Notebooks of a Middle-School Princess Bridesmaid-in-Training

by Meg Cabot

  And how even though I did NOT in any way steal Prince Khalil from her, Luisa thinks I’m a backstabber, and that she may or not be thinking of doing something nasty to get back at me over it.

  ‘I’m not saying any of this because I want to get Luisa in trouble,’ I said when I was done. ‘I know a royal never tattles. I just think someone should know. An adult. Just in case.’

  Grandmère nodded, picked up a different jar, and began rubbing a new cream on to her face. She always says a woman should avoid three things: the sun, tanning beds, and men standing on the street selling perfume.

  ‘Of course. I understand perfectly, and you did the right thing telling me, Olivia. None of this, of course, has anything to do with you. It’s Bianca Ferrari’s fault.’

  ‘It is?’ I was surprised. ‘How?’

  ‘Bianca Ferrari is probably filling her granddaughter’s head with tales of how SHE should be the rightful heir to the throne, not you. Luisa’s grandmother thought she would marry your grandfather some day, you see,’ she said, examining her reflection in the mirror. ‘Oh, I suppose your grandfather was fond of her, in his way . . . until I came along. Then he realized what a real woman was and never looked in Bianca Ferrari’s direction again.’

  I gasped. ‘Grandmère! You were a boyfriend stealer? A royal backstabber?’

  ‘Pfuit!’ She picked up a lipstick and began carefully to apply it. ‘You can’t steal what someone never owned in the first place. Bianca Ferrari always had beauty, but not character or common sense. And those are the things one ought to look for in a life partner, because beauty fades, but character and common sense are forever.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Olivia, oh. That is why your cousin is filled with so much hostility towards you. Because you have both character and common sense, which Luisa, for now, seems to lack. That – in addition to the fact that you’re a princess, while she’s only the granddaughter of a baroness – makes her feel insecure.’

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Luisa Ferrari seemed like the least insecure person I’d ever met.

  But Grandmère went on, ‘Character and common sense can be learned, of course. That’s what a good education is for. But right now Luisa appears to prefer to spend her time focusing on her looks, and on securing a royal title for herself, perhaps in the form of marrying a prince.’ She looked at my reflection in the mirror and smiled. ‘But she’s young. There’s still plenty of time for her to learn. And as royals ourselves, it’s our duty to help guide her, Olivia, into making the right choices.’

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I wanted to spend as little time as possible with Luisa. But if it was for the good of the throne – and the family – I guess I’d try to help. ‘How, Grandmère?’

  ‘I think both Luisa and her grandmother could learn to be a little more tolerant of others,’ Grandmère said. ‘Especially commoners. It would be character-building for them. But the only way that’s going to happen is if they spend more time with them.’

  I thought of what Luisa had said about Rocky not being ‘royal’ and how he shouldn’t even be attending the RGA.

  ‘Um,’ I said. ‘I guess. But I don’t see how that will ever—’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Grandmère interrupted briskly, and removed her turban to reveal a perfectly coiffed bun. ‘Maxine, my tiara, please.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’ Maxine, Grandmère’s maid, went to Grandmère’s jewel closet to fetch her tiara.

  ‘Olivia, you had better go to your own room and get your own tiara. This is a formal dinner tonight. Hats and bats, my girl. Hats and bats.’

  Hats and bats is code in the palace for ‘tiara and sceptre’.

  ‘Yes, Grandmère,’ I said, and went back to my room, thinking about everything she’d said. I don’t know if I believe Luisa Ferrari is jealous of my character and common sense . . . and my royal title, of course. I think Princess Komiko is right, and Luisa is mean because her parents don’t get along and she’s mad about it and thinks it’s OK to take that anger out on other people.

  Maybe we’re both right. Like I told Prince Khalil, people can be more than one thing. Human beings are complicated.

  But in the end, it doesn’t really matter, because no matter why Luisa is the way she is, I’m the one who has to deal with it.

  Friday 19 June 8.30 p.m.

