Royal Wedding
“Princess?”
It’s Dominique. She’s blocking my view of my parents. I can dimly make them out through the gauzy white curtains over the panes in the French doors to the balcony.
“Yes?” I’m trying to see around her.
“Mr. Moscovitz is ’ere, but I’m sorry to say ’e’s in the ’allway, beating Mr. Reynolds-Abernathy—”
CHAPTER 58
2:05 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
Rate the Royals Rating: 1
Any day that begins with trying on wedding dresses and ends with your fiancé beating up your ex-boyfriend is a good one, right?
Especially if, in between, you manage to introduce your long-lost little sister to her father, and no one ends up in jail.
Okay, well, maybe not. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep.
Probably also because my foot is throbbing like crazy, no matter how many bags of frozen Chinese dumplings I keep on it.
And also Michael is still up, tap-tapping away at his keyboard in my bed (conspicuously shirtless).
He doesn’t think he did anything wrong, of course. His side of the story is:
“I walked into your grandmother’s condo, completely minding my own business, and the next thing I know, out into the hall comes your ex-boyfriend, and he doesn’t see me, but he’s on his cell phone, and he’s saying, ‘Oh, yeah, I can score you tickets to the royal wedding. I have a complete in. She’s still into me. So how many do you want?’ So I jumped him. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Deal with it diplomatically, like a prince.”
“Ah,” he said, raising one of those thick dark eyebrows. “But I’m not a prince yet. So it seemed more logical to kick his ass.”
“Oh, yes, Michael, what you did was very logical. Very unemotional, just like Mr. Spock from Star Trek. The two of you have so much in common. Now, thanks to you, our own crisis management firm is suing us, and I have no idea how things turned out with my mom and dad. She took Rocky and left right after the RGG broke up your little fight. And I also don’t know what’s going on with Olivia, since Grandmère kicked us out, too. She says you behaved like a hooligan, and I should give back your ring and marry that nice ex-boyfriend of Taylor Swift’s instead.”
“A hooligan!” Michael grinned. “No one’s ever called me a hooligan before. I like it. But you might want to notice something.” He held out his jaw. “Not a scratch on me. Dude didn’t even get close.”
“Wow,” I said sarcastically. “You’re more physically intimidating than a guy who wrote a screenplay and a dystopian YA novel. You must be very proud.”
“Hey,” he protested. “He tried to bite me!”
“How upsetting for you. Do you have any idea, Michael, how hard I had to work on Grandmère to convince her to like you? And you ruined it all in one night. We might as well cancel the wedding. She’s never going to approve.”
Michael closed his laptop and put it on the nightstand, then flipped back the comforter on my side of the bed. “Well, maybe now we can have the wedding we wanted. Why do you need her approval, anyway? Come over here and let’s discuss it.”
He grinned and patted the clean white sheet beside him.
“Seriously, Michael,” I said. “Are you suggesting what I think you are? After a day like today?”
“I thought I’m supposed to be the alien visitor to this planet. But it looks like you’re the one in need of gentle humanizing right now. So get over here.”
Well, I guess it’s worth a try.
CHAPTER 59
2:35 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
Rate the Royals Rating: 1
I’m really feeling quite a bit better now. Even my foot hurts a bit less.
Wait . . . what was it I was worrying about again? I’m so sleepy I forgot . . .
Oh, well.
Three things I’m grateful for:
1. Fat Louie (who is curled up beside me, purring).
2. Little sisters.
3. Michael. Michael. Michael.
CHAPTER 60
8:45 a.m., Thursday, May 7
Inside the HELV on the way
to the Doctor’s Office
Rate the Royals Rating: 1
When I got up and tried to walk this morning, I nearly fell down. The foot Olivia’s aunt slammed in the door is twice its normal size.
Michael took one look and said, “That’s it. We’re taking you to the doctor for an X-ray,” even though I protested that I felt fine, really.
(I was trying to sound brave. I don’t feel fine. I’m pretty sure my foot’s not broken because I already checked on iTriage and I can put my weight on it—the nearly-falling-down thing aside—and that means it’s probably only bruised. It’s definitely turned a hideous blue and green in some areas. And it’s so swollen my only shoes that fit are my UGGs, which is bad, because princesses can’t wear UGGs in public. It isn’t DONE. Except on ski slopes.)
So now we’re in the HELV on the way to Dr. Delgado’s office. I’d have made him come to the consulate, but we only have metal detectors, not X-ray technology.
In spite of my own pain—which isn’t really that bad, but then again, I’ve taken a Tylenol—I can’t help wondering how Olivia is doing. Dad texted that she spent last night at Grandmère’s. After the news broke about her true parentage, it was deemed too unsafe to take her back to Cranbrook.