Royally Crushed (14 page)

He looks so serious, and his face is so caring, I believe him. I really do.

“So I guess it’s not just a life of going to polo parties or getting any girl you want, huh?”

He snorts. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life. And if I did, I’d probably fall off, and the whole world would get it in full color in the tabloids or in one of those royalty magazines. Can’t you just see it, a big picture of me with mud and horse manure all over my face?”

“Ouch,” I say. Guess I never realized before that he would so get the whole who-my-parents-are-is-ruining-my-life thing.

“And,” he adds, leaning forward a little, “I don’t get any girl I want.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Okay, you had me with your life-isn’t-always-fun-for-a-prince shtick, but I have to tell you, I don’t believe the girl part of it. You’re lucky they don’t rip your designer clothes right off your body in the middle of the quad.”

He cocks his head sideways. “Would
you
go out with me, after the way I treated you at school today? Or what happened in the balcony yesterday?”

I’m about to make a sarcastic reply—I can’t help it, it’s what I do—but then I realize he’s serious.
Completely
serious.

How did
that
happen? Especially when I look like absolute hell?

“Let’s make a deal. You talk to your mom, get your
feelings out on the table, try to give her a break,” he says. “I think it’ll make you feel better, because in your gut, it’s what you really want to do. It’s what you’d do if you weren’t worrying about what everyone will think.”

I’m about to protest, but he says, “And I’ll do the same. You get honest with your mom, and I’ll be honest with you. I’d rather not be just friends.”

I think I’m going to hurl. In a good way though. I mean, he just made my stomach do the best kind of twist.

Whoa.

He scoots forward in his chair, and he’s sitting so close I can reach out and touch him and make it look like a total accident if I want.

“Meaning?” I don’t think I can breathe waiting for him to say something.

“Meaning I kind of flipped out yesterday when we got to the balcony. I was afraid maybe I offended you or I moved too fast . . . I don’t know. I didn’t even really plan to kiss you yesterday, I just did. And then, after having such a cool afternoon with you, I was a total jerk this morning. I got all hung up on the reporter and Steffi. I just did what I wanted and kind of forgot everyone else. Including you.” He does that funky raising-one-eyebrow thing. “So you see, you’re not the only one who’s shallow.”

“I guess that’s a good thing,” I say, and even though it all seems surreal, I want him to kiss me again. Especially since yesterday I screwed up kissing him back. Maybe this time I’ll get it right.

His foot bumps against mine, and he doesn’t pull it back. “So does that mean you’d consider going out with me? Since we’re both so shallow and everything?”

“As long as we don’t double with Steffi.” I know. I know. I can’t be serious even when it’s important. Christie tells me not to get goofy when I’m nervous, but I do anyway. I’m going to have to work on that.

Later, though, because Georg actually laughs at that one.

“Well, I have this thing to go to tomorrow night. I know it’s last minute to ask, but I was hoping my parents wouldn’t make me go.”

“It sounds like fun already,” I tease him.

“Well, I thought it might be if you come. It’s this dinner and dancing thing. It’s in the reception hall—the room below where we were in the balcony. There’s a summit on global warming tomorrow in Zurich, and the British prime minister is going to be there. Afterward he’s coming here to meet with my dad. So they’re doing a banquet dinner, and then there’s going to be a ball before the P.M. flies back to London in the morning.”

As he’s describing who’s coming and what the whole evening’s about, I start getting concerned that my eyes might pop right out of my skull. This is way, way out of my league. It’s my dad’s kind of thing.

Dad’s probably coaching staff members on what to say and do at this exact moment.

“So?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “Well, I was kind of expecting you to ask if I wanted to go to McDonald’s or catch a movie. Having dinner with a prime minister—not to mention
your parents
—is kind of a big first date.”

I hope I don’t sound like I’m rejecting him, because I’m actually as psyched about this as I am scared to death. “And my dad is probably going to be there too. Wouldn’t that be kind of weird?”

“Maybe we can sneak out after dinner, then.”

I can’t help but smile at him. “We’d probably get in trouble.”

“Nah. I’d just say I was showing you the way to the ladies’ room or giving you a palace tour or something.”

“I’ve already had a palace tour.”

The grin on his face is downright wicked. “So I offered and you thought it would be rude not to accept.”

This is going to get me in trouble, but I could definitely eat this guy alive. I love that he wants to do something
risky, and that he wants me to do it with him. “Okay. Then I accept.”