  Royal Banquet Hall Prenuptial Dinner

  I know I’m not supposed to be writing in my notebook at the table, but I have to because I’m SURE Luisa is up to something. All night long she’s been giving me dirty looks from across the dining room!

  Then again, that might be because I’m sitting next to Michael’s mom, Dr Moscovitz, who really is very nice and funny, while Luisa has to sit by some old boring friend that her grandmother invited who won’t stop talking about the stock market.

  HA HA HA HA!

  Oops, I know it’s wrong to gloat over the misfortune of others.

  But it’s hard not to be having fun at your sister’s prenuptial dinner, where everyone is toasting the bride and groom and telling funny stories about how they first kissed in a penguin enclosure at the zoo (Nishi thinks this is very romantic) and went to something called a Cultural Diversity Dance and how Michael used to be in a band.

  Even Rocky seems to be having fun, and he hates big formal dinners like this (but he gets to sit next to Prince Khalil, so basically, Rocky is in heaven).

  I never noticed before – maybe because I’ve never seen him in a tuxedo – but Prince Khalil looks a lot like one of those Bollywood movie stars that Nishi is always going on about, the ones who can sing and dance at the same time, unlike me.

  And he’s being so nice to Rocky! Some boys aren’t nice to other boys who are younger than they are. Sometimes they ignore them or even bully them (my step-cousin Justin used to).

  But Khalil is being very patient and kind to Rocky, even showing him which spoon to use for the soup, and making sure he knows which water glass to drink out of, so he doesn’t make the same mistake I did the other night.

  Awwww!

  Not that I like him or anything. I –

  Ugh! There’s Luisa, giving me the death stare AGAIN! What is her problem? I should probably tell someone besides Grandmère what’s going on . . . someone like Lars, Mia’s bodyguard, the head of the Royal Genovian Guard.

  But no, that might be overreacting a little. Probably Grandmère is right, and Luisa only needs our guidance and example as royals. My job as a junior bridesmaid (and princess) is to help my sister AVOID trouble during her wedding, not MAKE it for her.

  And I’m sure Grandmère’s plan (whatever it is) is going to work.

  So I’m going to keep my mouth shut. I mean, really, Luisa is a bridesmaid, too. The wedding is when she’s going to have her big opportunity to show off her Claudio evening gown with the detachable skirt in front of everyone. What is she going to do, try to ruin it? Of course not!

  Friday 19 June 11.45 p.m.

  Royal Genovian Bedroom

  I went to bed early (or tried to, anyway) because Grandmère said we should all get our beauty sleep or every line on our faces would show up tomorrow on people’s televisions while we were being filmed at the wedding (at least on the high-definition TVs).

  But just after I fell asleep, I had the worst, most terrible nightmare. I was in my purple bridesmaid dress (and I looked really, really amazing in it), and the wedding was about to start, but all of a sudden I couldn’t find Snowball!

  And this was bad because for some reason she was supposed to walk down the aisle with me (in the dream. In real life, pets aren’t allowed to be in the wedding, which I think is terrible and so does Mia. For a while she was saying it would be funny if Fat Louie could ride down the aisle on the back of her train, until Sebastiano pointed out that this would ruin her veil because it’s made of hand-stitched lace and it would tear apart if a twenty-pound cat sat on it and got dragged down a red carpet. Not to mention, Fat Louie would never sit sti
ll for it).

  So in my dream I was running all around the palace, looking everywhere for Snowball, calling, ‘Snowball! Snowy! Here, Snowball, come here, girl! Where are you, girl?’

  And then when I finally found her in Chrissy’s stable, I was so relieved . . .

  Until the worst thing happened! She came running up to me and jumped up excitedly (which I’ve been trying to train her not to do), and got dirty paw marks all over my beautiful purple bridesmaid dress!

  It was horrible! I looked like a total mess!

  But there was no time to clean off the paw marks (and they wouldn’t have come out anyway, because they were everywhere), since it was time to walk down the aisle, and Mia was calling me.

  So I had to hold my sister’s bridal train with dirty paw marks all over me.

