Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God!

Okay, I just have to remember to breathe. BREATHE. In and out. IN. Then OUT.

The thing is, it all started off so well. I mean, I came out and Madonna was singing “Lucky Star” and my tiara didn’t fall off and everyone clapped, and everything looked so nice despite Grandmère and Vigo’s worries, especially the purple flowers, and—this was the really amazing thing—it turned out Dad had flown in especially for the occasion, all the way from Europe on the Royal Genovian jet, taking time off from the campaign just for the night as a special surprise for me.

Yes! He stepped out from behind the biggest batch of purple flowers, and made a speech about how great a daughter—and princess—I am…a speech that I barely heard because I was so shocked and teary-eyed at seeing him.

And then the next thing I knew he was hugging me, and he’d given me this GIANT black velvet box, and inside was a very sparkly tiara. I thought it looked familiar, and he explained to everyone that it was the one Princess Amelie Virginie was wearing in the portrait I have hanging in my bedroom. He said that if anyone deserved it, I did. It had been missing for nearly four hundred years, and he’d had them look all over the palace for it, and finally someone had found it in a dusty corner of the jewelry vault, and they’d polished it all up and cleaned it just for me.

Can you imagine anything so sweet?

It took me five minutes to stop crying. And another five minutes for Paolo to get my old tiara off and the new one on, thanks to all the hairpins.

You know, it fits me a lot better than my old one. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to slip off at all.

After that everyone walked over and said such kind things to me, like, “Thanks for inviting me,” and “You look so pretty!” and “The spring rolls are delicious!”

And Angelina Jolie came up and gave me my formal invitation to join the Domina Rei, which I accepted on the spot (Grandmère told me I had to, but I wanted to, of course, because it’s a kick-ass organization).

Grandmère spotted us talking and, of course, figured out immediately what was going on, so she came rushing over like Rocky when he hears a box of cookies being opened.

And so Angelina gave her her invitation, and all of Grandmère’s dreams came true.

I wish I could say she went away then, but she spent the rest of the evening, as best I could tell, following Angelina around, thanking her every chance she got. It was embarrassing.

But then, it was Grandmère. What else is new?

And then I went around and did the princess thing, personally going up to everyone and thanking them for coming, and it wasn’t even that awkward because, whatever, after nearly four years of this I’m pretty much used to it, and I’m not even thrown anymore by the bizarre things people sometimes say, which are probably just non sequiturs I’ve taken out of context, like when Mr. Hipskin’s wife said, “You look like a mermaid!”

I’m sure she just meant because my dress is so shiny and not because she’s psychic (but only partly) and got mermaids and unicorns mixed up and knows I’m the only virgin left in the graduating senior class of Albert Einstein High, besides my boyfriend, of course.

And Lana and Trisha and Shameeka and Tina and Ling Su and Perin and my mom and I had a blast rocking down to “Express Yourself” (“Come on, girls!”), and then Lana and Trisha made a beeline for the Princes William and Harry (of course), and J.P. and I slow danced to “Crazy for You,” and my dad and I rumbaed to “La Isla Bonita.” And even though Lilly was filming everything, which technically wasn’t allowed, I told the security force just to let her, rather than make a big deal of it. She was at least asking people beforehand if it was all right, so that part was okay—but that was all she appeared to be up to.

God only knows what she’s going to do with the film later. Probably make some kind of documentary about the exorbitant spending habits of the filthy rich—Real Princesses of New York City—and run scenes from my party side by side with scenes of people from the slums of Haiti, eating cookies made of dirt.

(Note to self: Make a huge donation to hunger organization. One in three children of the world die of hunger every day. Seriously. And Grandmère was having a fit over the SAUCE we were supposed to dip the spring rolls in.)

But Lilly lowered the camera when she came up to me—Kenneth in tow, and Michael following not far behind—and said, “Hey, Mia. This is a pretty great party.”

I totally almost choked on the piece of shrimp cocktail I was eating. Because I hadn’t been able to eat a thing all night, I’d been so busy dancing and greeting people, and Tina had just come up to me that minute with a little plate of food, going, “Mia, you’ve got to take a minute to eat something, or you’re going to pass out….”

“Oh,” I said, with my mouth full (a total Grandmère nono). “Thank you.”

I’ll admit, I was speaking to Lilly.

But my gaze had flicked right over her and was totally fixated on Michael, in his tux, behind Kenny (I mean, Kenneth). Michael just looked so…incredible, standing there with the glow of the lights of lower Manhattan behind his head, and the little bit of condensation that was in the air having settled over his broad shoulders and making the black material on them look a bit sparkly in all the twinkly party lights.