Royal Wedding (The Princess Diaries 11)

They’re being treated in the hospital, and are in good condition, but Cousin Ivan has lost no time using this as ammunition in his campaign. He is now declaring that Diversity = Disease.

Really! This is his new campaign slogan!

And some of our citizens seem to believe it, not understanding the basic facts that what actually causes disease is bacteria, or, put more plainly, overcrowding, poverty, lack of clean drinking water, and idiots like Cousin Ivan.

So Madame Dupris wants to discuss other “options” for dealing with the refugee crisis.

Meanwhile, Cousin Ivan has threatened to ask Parliament to raise Genovia’s “security threat level” to high, saying that the only reason the refugees want to come to Genovia at all is that they wish to attack us “with their germs.” He wants to ask Parliament to allow the Genovian Navy to use “aggressive military maneuvers to blow the incoming refugee boats out of the water.”

“Perhaps we should use the Genovian Navy’s aggressive military maneuvers to blow my cousin Ivan out of the water,” I said to Madame Dupris.

“I would love that,” she said with a sigh. “Perhaps they could also use it on the mega–cruise ships he wants to let in, too.”

If only.

I promised her I would find my dad, but that even if I couldn’t, I would get back to her with an answer by the end of the day (Genovian time). But that first—embarrassingly—I had to go try on wedding gowns.

“Ah,” she said. “Comme c’est romantique!”

Of course she’s never tried on wedding gowns with my grandmother in the room. There is nothing “romantique” about that.

CHAPTER 46

10:45 a.m., Wednesday, May 6

Dressing Room, Sebastiano’s Design Studio

Rate the Royals Rating: 7

Well, Tina got her wish. I did not get mine—of having Vera Wang as my wedding-gown designer—but I suppose I got the next best thing: my cousin Sebastiano. (No. This is not the next best thing. It is not even close. But Sebastiano is Genovian, and also family, and also free, so he is what I get.)

Tina’s here—along with Shameeka, Ling Su, Lana, Trisha, and my mom—to watch as I try on wedding gowns, and also to have their measurements taken for bridesmaid gowns, which Sebastiano will also be designing.

Apparently, this decision was unilaterally made by Grandmère. She had her assistant, Rolanda, send out invitations to all the women I mentioned on my list of potential bridesmaids, along with my mother. Only Perin did not accept, saying she could not attend, as she had to work—this was very smart of her. Lilly said she was going to be late (I shudder to think what that means).

When I walked in, I was shocked to see them all sitting on the slinky black leather couches Sebastiano has all over his studio, sipping mimosas.

“Surprise, bitch!” Lana said as my jaw dropped.

I was already having a bad day, but I wasn’t expecting things to go quite as badly as this.

“Wow,” I said, giving my mom a hug. “I’m so happy to see you guys . . . I guess. Are you drinking already?”

“Duh,” Lana said. “Didn’t you know you can’t try on wedding gowns sober?”

“I did not know that,” I said.

“It isn’t true,” Shameeka assured me.

“Don’t make her drink if she doesn’t want to, Lana,” my mom said in an icy tone. My mom has never been able to forget Lana’s mean-girl past.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass,” I said, remembering that later I was going to have to make important decisions with Madame Dupris regarding the Qalifi refugees.

“Don’t be a twunt,” said Trisha, and handed me a champagne flute.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A twunt,” Trisha said cheerfully. “That’s a cross between a—”