Royal Wedding (31 page)

“Have you and your father ever considered coordinating your efforts?” he asked. “Because if you teamed up, you might possibly be able to take over the world.”

A little harsh, but not totally off base. “Point taken. In my own defense, though, I never meant in a million years for any of this to happen—”

“Of course you didn't,” he said, his tone softening. “You never do. So, what's she like?”

I glanced at Olivia, who was still bent over her fractions, the tip of her tongue sticking out slightly from between her teeth.

“Amazing,” I said warmly.

“Good. Why don't I try to make a few phone calls and see if I can reach your dad? There's a guy who plays World of Warcraft who works in the IT department at the courthouse. I think I can get your message delivered.”

“Oh my God, could you? That would be great—”

My heart got the rosy glow in it that it always did when Michael did or said something particularly wonderful—or even when he simply walked into the room. He really is the most spectacular man on earth.

Then I remembered something.

“Oh, but if you do reach his lawyers and they ask you about signing a prenup,” I added in a whisper, “just ignore them. I told them we weren't doing that.”

“I will do no such thing,” he said, sounding offended. “A prenup makes good fiscal sense.”

“Michael!”

“What? It's a good idea for both of us to protect our personal assets.”

“Oh, God.” I dropped my head into one of my hands. “Your mother was right.”

“My mother? About what?”

“She said we marry our parents. ‘A good idea for us to protect our personal assets?' You sound exactly like my dad.”

“Well, your dad's not always wrong, Mia. And you
are
always trying to help people. Who does
that
sound like?”

I flung a glance across the length of the limo at Lilly, who was now bathed in sapphire blue from the fiber-optic lights while she bent over Olivia's homework.

“Not your sister,” I whispered in a horrified voice.

“No, you nut,” he said. “My parents, who are psychotherapists, one of the ultimate helping professions. You always want to help everyone. It's one of the many reasons I fell in love with you, but also one of the reasons you're always getting yourself into trouble.”

“Well, I can assure you,” I said, “after today, I'm quitting.”

“I'll believe that when I see it. Look, I'll text you as soon as I hear anything. In the meantime, if you get pulled over by the cops, don't let Lars show off his gun to them.”

“Obviously,” I said.

After we'd hung up and I crept back to my original seat, Tina looked at me worriedly and mouthed, “Everything okay?”

I gave her a reassuring smile. Of
course
everything's okay. It's me! When
hasn't
everything been okay?

•  Found out I'm a princess of a country no one's ever heard of, but everyone wants to move to? Check!

•  Getting married in less than three months on live international television and don't yet have a dress, or anything else ready? Check!

•  Discovered I have a long-lost sister? Check!

•  Exposed her identity to the entire world by showing up at the wrong time, getting my picture posted on every website in the world, and ruining her life? Check, check,
and
check!

CHAPTER 54

5:32 p.m., Wednesday, May 6

Traffic jam on Houston Street

Rate the Royals Rating:
1

When I phoned just now to say that I was on my way to her apartment with her long-lost grandchild, Grandmère's reaction was unsurprising but still not satisfactory.

“But I don't even have my eyebrows on! I can't meet my only other grandchild with no eyebrows.”

I told her that we still have to drop off Tina and Lilly at their respective domiciles, which should give her plenty of time to draw on her eyebrows.

Olivia, who'd been eavesdropping, asked brightly, “Our grandmother likes to draw, too? That's so great!” and held up her notebook. “We have something in common already!”

When she finds out all Grandmère likes to draw are eyebrows (and from her Swiss bank account, of course), she's going to be crushed, but I tried to sound encouraging. “Yeah! It's great!”

“Is that her?” Grandmère demanded. “I cannot believe you've done this, Amelia. It's going to ruin all my careful plans.”

“Yes, it's her,” I said, then switched to French. Never in a million years did it occur to me I'd be using my ability to speak French—learned over the many summers I spent visiting my grandmother, then perfected with Mademoiselle Klein in high school—to keep my secret sister from knowing what I was saying about her over the phone to our grandmother. “And that's a nice attitude to take about your grandchild. Why don't you have your eyebrows on? It's cocktail time.”

“I, er, had an afternoon visitor, and somehow they must have become smudged—”

“Oh, sure,
somehow
. Who was it this time? Please don't say Chris Martin. You have got to leave that poor man alone.”

“José de la Rive, if you must know, though I don't see why you—”

“You were
making love
with the director of the Royal Genovian Guard while your son was in court?”

“Amelia, must you be so coarse? José merely stopped by to share with me the very interesting results of his continuing investigation into Olivia's uncle's personal finances, and I suppose one thing led to another, and before I knew it, we'd—”

“
Continuing?
I didn't know he'd
begun
a secret investigation into Olivia's uncle's personal finances.”

“What do you think the director of the Royal Genovian Guard does all day, Amelia, besides check for bombs along my shopping routes? In any case, he discovered something else very important. Are you aware that Ivan's grandfather—my own sweet Count Igor—owned a controlling interest in Monarch of the Seas Cruise Lines, one of the largest cruise-ship companies in the world?”

“Uh, no.”

“And that when Igor passed, he left his controlling interest in the company to his only grandson, Ivan?”

I was aghast. “But, Grandmère, that would mean—”

“Of course. He never disclosed that conflict of interest, did he? And while running on a platform of economic reform that included a promise to dredge the harbor to allow for larger—and more—cruise ships. Naughty, naughty boy.”

I was stunned. “But that's criminal!”

“Of course it is, Amelia,” Grandmère purred. “That's why José's on his way to the airport right now to catch a flight back to Genovia and meet with Count Ivan. He's going to ask the count whether he prefers to quietly withdraw from the race—for medical reasons, I think—or face public humiliation and arrest.”