  And everyone was staring and whispering about me and what a failure I was as a princess, in spite of all the training that Mia and Dad and Grandmère and the RGA and everyone had given me, and how I’d ruined the WHOLE WEDDING.

  And then the dream shifted to a news report of a traffic jam due to all the people who were leaving Genovia, vowing never to come back because of me!

  Fortunately that’s when I woke up.

  I was so relieved to find Snowball curled up next to me asleep in a little ball, without the slightest hint of dirt on her, that I grabbed and hugged her.

  And now I’m going to make sure she stays locked in my room ALL NIGHT and ALL MORNING if it’s the last thing I do!

  I won’t be the one to ruin this wedding. I WON’T!

  Saturday 20 June 7.45 a.m.

  Royal Genovian Bedroom Wedding Day

  I hate her.

  I. Hate. Her.

  I know it’s wrong to say you hate people, but I don’t care.

  I HATE LUISA FERRARI.

  She is all the worst things in the world combined, every bad swear word I have ever heard my dad call the contractors who are working on the summer house, AND a bad person, besides.

  And I KNOW it was her, because Snowball was with me ALL NIGHT! I made sure because of my nightmare.

  So Snowball couldn’t have snuck down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and stolen the top layer off the wedding cake and eaten it!

  How would Snowball even have REACHED the top layer of the wedding cake without knocking the whole thing down, anyway? The wedding cake is five feet tall (and on a table with no chairs around it).

  OBVIOUSLY a human being had to have done it. You don’t have to be a member of the Royal Genovian Guard, trained in the art of investigation and mystery detection, to deduce that.

  But the majordomo doesn’t believe me. Neither does Chef Bernard. When he and the rest of the cooking staff came in this morning and saw what had happened to the cake, of course they all assumed it was Snowball. I don’t really blame them, because of her previous crimes.

  Still, she couldn’t possibly have done this! Somehow last night Luisa had to have snuck into the kitchen and done it, in order to ruin my life. It’s almost like my dream is coming true, in a way. I wonder if I’m a little bit psychic? Is it possible to be a princess, good at drawing, and also psychic?

  No. That’s too many good things at once.

  ‘Look,’ I said to them as calmly as I could, using as many of my diplomacy skills as I could muster, because I knew I couldn’t outright blame Luisa without having any proof. ‘It couldn’t possibly have been Snowball. Snowball was with me all night. And she isn’t tall enough to have reached the top of that cake without leaving paw prints on the rest of it. Unless you think she FLEW to the top.’

  Everyone looked at the cake. It was only me, Dad and Grandmère there from the family, because they didn’t want to disturb anyone else in the palace (like Mia) because it was ‘only a domestic issue’, and also because Mia was the bride and ‘needed her rest’.

  Only a domestic issue? My dog was being accused of a crime she didn’t commit!

  ‘Olivia has a point,’ Dad said. ‘It would have taken a feat of true engineering.’

  ‘But how else could it have happened?’ the majordomo wailed. ‘Who would take the top layer – only the top layer – of a seven-layer wedding cake? We have searched everywhere, but it is gone.’

  ‘That’s more proof that it wasn’t Snowball,’ I said. ‘Because if it was her, you’d have found bits of cake lying around somewhere. Snowball never eats everything she steals. She always hides some for later. So if it was Snowball, there would be icing and crumbs somewhere on the grounds of this palace.’

  My dad looked unhappy. He was wearing his robe, which is red satin and has a fancy letter P, either for Prince or Phillipe, on the lapel.

  ‘I don’t want to have the grounds searched for the top layer of a royal wedding cake right now,’ he said. ‘The guests are going to be arriving in a few hours.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go back to bed,’ Grandmère said, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘I think Chef Bernard has the situation well in hand.’

  ‘Non!’ Chef Bernard cried. ‘Non, I do not! This cake was to have served five hundred and fifty. Now it is to serve seven hundred, thanks to zee children from the zee school. But it is MISSING A LAYER!’

  Grandmère blinked at him. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Chef. Just cut smaller slices.’

  Both Chef Bernard and the majordomo looked like they wanted to cut something – and not a slice of cake, either.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the chef said sadly.

  As we were walking back up the stairs to our bedrooms, I said to Dad, feeling desperate, ‘Snowball didn’t do it. You have to see that.’

  ‘Of course I do, sweetheart,’ Dad said, yawning.

  ‘Not a word about any of this to anyone, you two,’ Grandmère said. ‘I don’t want Amelia to know about anything that goes wrong today. Not that anything else is going to go wrong. The sun is shining, the crowds are already ten-deep outside . . . it looks like a fine day for a wedding. It’s a pity about the cake, but . . . well, these things do happen.’

  Dad rubbed his bald head. ‘I don’t see how. I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you suppose it could have been the dog?’

  ‘NO!’ I yelled. ‘It wasn’t. It was—’

  But Grandmère gave me her most evil stare.

  ‘Nothing else is going to go wrong today,’ Grandmère said firmly. ‘Nothing. Do you understand, Olivia?’

  I swallowed. ‘Yes, Grandmère.’

  It’s not fair! Why should I have to act like a princess, when Luisa Ferrari gets to do whatever she wants, and get away with it? I don’t care how sad she was when her parents got divorced, or how lacking she might be in character or common sense.

  The next time I see Luisa Ferrari, she’s going to get what she deserves.

  Saturday 20 June 9.35 a.m.

  Royal Genovian Bedroom Wedding Day

  I haven’t seen Luisa yet. But it’s only a matter of time.

  Right now Nishi and I are both getting our hair done by Paolo.

  Well, by his assistants. Paolo – Hair Stylist to Royalty – only has time for one person today, and that’s my sister, the bride.

  The florists sent over arrangements for our hair – which Paolo’s assistants are tucking in along with my tiara – as well as bouquets for us to hold.

  In order to look good for the camera, we’re also getting make-up. Not a lot, because it’s important to appear ‘natural and dewy fresh’ like the young girls that we are (according to orders given by Dominique de Bois, director of Royal Genovian Press Relations and Marketing).

  But when you’re being filmed in high definition, that means being sprayed with a light film of foundation that exactly matches your own skin colour, so there won’t be any uneven spots (the lady doing my make-up told me that even male sports stars do this).

  This is almost exciting enough for me to forget how mad I am at Luisa.

  Almost.

  Nishi says she is in paradise (although we both agreed we’re glad we don’t have to g
et sprayed every day).

  After the make-up and hair comes the next most important part:

  THE DRESSES!

  Ours were delivered, newly pressed, by the house-keeping staff in garment bags, so I couldn’t see what mine looked like until Francesca, my personal wardrobe consultant, unzipped it. When she did, she paused before taking it out of the bag.

  ‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘Your Highness, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your dress, it . . . it’s . . . purple.’

  ‘Surprise!’ I cried.

  ‘I LOVE it!’ Nishi yelled when she saw hers.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Grandmère and I had Sebastiano dye them at the last minute. We think Mia will be so surprised.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Francesca, helping me to step into all the flouncy layers. ‘I think the princess will be very surprised indeed.’

  I hope it will be a good surprise! I think I look as good as I did in my dream . . . only better, because I’m not covered in dirty paw prints. Snowball is sitting on my bed, watching us, perfectly dirt-free (when I took her out for her morning walk, I was careful to keep her on her leash, and away from all puddles).

  After all the hair and make-up people went away, Nishi and I checked out our reflections in the full-length mirror in my bathroom.

  ‘We look like naiads,’ Nishi said approvingly. ‘Those were a type of water nymph that lived in fountains and streams and stuff in ancient Greece. We look just like them, only in purple instead of green or blue.’

  ‘Cool,’ I said. ‘Total naiads.’

  Then we took a bunch of selfies with Nishi’s mobile, posing on my bed that’s shaped like a boat, so we looked even more like naiads, or maybe even the mermaid spigots on Grandmère’s royal bathtub.