Royal Genovian Bedroom
Nishi finally texted me back. But it wasn’t a very nice text.
Why is she accusing me of being princessy? I’m the least princessy person I know! I’m way less princessy than the other girls at the Royal Genovian Academy (besides Komiko, who hardly ever talks, so it’s nearly impossible to tell what she’s like).
And why is being princessy even a bad thing? My sister is a princess, and she’s great! She found housing for all the war refugees who’ve come here, and Genovia is the smallest country in Europe!
(And okay, the housing is on cruise ships. But that’s only temporary. Who wouldn’t want to live on a cruise ship? I would. Cruise ships have huge swimming pools with slides.)
Of course, we still don’t have room for all the wedding guests who’ve said they’re coming. At dinner tonight we got the latest count from Vivianne, the director of Palace Affairs, and she said that even though we only sent out 500 invitations, we’ve had over 550 replies saying yes!
That’s more than the maximum number of people allowed in the ballroom! The fire marshal isn’t going to be very happy.
“It’s all the fault of that Bianca Ferrari,” Grandmère said. “She must be making copies of the reception tickets, then handing them out to all her friends.”
“She can’t,” Michael said. “I made sure the tickets were printed with special holograms so they couldn’t be reproduced … unless of course Bianca Ferrari has a 3-D holographic printer.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that woman!” Grandmère sniffed.
Mia’s friend Lilly, who is also Michael’s sister, said, “Who cares? Just throw some extra tables and chairs in the garden. People can always grab a cocktail and a plate of appetizers and mingle around the pool.”
Grandmère looked horrified. “Mingle? At a formal royal wedding reception banquet?”
“I think it will be fine,” said Mia’s mom. “At the weddings I go to in Brooklyn, the feeling is always the more the merrier.”
“This is Genovia, my dear,” Grandmère said, looking horrified. “Not Brooklyn.”
“But have these extra people been vetted by the Royal Genovian Guard?” Mia’s other friend Tina asked worriedly.
Dad looked up from his cell phone. “Good question. Have they?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mia’s mom said, laying a hand on Dad’s arm. “It’s going to be fine. Just fine.” The job of the mother of the bride is to tell everyone that everything is going to be just fine. Helen Thermopolis is very good at this.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Vivianne said. “Security is our utmost concern. Everything will be taken care of.”
That’s what she said.
But only because Mia was there, and you’re not supposed to stress out a royal bride who has just taken over the throne and is pregnant with twins.
In reality, nothing is taken care of! And when my sister isn’t around, everyone is FREAKING OUT.
• The contractor who is installing the stage where Boris P, the internationally famous rock star, is supposed to play for the reception says there are not enough plugs for all the equipment Boris P and his band are bringing with them, and that the whole thing is so rickety, it’s going to collapse as soon as Boris P steps onto it.
• Mia’s friends Lilly and Lana say this is OK because Boris P used to go out with Tina, but he cheated on her with another girl. So now Lilly and Lana hate him and think it would be great if the stage collapsed while he was performing on it.
But Shameeka and Ling Su, Mia’s other friends (and her other bridesmaids), say this wouldn’t be great because Boris P (and others) could be seriously hurt, plus it would ruin the reception. And also there’s reason to believe that Boris P didn’t actually cheat. It could all simply be a misunderstanding.
So now the bridesmaids are arguing—only quietly, amongst themselves, since none of them want Mia to find out, because she’s “stressed” enough.
Except for Mia’s friend Perin. She says she is staying out of it.
And Tina, of course, since she doesn’t know about it.
• Chef Bernard says it’s going to be humanly impossible to find enough European spiny lobsters for everyone at such short notice.
• The king of Lesotho wants to bring his new pet monkey with him because it needs round-the-clock feeding, and the housekeeping staff is not too happy about that.
• There was a typo on the commemorative stamps, and instead of saying HRH Prince Michael, they say HRH Prince Michele, so now they all have to be destroyed and reprinted.
Grandmère’s the only one not freaking out (except about the possibility of guests having to mingle outside). She showed me the new purple napkins that just arrived today, and they’re much better than the boring cream-colored ones my sister asked for. She’s going to be so surprised.
“Nice job, Grandmère,” I said. We have to meet in secret in my bedroom so Mia won’t overhear and have the surprise ruined. “Also, just to let you know, I found out today that iguanas are endangered.”
“Not in my garden, they aren’t!”
“I know. But you can’t shoot at them, even to frighten them into moving to Bianca Ferrari’s garden. You can’t make your problem someone else’s responsibility.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Where did you hear that?”
“From you, Grandmère. You said that’s what Dad is doing by making Mia take on the throne, when ruling is supposed to be his responsibility.”
Grandmère coughed. “Oh. Well, perhaps you’re right. But we’re going to have to do something about those hideous creatures, Olivia. With all of those people coming, someone is bound to trip over one of them and end up in the pool.”
I thought about it. “I know. But we still have a few days.”
“Four. Four days.”
“That’s a long time,” I said. “A lot can happen in four days. I started out an average girl one day, and I was a princess by the end of it.”
Grandmère looked at the ceiling. “Very well. Good night, Olivia.”
“Good night, Grandmère.”
I just wrote Nishi back:
The majordomo is upset again. Today while I was at school, he caught Snowball on top of the gift table, eating a gingerbread castle given to Mia and Michael as a wedding present by some schoolchildren in Germany. Snowball had licked most of the gumdrop windows off.
She is out of control! I don’t know what to do about it, other than locking her in my room all day.
But that seems cruel. She loves visiting with the staff and doing tricks for the tourists.
If only I could keep her away from the kitchen. And my sister’s wedding gifts.
Here is my worst nightmare: