From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess (8 page)

Grandm
è
re looked at my sister, who said, “I don't
only
like cats. I've only ever
had
a cat. Grandm
è
re, could we come in now…?”

Grandm
è
re opened the door to let us in, and I couldn't believe what I found inside.

Besides the floors being white marble, streaked with black, like in a museum, there were antiques all over the place! I don't mean just any antiques, like fancy paintings on the walls
—
though there were lots of those, of old-timey sailing ships and fruit and pretty ladies in wigs, with huge gold frames around them
—
but also:

1.
An actual mummified hawk in an Egyptian sarcophagus

2.
Tusks from narwhals, which are practically extinct now, and I'm pretty sure illegal to own outside of museums

3.
A white grand piano

4.
A suit of armor

Even the furniture you're allowed to sit on is antique and way fancier than anything Aunt Catherine owns, and she gets all her furniture directly from designers' showrooms in Manhattan.

I was staring at the view of Central Park outside the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows
—
which are really doors, leading out to a huge balcony
—
not being able to believe my grandma lived in a building so chic that it has doormen
and
an elevator attendant, when
another
dog came running into the room from another part of the apartment. I knew at once he was a poodle, too, but this one was much older than the white one, so old, in fact, he had no fur at all and looked like a wrinkly old man, but still quite adorable, of course.

The old dog was barking and growling like a guard dog as he hurried up to me, but when I smiled and squatted down to be eye level with him, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me.

“Well, hello,” I said. It was hard not to laugh at such a little dog who clearly thought he was so ferocious.

That's when he put his paws on my knees and started licking my face, his little tail wagging so fast, it was a blur.

“Hi,” I said, grabbing him and scooping him up in my arms so he could kiss me more. “How are you?” Even though he was so wrinkly and naked without his fur, he was still quite soft and warm.

“Rommel?” Grandma sounded shocked. “Whatever is the matter with that dog?”

“Nothing's the matter with him,” I said.

“He's never let
anyone
pick him up like that.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” I started to put Rommel down, but Grandma said, “No, no, never mind. If he likes you, he likes you. Would you like a cocktail?”

“Grandm
è
re,” I heard my sister call from the next room.
“She's twelve.”

“I meant an aperitif, of course.”

Has there ever been a luckier girl than me in all the world? I've found out I have:

1.
A sister

2.
A grandmother

3.
And two adopted poodles

all in one day!

Just when I thought things couldn't get better, I was running around after Snowball (that's the girl poodle, who still has her fur. Grandma said I could name her, so I picked Snowball) and I went past this one room filled with books and there was a bald white man standing there on his cell phone and I knew
—
I just knew
—
he was my dad.

(Well, also because I'd seen photos of the prince of Genovia in the same magazines I'd seen Princess Mia and Grandma, and the man at the desk looked exactly like the photos. Only less mean, somehow, because he'd shaved off his mustache.)

When he saw me, he got a strange expression on his face and said, “Barry, I'm going to have to call you back,” and put his phone in his pocket and asked, “Olivia?”

I didn't even stop to think. Because when you see your father for the first time in your whole life, you don't have to think. You just run over to where he's standing and throw your arms around him and hug him, even though of course, being a prince, he's wearing military medals.

“Oof,” he said, I guess because I'd buried my head in his stomach pretty hard.

But he hugged me back, saying, “It's very good to meet you at last.”

“You have no idea.” I rested my cheek against his soft belly and smelled his Dad-like smell, which is a mix of mouthwash, the leather from his belt (which holds his sword), and whatever detergent the hotel uses.

“Yes,” Dad said. “Well, I'm very sorry it took so long. It was your mother's idea, you know, for you not to know the truth, and for us not to have any personal contact. She was worried about you growing up in the celebrity spotlight.”

“I know,” I said, still hugging him. “I already met the reporters downstairs.”

“I'm very sorry about all that
—
”

I could hear his stomach juices digesting whatever he'd had for lunch. It was a comforting sound, but I felt bad for him anyway. All these years later, he is still clearly devastated over the loss of my beautiful, beautiful mother.

Well, who wouldn't be? She was an amazing lady.

I hoped the sight of me wouldn't be too painful for him.

“That's another reason your mother thought it would be safer for you not to know,” Dad went on. “The press can be so intrusive. You have the right to grow up without being harassed. And from what I understand, even before they found out, you were already being picked on at school
—
”

I let go of him at last.

“Yes,” I said, looking up into his face. “But didn't Princess Mia's mom want the same thing for her? And she's turned out all right. I think I will too.”

He laid his hands on both my shoulders and said, with a sigh, “Yes, Olivia, I agree with you. You seem like a very special girl. But it wasn't easy for Mia, and it's not going to be easy for you, either.”

