Forever Princess (15 page)

Monday, May 1, 11 p.m., the Royal Genovian Yacht Clarisse 3, weird overhangy part just off the place where they steer, where Leo and Kate stood in Titanic, and Leo said he was the king of the world, I don't know what it's called, I don't know anything about BOATS, but it's cold up here and I wish I had a coat

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God!

Okay, I just have to remember to breathe. BREATHE. In and out. IN. Then OUT.

The thing is, it all started off so well. I mean, I came out and Madonna was singing “Lucky Star” and my tiara didn't fall off and everyone clapped, and everything looked so nice despite Grandmère and Vigo's worries, especially the purple flowers, and—this was the really amazing thing—it turned out
Dad
had flown in especially for the occasion, all the way from Europe on the Royal Genovian jet, taking time off from the campaign just for the night as a special surprise for me.

Yes! He stepped out from behind the biggest batch of purple flowers, and made a speech about how great a daughter—and princess—I am…a speech that I barely heard because I was so shocked and teary-eyed at seeing him.

And then the next thing I knew he was hugging me, and he'd given me this GIANT black velvet box, and inside was a very sparkly tiara. I thought it looked familiar,
and he explained to everyone that it was the one Princess Amelie Virginie was wearing in the portrait I have hanging in my bedroom. He said that if anyone deserved it, I did. It had been missing for nearly four hundred years, and he'd had them look all over the palace for it, and finally someone had found it in a dusty corner of the jewelry vault, and they'd polished it all up and cleaned it just for me.

Can you imagine anything so sweet?

It took me five minutes to stop crying. And another five minutes for Paolo to get my old tiara off and the new one on, thanks to all the hairpins.

You know, it fits me a lot better than my old one. It doesn't feel like it's going to slip off
at all
.

After that everyone walked over and said such kind things to me, like, “Thanks for inviting me,” and “You look so pretty!” and “The spring rolls are delicious!”

And Angelina Jolie came up and gave me my formal invitation to join the Domina Rei, which I accepted on the spot (Grandmère told me I had to, but I wanted to, of course, because it's a kick-ass organization).

Grandmère spotted us talking and, of course, figured out
immediately
what was going on, so she came rushing over like Rocky when he hears a box of cookies being opened.

And so Angelina gave her
her
invitation, and all of Grandmère's dreams came true.

I wish I could say she went away then, but she spent the rest of the evening, as best I could tell, following Angelina around, thanking her every chance she got. It was embarrassing.

But then, it was Grandmère. What else is new?

And then I went around and did the princess thing, personally going up to everyone and thanking them for coming, and it wasn't even that awkward because, whatever, after nearly four years of this I'm pretty much used to it, and I'm not even thrown anymore by the bizarre things people sometimes say, which are probably just non sequiturs I've taken out of context, like when Mr. Hipskin's wife said, “You look like a mermaid!”

I'm sure she just meant because my dress is so shiny and not because she's psychic (but only partly) and got mermaids and unicorns mixed up and knows I'm the only virgin left in the graduating senior class of Albert Einstein High, besides my boyfriend, of course.

And Lana and Trisha and Shameeka and Tina and Ling Su and Perin and my
mom
and I had a blast rocking down to “Express Yourself” (“Come on, girls!”), and then Lana and Trisha made a beeline for the Princes William and Harry (of course), and J.P. and I slow danced to “Crazy for You,” and my dad and I rumbaed to “La Isla Bonita.” And even though Lilly was filming everything, which technically wasn't allowed, I told the security force just to let her, rather than make a big deal of it. She was at least asking people beforehand if it was all right, so that part was okay—but that was
all
she appeared to be up to.

God only knows what she's going to do with the film later. Probably make some kind of documentary about the exorbitant spending habits of the filthy rich—
Real Princesses of New York City
—and run scenes from my party side by side with scenes of people from the slums
of Haiti, eating cookies made of dirt.