“Don't tell me. José's going to cause the reasons for Ivan's medical withdrawal if he doesn't agree to go quietly, isn't he?”

“Don't be so cynical, Amelia, it isn't becoming in a young bride. Now tell me about my granddaughter. What is she like? Will she make a trainable flower girl? I already asked some of your second cousins to fill that role, but as you know they're not particularly telegenic, having inherited your grandfather's troubling jawline. You were so fortunate to have inherited mine, Amelia. What about your sister? Is her jaw shaped normally?”

“Grandmère, stop. What about Dad? Have you heard anything from him?”

“Your father's on his way here. He was only given a fine by the judge. And they returned his sword.”

“Grandmère, that's wonderful!”

“Yes. You would think that—plus the news about Ivan—would make him a very happy man. But I'm afraid he was quite abrupt with me on the telephone. I suppose your antics today have spoiled his celebratory mood a bit.”

“
My
antics? More like his antics twelve years ago.”

“What was that, Amelia?” she demanded. “I've told you before not to mumble, it's unbecoming.”

“Nothing. He's not seriously upset with me, is he? Because if so, he knows where to reach me.”

“He's far too busy fielding calls from the deputy prime minister about his illegitimate daughter. Why that woman can't deal with the press herself is beyond me.”

“Um, maybe because Olivia is
Dad's
daughter, and they're questions
he
should be answering?”

Grandmère sniffed. “Well, she shouldn't have chosen to be deputy prime minister of Genovia if she can't take the heat. She couldn't run a book club, let alone a country.”

“That's far from true, Grandmère, she graduated first in her class at the Sorbonne. And what do you know about book clubs, anyway? All you ever read anymore is the entertainment news from BuzzFeed.”

“Which is how I know someone spoke to that horrible Brian Fitzpatrick from Rate the Royals about all this. He's saying terrible things about your father while making
you
out to be some kind of saint.”

“Well,
I
don't have any publically unacknowledged children in New Jersey.” Still, it was surprising that Brian Fitzpatrick had anything nice to say about me considering the way I'd treated him the other day.

“Don't be fresh, Amelia, it isn't attractive. And now Lazarres-Reynolds is saying the best way to handle the situation is for you to bring the child instead of Michael when you go on
Wake Up America
tomorrow morning. They don't want you to talk about the wedding anymore, they only want you to talk about
her
. They say it will be the best way to, uh, how did they put it? Oh, yes . . . come out ahead of the story.”

“Well, you can tell Lazarres-Reynolds from me that
that
will only happen over my dead body,” I said, throwing a quick, protective look at Olivia, who was now on her third bag of mini chocolate cookies and showing Tina how to draw a giraffe.

“I'll do no such thing,” Grandmère hissed in her scariest voice. “And you're going to this benefit to raise heart-attack awareness tonight, as well. We've got to show the world that nothing is amiss. Dominique can send someone to fetch a gown for you to change into.”

“Uh,” I said. I'd totally forgotten the event at the W. “No, Grandmère. I realize sudden cardiac death is an important issue, and moreover, it was my choice to bring awareness to it after Mr. Gianini passed away from it, but considering today's events, I feel the best thing to do is cancel and stay home with—”

She cut me off faster than Ian Ziering cuts sharks with chain saws midair.

“No one is interested in your feelings, Amelia. Lazarres-Reynolds is sending a representative over right now—one here, and one to the bohunk uncle's house—to start planning the offensive.”

“What offensive?”

“On the media! What on earth did you expect, Amelia? This revelation about your father was bound to bring him worldwide attention, and not the pleasant kind either!”

She was shouting so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear. I could tell everyone else in the car could hear her, because they all looked over at me inquiringly. Fortunately, she was shouting in her native French, so Olivia, at least, couldn't understand. I gave her an embarrassed shrug.

“Grandmothers,” I mouthed, and Olivia smiled, but it was clear from her slightly troubled expression that she knew something, at least, was up.

“Now do you understand why Genovia so desperately needs a large wedding right now, full of pageantry and elegance and cannon fire?” Grandmère continued to shout. “Between this and the refugee crisis, I don't know how else we're going to get out of it, Amelia. This is our annus horribilis. Being a bride, particularly a princess bride, you can turn it all around by becoming a symbol of hope and beauty and joy.”

“Yes,” I said, wincing a little at the shrillness of her tone. “I understand. But in the meantime I can't allow my little sister to be paraded around like a prizewinning show dog. I thought the whole point of the wedding was to
distract
the public from her existence—”

“It was, until you thrust her into the spotlight,” Grandmère said.

“I didn't mean to do that, but at least
someone
did the right thing and stepped up and—”

“Excuse me.”

I paused as a voice I recognized chimed in. Only it was my sister Olivia's voice, and it was speaking perfect French, and it shouldn't have been. I slowly turned my head to find her looking at me expectantly.

“Pardon me,” she said, again in perfect French. “I don't mean to interrupt, but may I make a suggestion?”

My normally shaped jaw dropped.

“Who is that?” Grandmère demanded. “Who is that speaking, Amelia?”

“Your other granddaughter,” I said. “You better get your eyebrows on. You're going to need them.” I hung up on her, then stared some more at my sister. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“The refugees,” Olivia said, this time in English. “I'm sorry to have interrupted, but I couldn't help overhearing Grandma talking about them? And the cruise ships? Well, I have an idea that might help.”

I shook my head in astonishment. “How could you have understood any of that?”

“Oh, I don't know, Mia,” Lilly said. She held up the notebook Olivia had been doodling in. “Maybe because of the language class Olivia is taking.
French
.” Then she mouthed the words
you moron
over the top of my sister's head.

I felt sick to my stomach. “Oh, wow. So you understood everything I was saying to Grand, er, ma, Olivia?”