“I know,” I said. “But I'm tougher than I look. And I've already learned how to smile and wave. Look.”

I showed him the smile and wave that Princess Mia had taught me, though the effect was somewhat ruined by Snowball choosing that moment to jump up on me, because she's still a puppy, and she hasn't been properly trained.

“No, Snowball,” I said, taking hold of her front paws and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Down.” I put her front paws back on the floor so she'd know “down” meant keeping her paws on the floor. This is how you train puppies. I saw it once on a TV show.

“I guess it's been hard for you,” Dad said thoughtfully, “living with the O'Tooles, and not having a … pet of your own.” It wasn't a question.

“Aw,” I said. I didn't want him to feel bad by letting him know how much things have stunk lately, especially with Annabelle and all, so I scooped Snowball up in my arms and buried my face in her soft, fluffy fur to hide my expression. “It's been okay. And at least now I have … Snowball.”

“I'm glad you like her,” Dad said. “Because in the future, you might be visiting her a lot more often. You see, I was wondering if you'd like to come live with us.”

 

Wednesday, May 6
9:45 P.M.
The Plaza Hotel

To say that I was shocked by this question would be the understatement of the universe. I was so astonished by it that I sort of dropped Snowball (well, not dropped her, really, but let her slither out of my arms, so that she ended up in a soft pile on the marble floor, looking confused).

I guess Dad must have noticed my shock, since he took me by the arm and pulled me over to the brown leather couch. He made me sit down, then sat down beside me.

The couch was super soft and amazingly comfortable. Snowball clearly thought so too, since she scrambled up to sit on a pillow beside us.

“You won't hurt my feelings at all if you say no,” Dad said quickly. “Please don't worry about that. I can totally understand if you'd rather stay with your aunt Catherine. After all, that's where you've lived all your life.”

I didn't say anything in reply to this. That's because I wasn't sure I could actually talk, I was still so surprised.

Also happy.

“Of course I've been wanting you to come live with me for a long time,” Dad went on. “But as your aunt has often pointed out, that would have violated your mother's wishes. A child needs stability, and also a mother, and I've never really been in a position in the past to offer you either of those things. But I think your aunt and even your mother would agree that things have changed quite a bit recently. They'll be changing even more soon
—
”

I looked up at him hopefully. “They will? How?”

“Well, for one, I understand that your aunt and uncle are planning to move you to Qalif. That is unacceptable and something I simply won't allow. For another, whether we like it or not, the secret of your being the princess of Genovia is out. There's nothing we can do about that now. And finally, your sister, Mia, is getting married, and
—
”

“She is?” I didn't mean to interrupt, but this was very startling news.

“Yes, she is. And she and her husband will be residing in Genovia, so your aunt's long-standing objection that there won't be stable female influence in the home is moot.”

I just stared at him. I couldn't believe any of this was happening. It was like a beautiful dream.

“You want me to come live with you in Genovia?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

I nodded. I'd looked it up on Princess Mia's friend's cell phone. “It's in between France and Italy.”

“Well, more or less,” he said. “It's very small, but has the loveliest median year-round temperature of any country in Europe, being situated as it is so idyllically on the Riviera
—
”

Before I could ask another question, the door to the library swung open, and Grandma came in, followed by a waiter holding a huge silver tray.

“I can't imagine when that child last had something to eat,” she said. “So I had room service whip up a little snack. If I know Amelia, I'm sure all she fed you, Olivia, is junk food from the mini-bar of the limousine.”

I didn't see what was wrong with that, but I was still very excited when the waiter put the silver tray down on the large antique coffee table in front of our couch. My eyes bulged as I took in the “little snack” room service had whipped up, which included:

• Bowls containing freshly cut strawberries, sugar cookies, chocolate truffles, and nuts

• A plate of multicolored mini-cakes

• Plates with three different kinds of cheeses, including the oozy creamy kind

• A plate of different kinds of sandwich meat
—
ham, salami, roast beef, and turkey, along with some smoked salmon

• Tiny silver cups of mustard, mayonnaise, horseradish, and cream cheese with matching tiny silver serving spoons

• A basket loaded with slices of white, whole wheat, rye, pumpernickel, and French bread, along with assorted bagels

Coming from a wheat-free house, the sight of so much gluten almost made me cry for joy.

“Your Royal Highness,” the waiter said, handing me an elegant crystal goblet brimming with frothy brown liquid. “Chocolate milk.”

There was a straw in it. The bendy kind!

“Thanks,” I squeaked. I don't think I could have gotten anything else out, even if I could have figured out what to say.

“Thank you, George,” Grandma said. “That will be all.”

The waiter bowed and went away.

“Well,” Grandma said, sitting with elegant grace on the couch beside Dad, and helping herself to a small plate, on which she began to heap slices of ham. “Did you ask her, Phillipe?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “I did.”