Tuesday, November 24
6:15 A.M.
Royal Genovian Bedroom

It’s official:

I’m an aunt!

The twins were born this morning at 3:22 and 3:26 A.M., respectively—which was quite a surprise. When we were having dinner last night (with the volunteer trainers of Hearing Dogs for Deaf People), Mia didn’t show the slightest sign of going into labor. In fact, she had two helpings of blancmange.

(She wasn’t even supposed to be out of bed, but she can’t resist blancmange.)

I had no idea anything out of the ordinary was going on until just now, when my wardrobe consultant, Francesca, burst into my room.

“Your Highness!” Francesca cried, her eyes glittering madly as she switched on the lights. “It’s happened! The babies—they are here!”

“Why didn’t anyone wake me up sooner?” I leaped out of bed.

Instead of feeling excited, the way I thought I would when the babies were born, I felt terrible.

First of all, my sister had gone through labor and delivery without me! I know from having watched many hours of Call the Midwife—one of my sister’s favorite shows—and of course so many Lifetime movies this summer that having a baby is no joke.

“Prince Michael didn’t want the press tipped off as to what was happening,” Francesca explained as she helped me into my robe. “You’ve seen all the paparazzi waiting outside the palace?”

I nodded. Since they have no idea when the babies are due, they have been lurking around, hoping to get the first scoop as to the twins’ sexes and names and weights and whatnot, so they can tell the world.

“They follow any car that leaves the front gates,” Francesca reminded me. “So Prince Michael felt the fewer cars heading from the palace to the hospital, the better. In fact, he and the princess took one of the Royal Genovian Guard’s personal cars to the hospital, hoping to throw the press off the scent—”

“Of course.”

Trick the Paparazzi is a game we play almost daily. It’s the only way to have any sort of peace and quiet when you’re a royal.

“But now that the babies are born, and both they and your sister are doing well, Prince Michael says it’s fine for everyone to come visit. So we’ve got to find you something absolutely exquisite to wear!”

According to Francesca, there isn’t any problem in life—or at least royal life—that can’t be solved by wearing something “absolutely exquisite.”

That’s why as soon as a sleepy Paolo finishes styling my hair, I’ll be wearing a Genovian-blue satin dress (with matching blue ballet flats, white lace tights, and a white cardigan) to the hospital.

It’s kind of weird that I have to have my hair and wardrobe professionally styled just to go to the hospital to see my sister and her new babies.

But that’s royal life, I guess.

It wasn’t until Paolo was putting the last drop of Moroccan oil on my hair that I thought to ask, “Oh, what are they? The babies, I mean? Two girls, right?”

That’s when I found out the news that caused the bottom to drop out of my world, and the second reason I feel so terrible:

“Oh, Principessa,” Paolo said. “Your sister, she has had one of each! A little girl and a little boy! It is a joyous day, no?”

Uh, no. Joyous for everyone else, maybe.

But not for me.