Princess in Waiting (The Princess Diaries 4)

Afterward Grandmère came up and told me not to be so ridiculous, that she merely wanted Prince René and I to dance together because it was a nice photo op for Newsweek and that maybe if they ran a story on us, it would attract more tourists.

To which I replied that in light of our crumbling infrastructure, more tourists is exactly what this country doesn’t need.

I suppose if my palace had been bought out from under me by some shoe designer, I would be pretty desperate, too, but I wouldn’t hit on a girl who has the weight of an entire populace on her shoulders—and already has a boyfriend, besides.

On the bright side, if Newsweek does run the photo, maybe Michael will get all jealous of René the way Mr. Rochester did of that St. John guy, and he’ll boss me around some more!!!

Two days, eight hours, and ten minutes until I see Michael again.

I CAN’T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, January 19, 3 p.m. Genovian time,

Royal Genovian Jet, 35,000 feet in the air

I cannot believe that

A. my dad is staying in Genovia in order to resolve the parking crisis rather than coming back to New York with me.

B. he actually believed Grandmère when she said due to my poor performance in Genovia that my princess lessons need to continue.

C. she (not to mention Rommel) is coming back to New York with me.

IT IS NOT FAIR. I held up my part of the agreement. I went to every single princess lesson Grandmère gave last fall. I passed Algebra. I gave my stupid address to the Genovian people.

Grandmère says that in spite of what I might think, I still have a lot to learn about governance. Except that she is so wrong. I know she is only coming back to New York with me so she can go on torturing me. It is kind of like her hobby now. In fact, for all I know, it might even be her gift, her God-given talent.

At least she is lucky enough to have one. But it is still so not fair.

And yes, before I left, my dad slipped me a hundred Euros and told me if I didn’t make a fuss about Grandmère, he’d make it up to me someday.

But there is nothing he can do to makethis up to me. Nothing.

He says she is just a harmless old lady and that I should try to enjoy her while I can because someday she won’t be with us anymore. I just looked at him like he was crazy. Even he couldn’t keep a straight face. He went, “Okay, I’ll donatetwo hundred bucks a day to Greenpeace if you keep her out of my hair.”

Which is funny, because of course my dad hasn’t got any. Hair, I mean.

That is double the amount he was already donating in my name to my favorite organization. I sincerely hope Greenpeace appreciates the supreme sacrifice I am making for its sake.

So Grandmère is coming back to New York with me, and dragging a cowering Rommel along with her. Just when his fur had started to grow back, too. Poor thing.

I told my dad I’d put up with the whole princess-lesson thing again this semester, but that he’d better get one thing straight with Grandmère beforehand, and that is this: I have a serious boyfriend now. Grandmère had better not try to sabotage this, or think she can be trying to fix me up with any more Prince Renés.

I don’t care how many crown titles the guy has, my heart belongs to Mr. Michael Moscovitz, Esquire.

My dad said he’d see what he could do. But I don’t know how much he was actually paying attention, since Miss Czech Republic was hanging around, twirling her sash kind of impatiently.

Anyway, a little while ago I told Grandmère myself that she better watch it where Michael is concerned.

“I don’t want to hear anything more about how I’m too young to be in love,” I said, over the lunch (poached salmon for Grandmère, three-bean salad for me) served by the royal Genovian flight attendants. “I am old enough to know my own heart, and that means I am old enough to give that heart away if I choose to.”

Grandmère said something about how then I should get ready for some heartburn, but I ignored her. Just because her romantic life since Grandpa died has been less than satisfactory is no reason for her to be so cynical about mine. I mean, that is just what she gets for going out with media moguls and dictators and stuff.

Michael and I, on the other hand, are going to have a great love, just like Jane and Mr. Rochester. Or Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt.

Or at least we will, if we ever actually get to go out on a date.

One day, fourteen hours until I see him again.