Princess on the Brink (The Princess Diaries 8)

Mom’s neck smells nothing like freesia. Mom’s neck smells of Dove soap and turpentine. Oh, and coffee, because she drinks so much of it.

Except to Dad. Dad can’t smell any of that. Because for him, Mom was the One.

Just like Michael is my One.

“Dad,” I said. “I gotta go. Bye.”

I hung up just as Lars yelled, “Princess! Here!”

A cab! At last! I’m saved!

Friday, September 10, cab on the way to John F. Kennedy International Airport

I don’t believe this. It doesn’t seem possible. But there’s no mistake: We’re in Ephrain Kleinschmidt’s taxicab.

Yes. The same Ephrain Kleinschmidt in whose taxicab I wept so many bitter tears the other night.

Ephrain took one look at me in the rearview mirror and went, “YOU!”

Then he tried to hand me his Kleenex again.

“No Kleenex!” I yelled. “JFK!!! Take us to JFK, as fast as you can!”

“JFK?” Ephrain balked. “I’m about to go off duty!”

That’s when Lars showed him his sidearm. Well, really, he was just reaching for his wallet, saying there was an extra twenty in it if Ephrain got us to the airport in under twenty minutes.

But I’m pretty sure the Glock spoke more than the twenty.

Ephrain didn’t hesitate. He put the pedal to the metal. Well, at least until we got to the first traffic light.

This is excruciating. We’re never going to make it.

Except that we HAVE to. I can’t let Mi

chael go—not without a fight. I can’t end up like my dad, with no one special in my life, dating supermodel after supermodel, because I allowed the person I really loved to slip through my fingers!

And sure, it’s possible that when I get to the airport, Michael will be like, “Get away.” Because, let’s face it—I screwed up. Not that I didn’t have a right to be hurt by what Michael did.

But I guess I should maybe have been a little bit more understanding and a little less judgmental.

Everyone TRIED to tell me. Mom. Tina. Lilly. Dad.

But I wouldn’t listen.

Why didn’t I listen?

And WHY did I kiss J.P.???? WHY WHY WHY?????

All I can do is try to explain. That it didn’t mean anything—that J.P.’s just a friend. That I’m a horrible, terrible person, and that I deserve to be punished.

Only not by Michael’s never speaking to me again. ANYTHING but that.

And even if Michael is like, “Get away,” at least maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Because I’ll have tried. I’ll have tried to make things right.

And maybe just knowing I tried will be enough.

Lars was just like, “Princess. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”