(Note to self: Make a huge donation to hunger organization. One in three children of the world die of hunger
every day
. Seriously. And Grandmère was having a fit over the SAUCE we were supposed to dip the spring rolls in.)

But Lilly lowered the camera when she came up to me—Kenneth in tow, and Michael following not far behind—and said, “Hey, Mia. This is a pretty great party.”

I totally almost choked on the piece of shrimp cocktail I was eating. Because I hadn't been able to eat a thing all night, I'd been so busy dancing and greeting people, and Tina had just come up to me
that minute
with a little plate of food, going, “Mia, you've got to take a minute to eat something, or you're going to pass out….”

“Oh,” I said, with my mouth full (a total Grandmère nono). “Thank you.”

I'll admit, I was speaking to Lilly.

But my gaze had flicked right over her and was totally fixated on Michael, in his tux, behind Kenny (I mean, Kenneth). Michael just looked so…incredible, standing there with the glow of the lights of lower Manhattan behind his head, and the little bit of condensation that was in the air having settled over his broad shoulders and making the black material on them look a bit sparkly in all the twinkly party lights.

I don't know. I don't
know
what's wrong with me. I
know
he broke up with me. I
know
Dr. Knutz and I worked that all out in therapy already. I know I have a boyfriend, a perfectly good boyfriend who loves me, and at that moment was over at the bar getting me a refill on my sparkling water.

I
know
all that.

Knowing all that and still looking at Michael and seeing him smile at me and thinking he's the handsomest guy in the world (even though, as Lana would be quick to point out, he's not—Christian Bale is) isn't even the problem.

What happened next is.

Which was, Michael said, “Nice party hat you've got there, Thermopolis,” meaning Princess Amelie Virginie's tiara.

“Oh,” I said, reaching up to touch it. Because I still couldn't quite believe it—that my dad had found it, or even that he'd actually shown up to give it to me. “Thanks. I'm going to kill him for doing this. He can't afford to take this much time out from the campaign. René is leading in the polls.”

“That guy?” Michael looked shocked. “He was always kind of a tool. How can people like him more than your dad?”

“Everyone loves a bloomin' onion,” Boris, who was standing near Tina, said.

“Applebee's doesn't have bloomin' onions,” I growled at him. “That's Outback!”

“I don't get why your dad wants to be prime minister so bad, anyway,” Kenneth said. “He's always going to be prince, right? Wouldn't he just want to sit back and relax and let some other guy do the political thing, so he can just do the fun prince stuff, like hanging out on yachts like this with…well, Ms. Martinez, it looks like?”

I looked over to where Kenneth was pointing.

And okay, yeah, my dad was slow dancing to “Live to
Tell” with Ms. Martinez. The two of them looked really…snug.

But I'm eighteen now.

So, no, in fact, vomit did not rise up into my mouth.

I very maturely and very wisely turned back to the conversation at hand and said, “Actually, Kenneth, yes, my dad could very easily choose not to run for prime minister and simply be happy with his title and his normal royal duties. But he prefers to take a more active role in the shape of the future of his country, and that's why he wants to be prime minister. And that's why I sort of wish he hadn't wasted his time coming here.” And now that I just saw what I saw, why I REALLY wish he hadn't come.

Oh, well. Ms. Martinez did read my novel and let it count as my senior project.

I
think
she read it. Some of it, anyway.

But that's not what happened that freaked me out so much either.

Lilly said, in my dad's defense, “It's nice that he came. You only turn eighteen once. And he's not going to get to see you much after he's elected and you head off to college.”

“He will if Mia goes to the University of Genovia,” Boris said, “like she's planning.”

Which is when Michael's head whipped around and he looked at me with his eyes wide and he went, “University of Genovia? Why are you going
there
?” Because, of course, he knows what a crummy school it is.

I could feel myself blush. Michael and I, in our e-mail conversations with each other, hadn't discussed the fact
that I'd gotten into every school I'd applied to, much less the fact that I'd lied about this to all my friends at school.

