Royal Wedding

At first this made me very depressed. Famous? Being famous isn’t a job!

Then I realized that it is. Being famous is very hard work, but it’s also empowering, because you have influence over a large number of people and can do amazing things with that power.

And it doesn’t even matter anymore how you happen to come by that fame, singing or dancing or posting a sex tape on the Internet or finding out that you’re a princess. It’s what you do with your fame that matters.

So I began explaining to the children that they could become famous by doing something helpful in their community, such as being a doctor, teacher, police officer, engineer, or architect. That can be totally empowering, even if it doesn’t make them “famous” internationally.

Of course none of them has fallen for it . . . yet. I think I have to work on my delivery. It definitely isn’t going to help if my eyelid is twitching as I say it.

And I must say I appreciate the complimentary bottle of champagne and box of chocolate-covered strawberries that the concierge has just sent up, along with her congratulations and a note saying that if we like our room, we should be sure to post about it on our Instagram accounts.

“Well,” Michael just said as he came out of the shower in his fluffy white Regalton bathrobe, smelling of Kiehl’s beauty products, his dark hair sticking damply to the back of his neck (how I love when this happens). “I could get used to this. Did you see that there’s a television in the mirror in there? Inside the mirror. According to Inside Edition, the reason we’re getting married in such a rush is because you’re carrying my unborn twins. Congratulations. At least they’re not Prince Harry’s this time.”

“I liked Sleepy Palm Cay better, where there were no TVs,” I said, “especially not in the bathroom mirrors.”

“I never in a million years thought I’d hear you say such a thing.” Michael lay down on the bed beside me and lifted one of the chocolate-covered strawberries and dangled it over my mouth. “Open. We must keep you well nourished as you’re now eating for three.”

I thought about refusing, but who can refuse a delicious chocolate-covered strawberry? Besides, I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth. I’d been busy reading José’s dossier on Olivia (the news isn’t as bad as I thought. But it isn’t great either. Olivia doesn’t appear to be happy in her school, though she does make very good grades).

“Don’t eat any more of those,” I warned Michael, after I’d swallowed. “They’re blackmail berries. They only gave them to us in exchange for us posting photos of ourselves eating them on our social media network, with a hashtag mentioning the Regalton. But if we do that, it will look like I’m promoting a for-profit business, and you know it’s Renaldo royal family policy never to do that. We only promote nonprofits.”

“So?” Michael lifted another strawberry. “You know in the old days people simply used to accept gifts and enjoy them and not feel guilty about failing to photograph themselves doing it.”

Then he opened his robe to reveal that beneath it, he was wearing absolutely nothing. Then he put the chocolate-covered strawberry on a place I’m not going to write here, but it was quite naughty, even for a visitor to this planet from another galaxy, unaccustomed to our ways and his humanoid body.

All I have to say is, this princess bride thing definitely has its upside.

CHAPTER 29

10:02 a.m., Tuesday, May 5

In HELV on way to the Community Center

Rate the Royals Rating: 1

Michael let me sleep in and was up and gone before I ever even opened my eyes. He left me a text (whatever happened to romantic, handwritten notes left on pillows, along with a chocolate-covered strawberry? Oh, well, we ate them all, and texting is more expedient).

Good morning! There’s an E. coli outbreak in California due to bags of allegedly prewashed salad mix. 213 hospitalized. Also, the wife of the Crown Prince of Qalif is alive. She tweeted that she’s very angry about this new law her husband has issued that women in his country are not allowed to swim in public.

So we are no longer the lead story! I’m at work, call me when you get up (I thought you’d want to sleep in, as you seemed exhausted. I don’t know what could have tired you out ;-). Love you.

He included an emoji of a cartoon alien being blasted through its heart by a laser gun.

I really do need to talk to him about his emojis; he doesn’t seem to understand the purpose of them at all.

Anyway, I know exactly what it is I have to do.

I read in a magazine once that sleep helps reset the brain, so if you have an important decision to make you should put off making it until morning. As human beings, we make so many important decisions throughout the day (such as what to eat for lunch, whether or not to cross against the light, or whether to friend this person or that person) that by evening our decision-making brain cells are literally depleted.

But by morning they’re recharged and ready to go.

This must be why everything seems so clear to me this morning (well, except for the headache).

Obviously, I can’t allow myself to be pushed around like this. I plan to go to New Jersey to meet my sister.

I know this goes explicitly against her own mother’s (and grandmother’s) wishes, but like Lars said, no one is going to keep me from meeting my own sister—especially now that I know we have the same middle name (Mignonette—clearly Elizabeth Harrison did that on purpose. She must have meant us to meet one day).