“Paris Hilton,” I said. “Lindsay Lohan. Nicole Richie.”
“I am quite certain,” Grandmère said, “that all of those women graduated from high school. And even if they didn’t, it’s nothing to be proud of. Ignorance is never attractive. Speaking of which, how long has it been since you washed your hair, Amelia?”
I fail to see the point in bathing. What does it matter how I look now that Michael is out of my life?
When I mentioned this, however, Grandmère asked if I was feeling all right.
“No, I’m not, Grandmère,” I said. “Which I would have thought was obvious by the fact that I haven’t gotten out of my bed in four days except to eat and go to the bathroom.”
“Oh, Amelia,” Grandmère said, looking offended. “We’ve stooped to scatological references now, as well? Really. I understand you’re sad about losing That Boy, but—”
“Grandmère,” I said. “I think you’d better go now.”
“I won’t go until we’ve decided what we’re going to do about this.”
And then Grandmère tapped on the Domina Rei stationery from Mrs. Weinberger, which she’d found peeping out from beneath my bed.
“Oh, that,” I said. “Please have your secretary decline for me.”
“Decline?” Grandmère’s drawn-on eyebrows lifted. “We shall do no such thing, young lady. Do you have any idea what Elana Trevanni said when I ran into her at Bergdorf’s yesterday and casually mentioned to her that my granddaughter had been invited to speak at the Domina Rei charity gala? She said—”
“Fine,” I interrupted again. “I’ll do it.”
Grandmère didn’t say anything for a beat. Then she asked hesitantly, “Did you just say you’ll do it, Amelia?”
“Yes,” I said. Anything to make her go away. “I’ll do it. Just…can we talk about it later? I have a headache.”
“You’re probably dehydrated,” Grandmère said. “Have you drunk your eight glasses of water today? You know you need to drink eight glasses of water a day, Amelia, in order to keep hydrated. That’s how we Renaldo women preserve our dewy complexions, by consuming plenty of liquids…”
“I think I just need to rest,” I said in a weak voice. “My throat is starting to hurt a little. I don’t want to get laryngitis and lose my voice before the big event…it’s a week from Friday, right?”
“Good heavens,” Grandmère said, leaping up from my bed so quickly that she startled Fat Louie from the pillow fort I’d made him at my side. He was nothing but an orange blur as he ran for the safety of the closet. “We can’t have you coming down with something that might endanger your attending the gala! I shall send over my personal physician immediately!”
She started fumbling in her purse for her bejeweled cell phone—which she only knows how to work because I showed her about a million times—but I stopped her by saying weakly, “No, it’s all right, Grandmère. I think I just need to rest…you’d better go. Whatever I have, you don’t want to catch it….”
Grandmère was out of there like a shot.
And FINALLY I could go back to sleep.
Or so I thought. Because a few minutes later, Mom came into the doorway and stood there peering down at me with a troubled look on her face.
“Mia,” she said. “Did you tell your grandmother you’d speak at a Domina Rei Women’s Society benefit?”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling my pillow over my head. “Anything, to make her leave.”
Mom went away, looking concerned.
I don’t know what SHE’S so worried about. I’m the one who’s going to have to find some way to get out of town before the event actually happens.
Thursday, September 16, 11 a.m., Dad’s limo
This morning at nine o’clock I was in bed with my eyes squeezed shut (because I heard someone coming and I didn’t want to deal) when my covers were thrown back and this stern, deep voice said, “Get. Up.”
I opened my eyes and was surprised to see my dad standing there, wearing his business suit and smelling of autumn.
I’ve been inside so long, I’ve forgotten what outside smells like.
I could tell by his expression that I was in for it.