“Because she didn't get in anywhere else,” Boris helpfully answered for me. “Her math SAT score was too low.”

This caused Tina to elbow him, deeply enough to make him say “Oof.”

It was at this moment that J.P. came back with my sparkling water. The reason it had taken him so long was because he'd stopped along the way to have a pretty in-depth conversation with Sean Penn—which he must have been pretty stoked about, Sean Penn being his hero, and all.

“I find it really hard to believe you got rejected
everywhere
you applied, Mia,” Michael was saying, not noticing who was approaching. “There are a lot of schools that don't even count SAT scores anymore. Some great ones, actually, like Sarah Lawrence, which has a really strong writing program. I can't imagine you didn't apply there. Is it possible maybe you're exaggerating about—”

“Oh, J.P.!” I cried, cutting Michael off. “Thanks! I'm so thirsty!”

I snatched the water out of his hand and gulped it down. J.P. was standing there, just staring at Michael, looking a little perplexed.

“Mike,” J.P. said. He still seemed dazed from his conversation with his artistic hero. “Hey. So. You're back.”

“Michael's been back for a while,” Boris said. “His robotic surgical arm is a huge financial success. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it. Hospitals everywhere are vying for them, but they cost over a million dollars each and there's a waiting list—
ow
.”

Tina elbowed him again. This time I think she must have nearly broken one of Boris's ribs, because he almost doubled over.

“Wow,” J.P. said, with a smile. He didn't look at all disturbed by Boris's news. In fact, he had his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, like he was James Bond, or someone. He'd probably gotten Sean Penn's phone number and was fondling it. “That's great.”

“J.P. wrote a play,” Tina squeaked. Apparently because she was unable to stand the tension and was trying to change the subject.

Everyone just looked at her. I thought Lilly was going to bust a piercing, her eyebrows were so furrowed as she tried to hold in what was apparently a huge horse laugh.

“Wow,” Michael said. “That's great.”

I honestly didn't know if he was being serious or if he was making fun of J.P., basically repeating the same thing he'd just said, or what. All I knew was, I had to get the heck out of there, or the tension was going to kill me. And who wants to stroke out on their eighteenth birthday?

“Well,” I said, handing Tina my plate. “Princess duty calls. I have to go mingle. See you guys later—”

But before I could get even one step away, J.P. grabbed hold of one of my hands and pulled me back and said, “Actually, Mia, if it's all right with you, I have sort of an announcement I'd like to make, and I can't think of a better time than right now. Will you go with me up to the microphone? Madonna's about to take a break.”

That
was when I started feeling sick to my stomach. Because what sort of announcement could J.P. be going to
make? In front of the Clintons? And Madonna and her band? And my dad?

Oh, and Michael.

But before I could say anything, J.P. started gently tugging—okay, dragging—me up to the stage they'd set up over the yacht's built-in pool.

And the next thing I knew, Madonna was moving graciously out of the way and J.P. had hold of the microphone and was asking for everyone's attention—and getting it. Three hundred faces were turning our way as my heart thumped inside my chest.

It's true I've given speeches in front of way more people than that. But that was different. Then
I'd
been the one in charge of the microphone. This time, someone else was.

And I had no idea what he was about to say.

But I had sort of an idea.

And I wanted to die.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” J.P. began, his deep voice booming out across the ship's deck…and, for all I knew, the entire South Street Seaport. The paparazzi, down below, could probably hear him. “I'm so proud to be here tonight to celebrate this special occasion with such an extraordinary young woman…a young woman who means so much to all of us…to her country, to her friends, to her family…But the truth is, Princess Mia means more to me, perhaps, than she does to any of you—”

Oh, God. No. Not
here
. Not
now
! I mean, it was totally sweet of J.P. to be expressing how much he cared about me in this way, in front of everyone—God knew Michael had never had the guts to do such a thing.