Royal Wedding (37 page)

I could see then that she'd inherited more than a love of poodles from her paternal grandmother's side of the family. She'd also inherited Grandmère's ability to dress someone down with a single look.

“Well,” her aunt Catherine said nervously. “We'd better be going if we want to beat the traffic.”

From the look in Dad's eye, I could tell he wanted to beat something, too, but it wasn't the traffic. He was nobly holding himself back, however.

Grandmère appeared in the foyer as Olivia was leaving, Snowball on a sparkling rhinestone leash.

“Do not forget this,” she said with regal calm, and handed her younger granddaughter the end of the lead.

“Grandmère, I can't!” Olivia cried. “Snowball is
your
dog.”

“Not anymore,” Grandmère said, and refused to hear anymore about it.

This seemed to cheer Olivia up a little, though Uncle Rick didn't look too happy about it. He started to say something about his allergies until Grandmère, too, gave him one of her patented evil stares.

I've never seen anyone shut his mouth faster.

“Listen,” I whispered to my little sister as I hugged her good-bye. “I'll see you soon, okay? Thanks for the help with the cruise ships. And keep writing in that diary.”

She nodded, as teary-eyed as I was. “You, too,” she whispered.

After they left, we all felt low and dispirited, even Rommel, who retired to his French egg basket to lick off what little remaining fur he had left. Dad tried to make himself feel better by getting on the phone and shouting at his lawyers for being incompetent.

I sidled up to Grandmère and—in my new capacity as a mother-to-be, in which I felt I now understood not only her, but what's actually important in the universe—whispered, “I saw what you did there.”

Grandmère had lit a cigarette—not even a vapor one, which is a sign of how upset she was. “I haven't the slightest idea what you are blathering about, Amelia.”

“Yes, you do. It was very kind of you to give up your new little dog. It meant a lot to Olivia. And thank you, Grandmère, for always telling me the truth, and preparing me for the real world. I should have thanked you before, but . . . well, I never realized before now what an incredible impact you've had on my life.”

I shouldn't have been surprised when she turned and blew a stream of smoke right at my face.

“I never wanted that bitch in the first place. She nipped Rommel every time he came near her.”

I assumed she was referring to Snowball, not her long-lost granddaughter, but it was hard to be sure. I was coughing too hard, trying to make sure no smoke got into my lungs and threatened my unborn fetuses.

“Why are you just standing there?” Grandmère went on as Michael hurried over to make sure I was all right. “Make yourself useful, and get me a drink.”

“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, concerned, as he dragged me out of the line of secondhand smoke.

“Yes,” I whispered, gagging. “I don't know what I was thinking, trying to have a tender moment with her. I hope someday she gets what she deserves.”

“I think she's going to,” he whispered back. “She's going to be a great-grandmother. To twins.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “HA! Thanks for rescuing me, Fire Marshal.”

He smiled back. “Anytime.”

Dad was saying, in an exhausted voice, after having hung up with the lawyers, “They think we'll have Olivia back by tomorrow afternoon.”

Michael raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” To my grandmother he said, “And should you really be smoking that in here? I thought your doctor said—”

“I need a drink as well.” Dad grabbed a whiskey decanter from the bar shaped like a globe where my grandmother hides all her best hooch, and began pouring. “Well, who wouldn't, after something that unpleasant? Who's with me?”

Dad assumed everyone was with him, since he poured four glasses. Michael and I exchanged glances. I tried to get him to read my mind.
Not now. We are not telling them now. Now is not the time.

I couldn't tell whether or not I'd succeeded.

“Uh,” I said as Dad passed me a glass. The fumes from inside it made my eyes water. “None for me, thanks. I'm not really in the mood.”

“Well, you should be,” my father continued. “Because it's not all bad news.” He raised his glass. “As of a few hours ago, Cousin Ivan has officially withdrawn from the election for prime minister of Genovia.”

I kept my glass in the air as Michael and Grandmère said “Cheers” and took a sip. “Oh, wow, Dad. That's great.”

“It
is
great,” my father said. “For Deputy Minister Dupris.”

“Wait . . .” I lowered my glass. “Why is it great for her?”

“Because I've decided to withdraw from the race as well,” Dad said. I noticed he didn't make eye contact with his mother as he said this. “And when I do, that will make her the only viable candidate.”

I heard the sound of smashing glass. When I turned, I saw that Grandmère had thrown her whiskey into the marble fireplace. She was shaking almost as much as Rommel usually did, only from rage, not from having no fur.

“I
knew
it!” she cried, her face a mask of fury. “I
knew
it! It's because of
that woman,
isn't it?”

Stunned at this outburst, I swung my astonished gaze back toward my father. Amazingly, he looked calm . . . and almost cheerful. Certainly happier than he should have been, given what had happened moments before with Olivia, and the fact that he'd just announced he was giving up on a campaign on which he'd spent millions of his own money.

“Yes, it is, Mother,” he said happily. “I've decided to take the advice of my daughter, and stop following the map.”

“Map?” Grandmère cried. “What map? What kind of nonsense is
that
?”

“The kind I should have listened to a long time ago,” Dad said, setting down his whiskey glass and heading toward the foyer. “I'm taking the road less traveled. It may not get me where I thought I was going, but it could take me somewhere even better. Right, Mia?”

