Princess in Waiting (The Princess Diaries 4)

All of my Renaldo fighting spirit went right out the Contessa’s French doors to her backyard patio when I heard this. I felt as if someone had punched me in my snowdrop stomach. Had Grandmère really

said what I thought she’d said???

Swallowing hard, I went, “Wh-what?”

“Yes.” Grandmère looked at me meaningfully. “A priceless object—only one out of a group of several, almost identical items—that were given to me by my very dear friend, Mr. Richard Nixon, the deceased former American president, has been found to be missing. I realize the person who took it thought it would never be missed, because it wasn’t the only such item, and they all did look much alike. Still, it held great sentimental value for me. Dick was such a dear, sweet friend to Genovia while he was in office, for all his later troubles. But you wouldn’t happen to know anything about any of this, would you, Amelia? ”

She had me! She had me, and she knew it. I don’t know how she knew—undoubtedly through the black arts, in which I suspect Grandmère of being well versed—but clearly, she knew. I was dead. I was so, so dead. I don’t know if, being a member of the royal family and all, I was above the law back in Genovia, but I for one did not want to find out.

I should, I realize now, merely have dissembled. I should have been all, “Priceless object? What priceless object?”

But I knew it was no good to lie. My nostrils would give me away. Instead, I went, in this squeaky, high-pitched voice I barely recognized as my own, “You know what, Grandmère? I’ll be happy to dance with René. No problem!”

Grandmère looked extremely satisfied. She said, “Yes, I thought you would feel that way.” Then her drawn-on eyebrows went up. “Oh, look, here comes Prince René with our drinks. Sweet of him, don’t you think?”

Anyway, that’s how it happened that I was forced to dance with Prince René—who is a good dancer, but whatever, he’s no Michael. I mean, he’s never even seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer and he thinks Windows is pretty swell.

While we were dancing, though, this incredible thing happened. René went, “Could you believe that Bella Trevanni? Look at her, over there. She looks like a plant someone forgot to water.”

I glanced around to see what he was talking about, and sure enough, there was poor sad Bella, dancing with some old guy who must have been a friend of her grandmother’s. She looked extremely pained, like the old guy was talking to her about his investment portfolio or something. Then again, with someone like the Contessa for a grandmother, maybe pained was an expression Bella wore all the time. And my heart swelled with sympathy for her, because I so know what it is like to be somewhere you don’t want to be, dancing with someone you don’t like….

I looked up at René and said, “When this dance is over, ask her for the next one.”

It was René’s turn to look pained. “Must I?”

“Come on, René,” I said, severely. “Ask her to dance. It will be the thrill of her life to be asked to dance by a handsome prince.”

“But not so much for you, eh?” René said, still wearing his cynical smile.

“René,” I said. “No offense. But I already met my prince, long before I ever met you. The only problem is, if I don’t get out of here soon, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be my prince, because I already missed the movie we were supposed to see together, and pretty soon it’s going to be too late even for me to stop by—”

“Never fear, Your Highness,” René said, twirling me around. “If fleeing the ball is your desire, I will see to it that your wish is fulfilled.”

I looked at him kind of dubiously. I mean, why was René being so nice to me all of a sudden? Maybe for the same reason I wanted him to dance with Bella? Because he felt sorry for me?

“Um,” I said. “Okay.”

And that’s how I ended up in this bathroom. René told me to hide, and that he’d get Lars to flag down a cab, and once he’d gotten one, and the coast was clear, René would knock three times, signaling that Grandmère was too otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, René promised, he’d tell her I must have eaten a bad truffle, since I’d looked queasy, and Lars had taken me home.

It doesn’t matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael’s in time for him to dump me. Maybe he’ll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then again, maybe he’ll just be glad to be rid of me. Who knows? I’ve given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

Oops, there’s René’s knock. Gotta go.

To meet my fate.

Friday, January 23, 11 p.m., the Moscovitzes’ bathroom

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burned to the ground and everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn’t die, and Jane’s, like, super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

That’s how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don’t think Michael is going to break up with me after all!!!!

Not that I ever thought he was going to… well, not REALLY. Because he is NOT that kind of guy. But I was really, really scared he might when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes’ apartment, you know, with my finger on the buzzer. I was standing there going, Why am I even doing this? I am fully just walking into heartbreak. I should turn around and have Lars flag down another cab and just go back to the loft. I hadn’t even bothered changing out of my stupid ball gown, because what was the point? I was just going to be on my way home in a few minutes anyway, and I could change there.

So I’m standing there in the hallway, and Lars is behind me going on about his stupid boar hunt in Belize, because that is all he talks about anymore, and I hear Pavlov, Michael’s dog, barking because someone is at the door, and I’m going, inside my head, Okay, when he breaks up with me, I am NOT going to cry. I am going to remember Rosagunde and Agnes, and I am going to be strong like they were strong….

And then Michael opened the door. He looked kind of taken aback by my apparel, I could tell. I thought maybe it was because he hadn’t counted on having to break up with a snowdrop. But there was nothing I could do about that, though I did remember at the last minute that I was still wearing my tiara, which I suppose might intimidate, you know, some boys.