what my job?”
“Isn’t it part of your job with the Herpetology Society to educate the public about how it’s good to have reptiles and amphibians around? Because they’re beneficial to the environment?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, and smiled some more. “Exactly.”
“So maybe,” I said, “we could keep just one. This one. Carlos.”
“Definitely,” he said. “I can show you how to take care of him and what to feed him and stuff. I could come over anytime if you want, because my parents will be staying here in Genovia for the summer.”
“Oh,” I said. “That would be great.”
Then when he showed me how to open the live trap to let Carlos go (although of course the dumb thing was asleep, or scared or something, and wouldn’t leave, so we practically had to shake the cage up and down to get him to go), Prince Khalil accidentally put his hand over mine while I was trying to work the latch.
“Oops,” he said, and smiled some more. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I said, and smiled back. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t feeling uncomfortable anymore. I couldn’t stop smiling!
Especially when we were making our way back to the party—Prince Khalil had closed the door to the live trap so Carlos couldn’t go back in there and promised to come by tomorrow (which is today) to get it—and he asked, “Hey, do you want to dance?”
“Sure,” I said. Because I had no idea what was going on. I think in this one area, Luisa might be right. I AM a dumb, immature little baby. “I’ve been dancing all night. Didn’t you see me?”
“No,” he said, looking as embarrassed as I was about to feel. “I meant with me. Do you want to dance with me?”
At first I wasn’t sure if what I heard was in my head or my heart, but it sounded like a million firecrackers going off at the same time, exploding in the air and causing a burst of light that blazed even brighter than the crystals on my sister’s wedding dress.
And that’s because the royal wedding fireworks display had started going off right at that very moment,
just above our heads, in huge eruptions of Genovian white, green, and blue.
With my heart slamming in my chest, I said, “Why, yes, Prince Khalil, I would love to dance with you.”
So we did!
Not a slow dance or anything.
But we definitely danced under the moonlight and by the fountain! We even touched hands once, when I almost lost my balance and would have slipped into the pool if he hadn’t reached out, laughing, and saved me!
It was amazing.
I still haven’t stopped smiling. And that’s because I’ve finally realized something: I think Nishi might be right.
Prince Khalil does like me! As more than just a friend. And guess what else?
I think I like him, too. ☺
I guess this wedding didn’t turn out to be a disaster after all. And I haven’t turned out to be such a disaster at this princess thing, either!
Well, I’d better go to bed now. With Mia leaving for her honeymoon, I’m going to have a lot more responsibilities around here starting tomorrow. Like Grandmère says, every woman needs at least eight hours of sleep a night so that she can wake refreshed upon the morning to battle the new day.
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About the Author
Meg Cabot is the #1 New York Times-bestselling author of the beloved and critically acclaimed Princess Diaries series, which were made into wildly popular Disney movies of the same name. There have been over 25 million copies of Meg’s books for both adults and teens/tweens sold in 38 countries. Her last name rhymes with habit, as in “her books can be habit-forming.” She currently lives in Key West, Florida, with her husband and various cats. You can sign up for email updates here.
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