“Sure,” I said as Michael and I followed him. He'd reached for his suit jacket, and as he did, I noticed that there was stubble on his upper lip. He was growing his mustache back. “You never know. Where are you going?”

“To have dinner with Helen Thermopolis,” he said. To Grandmère he said, “Mother, do not wait up for me.”

“Helen Thermopolis?” Grandmère looked apoplectic. “
Amelia's
mother?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “We're going to a new vegetarian restaurant that's opened around the corner from her place. Helen says the baba ghanoush is excellent.”

“Baba ghanoush?” Grandmère looked as if she were about to have a stroke. “You're going to eat
baba ghanoush
?”

“Yes, Mother.” Dad stopped in front of the floor-length mirror Grandmère had hung next to the front door to her condo so that she can check herself before she goes out in order to make sure her eyebrows aren't drawn on unevenly. He adjusted his tie, then smoothed down the imaginary hairs on his bald head. “Helen has decided to give me another chance. And I am going to win her back, no matter what I have to do, even if it's eat baba ghanoush.” He glanced at us, then added deliberately, “Or step down from the throne.”

Grandmère was so shocked, the cigarette dropped from her limp fingers to the marble floor. Michael stepped forward and quickly stamped it out.

“Abdicate?”
my grandmother cried. “B-but what would you do instead of rule?”

Dad gave her a look that was as stony-eyed as any she'd ever given me.

“Live, Mother,” he said softly. It was the softness in his tone, in fact, that caused the chill to creep up the backs of my arms. If he'd said it loudly, it wouldn't have sounded half as convincing. “I'm going to live.”

Then he left the penthouse, closing the door behind him as softly as he'd spoken.

In the ensuing silence, all I could hear was Rommel's panting. When I risked a glance at my grandmother, I saw that her face had gone the same color as my bruised foot . . . a sort of purplish gray.

When she noticed I was looking at her, she snapped, “Well, I hope you're happy now, Amelia. If he abdicates, you're going to have to take his place on the throne. And it will all be your own fault.”

“How is it
my
fault?” I demanded. “Just because I told him he didn't have to follow the map?”

“Yes, whatever that nonsense even means. You know perfectly well sacrifices have to be made when one inherits a throne. Well, now that responsibility is going to fall on
you,
young lady. Enjoy planning your wedding while also planning a coronation! Enjoy the honeymoon, because as soon you get back, you'll be princess of a country that's
falling apart
!”

“You forgot to add pregnant,” I said. “With twins.”

She stared at me. “What did you say?”

“A baby.” I pulled the copy of the ultrasound from my pocket and stuck it to the suit of armor next to the baby grand. “I'm having one. Times two.”

Grandmère wandered toward the suit of armor to stare at the ultrasound, Rommel trotting along behind her. “Baby?” she murmured. For once, I'd managed to render her speechless. Well, almost. “Two?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I'm going to do just fine ruling Genovia. The wedding's going to be fine, too. Though we're going to need a bigger dress—”

“Okay.” Michael crossed the foyer to take me by the arm. “That's it. We're going home now. We'll see you later, Clarisse.”

“Pregnant?” She stood there murmuring, still staring at the ultrasound.
“Twins?”

I don't know what she did after that because Michael shut the door behind us. He doesn't really approve of the way I broke the news to my parents (well, paternal grandparent).

But I think I did the best I could under the circumstances, which admittedly were not ideal.

Now I'm in bed with my foot up (finally), eating Rocky Road ice cream (I'm totally going to set up an appointment with a nutritionist like Michael wants us to, but until then, I'm just going to finish this ice cream) and watching
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
with Fat Louie and Michael beside me.

I suspect tomorrow is going to be a bad day—like, epically bad—so right now I'm going to take Dr. Delgado's advice and practice gratitude.

Three things I'm grateful for:

1.   That I'm safe in bed with the person (and cat) I care about most in the world, watching this awesome TV show.

2.   That I have a sister, even though I don't know how she's doing. I hope she's okay. She hasn't responded to any of my text messages.

3.   That I sent the RGG to sit outside her house and monitor her movements, including when she's at school tomorrow, because I don't trust that Annabelle Jenkins girl.

And I don't care what anyone says: it's
not
spying, or intrusive. It's simply making sure my little sister is safe, and being well looked after.

4.   That unlike Olivia, I have a mom, even though I can't necessarily call to tell her my news, because it's not really the kind of thing you should tell someone over the phone, especially when they live in the same city as you do . . .
Hello, Mom? I'm having twins!

It would be nice just to hear her voice. But I know she's with Dad right now, dealing with whatever it is the two of them are dealing with. I don't even want to know, really. I just hope they're happy.

5.   And that it's the episode where Buffy's class gives her the special award of an umbrella, to thank her for protecting them, which she wasn't expecting, because she didn't know they knew that she was the Slayer, and that she was protecting them the whole time. But they did, and they're grateful. It makes me cry every time.

Hmm, that's more than three things. I have
so much
to be grateful for. I feel like I might burst.

CHAPTER 67

12:05 a.m., Friday, May 8

Third-Floor Apartment

Consulate General of Genovia