Royal Wedding

“I won’t!” she yelled, quite loudly for such a tiny thing. “I won’t go back with them to New Jersey!”

My dad leaned down to whisper something in her ear. I have no idea what it was, but it caused her to loosen her hold on him a little and appear somewhat more composed, though she was still giving her aunt and uncle the stink eye.

I could see then that she’d inherited more than a love of poodles from her paternal grandmother’s side of the family. She’d also inherited Grandmère’s ability to dress someone down with a single look.

“Well,” her aunt Catherine said nervously. “We’d better be going if we want to beat the traffic.”

From the look in Dad’s eye, I could tell he wanted to beat something, too, but it wasn’t the traffic. He was nobly holding himself back, however.

Grandmère appeared in the foyer as Olivia was leaving, Snowball on a sparkling rhinestone leash.

“Do not forget this,” she said with regal calm, and handed her younger granddaughter the end of the lead.

“Grandmère, I can’t!” Olivia cried. “Snowball is your dog.”

“Not anymore,” Grandmère said, and refused to hear anymore about it.

This seemed to cheer Olivia up a little, though Uncle Rick didn’t look too happy about it. He started to say something about his allergies until Grandmère, too, gave him one of her patented evil stares.

I’ve never seen anyone shut his mouth faster.

“Listen,” I whispered to my little sister as I hugged her good-bye. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Thanks for the help with the cruise ships. And keep writing in that diary.”

She nodded, as teary-eyed as I was. “You, too,” she whispered.

After they left, we all felt low and dispirited, even Rommel, who retired to his French egg basket to lick off what little remaining fur he had left. Dad tried to make himself feel better by getting on the phone and shouting at his lawyers for being incompetent.

I sidled up to Grandmère and—in my new capacity as a mother-to-be, in which I felt I now understood not only her, but what’s actually important in the universe—whispered, “I saw what you did there.”

Grandmère had lit a cigarette—not even a vapor one, which is a sign of how upset she was. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are blathering about, Amelia.”

“Yes, you do. It was very kind of you to give up your new little dog. It meant a lot to Olivia. And thank you, Grandmère, for always telling me the truth, and preparing me for the real world. I should have thanked you before, but . . . well, I never realized before now what an incredible impact you’ve had on my life.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned and blew a stream of smoke right at my face.

“I never wanted that bitch in the first place. She nipped Rommel every time he came near her.”

I assumed she was referring to Snowball, not her long-lost granddaughter, but it was hard to be sure. I was coughing too hard, trying to make sure no smoke got into my lungs and threatened my unborn fetuses.

“Why are you just standing there?” Grandmère went on as Michael hurried over to make sure I was all right. “Make yourself useful, and get me a drink.”

“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, concerned, as he dragged me out of the line of secondhand smoke.

“Yes,” I whispered, gagging. “I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to have a tender moment with her. I hope someday she gets what she deserves.”

“I think she’s going to,” he whispered back. “She’s going to be a great-grandmother. To twins.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “HA! Thanks for rescuing me, Fire Marshal.”

He smiled back. “Anytime.”

Dad was saying, in an exhausted voice, after having hung up with the lawyers, “They think we’ll have Olivia back by tomorrow afternoon.”

Michael raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” To my grandmother he said, “And should you really be smoking that in here? I thought your doctor said—”

“I need a drink as well.” Dad grabbed a whiskey decanter from the bar shaped like a globe where my grandmother hides all her best hooch, and began pouring. “Well, who wouldn’t, after something that unpleasant? Who’s with me?”

Dad assumed everyone was with him, since he poured four glasses. Michael and I exchanged glances. I tried to get him to read my mind. Not now. We are not telling them now. Now is not the time.

I couldn’t tell whether or not I’d succeeded.

“Uh,” I said as Dad passed me a glass. The fumes from inside it made my eyes water. “None for me, thanks. I’m not really in the mood.”

“Well, you should be,” my father continued. “Because it’s not all bad news.” He raised his glass. “As of a few hours ago, Cousin Ivan has officially withdrawn from the election for prime minister of Genovia.”

I kept my glass in the air as Michael and Grandmère said “Cheers” and took a sip. “Oh, wow, Dad. That’s great.”

“It is great,” my father said. “For Deputy Minister Dupris.”

“Wait . . .” I lowered my glass. “Why is it great for her?”

“Because I’ve decided to withdraw from the race as well,” Dad said. I noticed he didn’t make eye contact with his mother as he said this. “And when I do, that will make her the only viable candidate.”