I heard the sound of smashing glass. When I turned, I saw that Grandmère had thrown her whiskey into the marble fireplace. She was shaking almost as much as Rommel usually did, only from rage, not from having no fur.

“I knew it!” she cried, her face a mask of fury. “I knew it! It’s because of that woman, isn’t it?”

Stunned at this outburst, I swung my astonished gaze back toward my father. Amazingly, he looked calm . . . and almost cheerful. Certainly happier than he should have been, given what had happened moments before with Olivia, and the fact that he’d just announced he was giving up on a campaign on which he’d spent millions of his own money.

“Yes, it is, Mother,” he said happily. “I’ve decided to take the advice of my daughter, and stop following the map.”

“Map?” Grandmère cried. “What map? What kind of nonsense is that?”

“The kind I should have listened to a long time ago,” Dad said, setting down his whiskey glass and heading toward the foyer. “I’m taking the road less traveled. It may not get me where I thought I was going, but it could take me somewhere even better. Right, Mia?”

“Sure,” I said as Michael and I followed him. He’d reached for his suit jacket, and as he did, I noticed that there was stubble on his upper lip. He was growing his mustache back. “You never know. Where are you going?”

“To have dinner with Helen Thermopolis,” he said. To Grandmère he said, “Mother, do not wait up for me.”

“Helen Thermopolis?” Grandmère looked apoplectic. “Amelia’s mother?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “We’re going to a new vegetarian restaurant that’s opened around the corner from her place. Helen says the baba ghanoush is excellent.”

“Baba ghanoush?” Grandmère looked as if she were about to have a stroke. “You’re going to eat baba ghanoush?”

“Yes, Mother.” Dad stopped in front of the floor-length mirror Grandmère had hung next to the front door to her condo so that she can check herself before she goes out in order to make sure her eyebrows aren’t drawn on unevenly. He adjusted his tie, then smoothed down the imaginary hairs on his bald head. “Helen has decided to give me another chance. And I am going to win her back, no matter what I have to do, even if it’s eat baba ghanoush.” He glanced at us, then added deliberately, “Or step down from the throne.”

Grandmère was so shocked, the cigarette dropped from her limp fingers to the marble floor. Michael stepped forward and quickly stamped it out.

“Abdicate?” my grandmother cried. “B-but what would you do instead of rule?”

Dad gave her a look that was as stony-eyed as any she’d ever given me.

“Live, Mother,” he said softly. It was the softness in his tone, in fact, that caused the chill to creep up the backs of my arms. If he’d said it loudly, it wouldn’t have sounded half as convincing. “I’m going to live.”

Then he left the penthouse, closing the door behind him as softly as he’d spoken.

In the ensuing silence, all I could hear was Rommel’s panting. When I risked a glance at my grandmother, I saw that her face had gone the same color as my bruised foot . . . a sort of purplish gray.

When she noticed I was looking at her, she snapped, “Well, I hope you’re happy now, Amelia. If he abdicates, you’re going to have to take his place on the throne. And it will all be your own fault.”

“How is it my fault?” I demanded. “Just because I told him he didn’t have to follow the map?”

“Yes, whatever that nonsense even means. You know perfectly well sacrifices have to be made when one inherits a throne. Well, now that responsibility is going to fall on you, young lady. Enjoy planning your wedding while also planning a coronation! Enjoy the honeymoon, because as soon you get back, you’ll be princess of a country that’s falling apart!”

“You forgot to add pregnant,” I said. “With twins.”

She stared at me. “What did you say?”

“A baby.” I pulled the copy of the ultrasound from my pocket and stuck it to the suit of armor next to the baby grand. “I’m having one. Times two.”

Grandmère wandered toward the suit of armor to stare at the ultrasound, Rommel trotting along behind her. “Baby?” she murmured. For once, I’d managed to render her speechless. Well, almost. “Two?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I’m going to do just fine ruling Genovia. The wedding’s going to be fine, too. Though we’re going to need a bigger dress—”

“Okay.” Michael crossed the foyer to take me by the arm. “That’s it. We’re going home now. We’ll see you later, Clarisse.”

“Pregnant?” She stood there murmuring, still staring at the ultrasound. “Twins?”

I don’t know what she did after that because Michael shut the door behind us. He doesn’t really approve of the way I broke the news to my parents (well, paternal grandparent).

But I think I did the best I could under the circumstances, which admittedly were not ideal.

Now I’m in bed with my foot up (finally), eating Rocky Road ice cream (I’m totally going to set up an appointment with a nutritionist like Michael wants us to, but until then, I’m just going to finish this ice cream) and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Fat Louie and Michael beside me.