I smile, and inside, I hope he’s going to kiss me, because he’s smiling too, as big as if he just kicked the winning goal in the final two seconds of a championship soccer match. But no. He starts talking about when and where we can meet up beforehand, then he ducks out of the library so he won’t be late to dinner.

When I’m alone again, I pick up the book and the letter from my mom to take them back to the apartment. I hope I don’t look too blotchy, or Dad’s going to think that Mom’s letter really messed me up. I sit down for a second to get my head on straight, and suddenly I realize that what I thought was my special place might be
our
special place. Mine and Georg’s.

And I’m completely cool with that.

I am going on a date with Georg Jacques von Ederhollern of Schwerinborg.

I am going on a date with the guy who has the strangest name in the world and I’m completely and totally okay with that, because I’m learning not to sweat the small stuff.

I am going on a date with a guy who is laid back and easy to talk to and who can see through people like Steffi the same way I can.

I am going on a date with a freakin’ prince! Tomorrow!

This is too much. I have to tell Christie about it. About everything. I mean, who has their first date with the British prime minister at the table?

Since with the time difference I know Christie’s still at school, I flop in the living room after dinner, half watching the end of a German-dubbed John Wayne movie, half freaking out over how strange my life has become.

And then I tell Dad.

I have to. I mean, he’s in charge of protocol. You think he wouldn’t find out I have a date with Georg?

He is currently sitting next to me on our not-so-comfy couch trying to absorb it all, and muttering to himself about all the stuff he wishes he’d thought to teach me about proper decorum. I keep telling him it’s not a
real
date, even though in my gut I know it is.

That’s what makes it so incredible.

“Look”—I turn to Dad and keep my voice as light and sincere as possible—“I talked to Georg about the whole thing, and he says that there’s no receiving line. I can meet his parents beforehand, so it’s nothing major, and at the dinner itself I don’t have to talk to anyone other than him if I don’t want to. So I can just lie low, okay?”

Dad picks up the remote and clicks off the movie that’s starting on TV, then presses his fingers to his temples. I want to say more—to explain that I won’t embarrass him, or that I didn’t keep hanging out with Georg on purpose so we could hook up—but I don’t think anything I say is going to make Dad any less worried.

I mean, it’s one of his favorite movies. He wouldn’t shut it off unless he was really concerned.

“Valerie”—he finally sits up straight and turns toward me—“is this something that’s really important to you?”

I stare at him for a sec, trying to figure out just what he’s asking. “Why? Is this going to make you lose your job?”

He goes from serious to laughing in a nanosecond. “No. Well, unless you do something truly horrific, like start a food fight with Prince Manfred or insult Princess Claudia’s taste in clothes in front of a reporter. You’re not planning to do that, are you?”

“Um,
no
.”

“So you like Georg, I take it?”

Well, duh. “I think he’s really nice, Dad. And you said just a few days ago that you think he has a good reputation.”

“That’s true.” He leans back against the arm of the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. “So you can go. But on one condition.”

I gesture for him to get on with it, even though I’m dreading the condition. Dad never gives good conditions. It’s always, you can go out, but you can’t stay out after nine—in other words, late enough to have any fun. And I’m planning on having a lot of fun with Georg.

A
lot
. I’m due.

“I get to play fairy godmother. Help you pick a dress, coach you a little on what to say to Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia.”

The idea of my totally buffed-up Dad picking out a dress with me is hysterical. His clothes always look perfect, and totally stylish, so maybe it’ll be a bonding experience. And I can always veto his choice if he wants something ugly. I hope.

“Okay. But we don’t have much time to shop,” I tell him.

“Then let’s go now.” He jumps off the couch and pockets his wallet before I can even say anything. “I’ve heard Princess Claudia mention a few places that should still be open. But we’ll have to hurry. The stores here don’t stay open nearly as late as they do in the States.”

I follow him out the door, and I have to admit I’m not nearly as freaked as I was before I told Dad about the date.

And, you know, I didn’t even make one joke about Dad using the term
fairy godmother
in reference to himself, which is very tempting given the whole gay Mom thing. I must be learning.

Christie would be proud.

Go figure. Dad has really,
really
good taste in dresses. And he’s clearly been saving money—now that he’s not bringing home little gifts for Mom all the time, I suppose—because he let his credit card take a mighty hit yesterday without flinching. This never, and I mean
never
, happens. I don’t even get an allowance. All my money comes from babysitting. Well, all my money
came
from baby-sitting. Eventually, I’m going to have to learn enough German to get a job at the Schwerinborg McDonald’s or something.