Royal Crush

by Meg Cabot

  “You didn’t have to do that!” I told them when Princess Anna-Katerina handed me the small gold-wrapped (of course) gift.

  “Oh, we wanted to,” she said. “You have been so kind to our son.”

  “Mother!” Prince Gunther cried, looking embarrassed.

  Prince Hans laughed. “But you must promise not to open it until your birthday.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I promise. Thank you very much.”

  I can’t tell what’s in the box, except that it’s very heavy and clinks a little when I shake it. It’s the right weight and size to be a key to the village of Stockerdörfl. That’s something that people often give to visiting dignitaries—a key to their city.

  It will be my first key ever!

  I should start collecting them. Keys from cities all over the world.

  That’s pretty good, to get your first key to a city at thirteen. By the time I’m Grandmère’s age, I should have a million.

  Friday, November 27

  10:30 P.M.

  Royal Genovian Bedroom

  Everything is so weird. My hands are shaking a little as I write this.

  Not weird in a bad way, I think. Weird in a good way. Definitely a good way.

  At least some of it. Not all, though. Definitely not all.

  Everything was good at first. Everyone is good. Better than good. Dr. Khan was here, checking on the babies.

  She says Rocky and I are both completely healthy, and the danger of either one of us passing a viral infection on to our niece and nephew is “negligible.”

  I could have told her that! Rocky and I are both very diligent about washing our hands before and after meals, and after using the restroom. (Well, I am. Rocky needs to be reminded, but that’s what big sisters are for.)

  Even better, the babies’ heads are finally normal. They actually look cute now. I can’t believe how much they’ve changed in just a few days!

  Rocky took one look at them in their matching little cribs and blurted, “Aw, they’re normal babies now, all cute and stuff.”

  Mia and Michael glanced at each other, confused. “What do you mean by ‘normal,’ Rocky?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said quickly, covering for him. “Just that, um, they’ve lost that newborn glow.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, that Rocky meant they no longer had pointy heads and were as red as newly cooked lobsters.

  Mia looked down at the babies and said, “I think they still glow. You’re glowing, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth?” I echoed. “Who’s Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, did we forget to tell you?” Mia held up her baby daughter. “It hasn’t been announced officially yet, but we’re calling her Elizabeth after your mom, Olivia, whom we sadly never got to meet before she passed away. But from what I understand, she was a very strong, beautiful, and intelligent woman, and we’re hoping our calling her Elizabeth will cause her to grow up to be just like her … and you, Olivia.”

  When I heard that—and saw the smile that my sister gave me over the warm pink bundle she was holding in her arms—tears of happiness filled my eyes.

  But Mia wasn’t finished.

  “And we’re calling our little boy Frank, after your dad, Rocky.”

  Rocky looked startled to hear this … so startled that he jerked his hands from the pockets of his trousers, causing a slingshot, two marbles, a Nintendo, and a dog biscuit to fall to the floor (Snowball immediately licked up the dog biscuit).

  “You are?” Rocky’s eyes were huge.

  “Yes, we are,” Mia said, too polite to mention all the detritus that had fallen onto the nursery floor from Rocky’s pockets. “Because Frank Gianini was one of the smartest, nicest men I ever knew. I wish more than anything that he was still here with us. But since he too has passed away, at least he’ll be here in name.”

  Rocky studied the face of his dad’s namesake—Michael had taken Prince Frank from his crib—and said finally, “Good. Frank’s a much better name than Star Fighter.” Then he turned around and left the room, a definite spring in his step.

  Mia and Michael looked at each other, more confused than ever.

  I had to agree with Rocky, though. The names Elizabeth and Frank suited the new princess and prince of Genovia perfectly. The bookies in Las Vegas had been right all along.

  But that’s still not the weirdest thing that has happened. Not by a long shot.

  Because later, Mia handed me the letter she’d texted me about … the one from my aunt in Qalif.

  We weren’t in the nursery anymore, but in the billiard room, where Lilly, who is Michael’s sister—and who’d flown straight from New York City as soon as she’d heard her niece and nephew had been born—was hanging out with a newly opened bottle of Genovian wine.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, turning the envelope over. “This has been opened.”

  “Er,” Mia said. “Well, yes. Due to security precautions, the Royal Genovian Press Office opens all our mail. They have to make sure that there isn’t anything dangerous inside.”

  “What could my aunt have put inside a birthday card to me that’s dangerous?” I asked.

  “We were all thinking it would be laced with—” Lilly began, but closed her mouth when Mia gave her a warning look.

  “Nothing,” Mia said quickly. “And it turns out that it isn’t from your aunt at all.”

  “And it ain’t no birthday card, either, kid,” Lilly said, taking a sip from her wine. “But I got a feeling you’re gonna like it anyway!”

  “Lilly,” Mia said.

  “What?” Lilly shrugged. “She is!”

  I shot them both a confused look, then opened the (already torn) envelope.

  Inside was a letter written in cursive that I thought I recognized on royal stationery from the Throne of Qalif (which explained why it had been sent via royal post. All mail sent from countries with royal households arrives to the palace via special courier).

  Sunday, November 22

  Dear Princess Olivia,

  Sorry if it seems weird that I’m writing this to you. I promise I’m not weird. Well, maybe I’m a little weird, as you know. But that’s something we both take pride in, right?

  But I’m afraid if I don’t write this, there might never be a time when I can say what it is I want to say, between school, your busy royal schedule, my hockey games, and everything going on with my country (which as you know is really bad).

  We haven’t been getting to see each other as much as we used to, and that makes me sad, because I used to have so much fun coming over to your place, swimming, playing table tennis, and talking about iguanas and wildlife illustration.

  You’re the coolest girl I’ve ever met, and I just wanted to make sure you know that. I know it’s been hard for you, moving to Genovia from America and having to get to know all new customs and even a new family. But I think you’re doing a great job.

  I’m really looking forward to hanging out with you at your birthday ball, and hopefully also at the Royal School Winter Games, if you come (I’m not sure if you’re coming. I really, really hope you will).

  I hope sometime when we both aren’t so busy, we could go out for an ice cream or a coffee after school (if your father says it’s all right). Because I really lo like you, and I would like us to be better friends.

  Love Your Friend Sincerely,

  Prince Khalil Rashid bin Zayed Faisal

  P.S. I wrote this as a letter instead of a text because I always see you writing in your notebook, so I thought you’d like a letter better. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.

  When I was done reading, I looked up and simply stared at Mia, too stunned to say a word.

  “Well?” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. “What do you think?”

  “It’s the best letter you ever got,” Lilly said. “Come on. Admit it. That’s the best letter anyone ever got in their whole entire lives. Go ahead. You can say it.”

  But I
didn’t say that. Instead, I wailed, “But it’s too late!”

  “What do you mean, it’s too late?” Mia asked. “Too late for what?”

  “Yeah, really,” Lilly said, taking another sip of her wine. “What are you, betrothed to someone else? You can’t be. I do all the legal work around here, and I never saw a betrothal contract.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not that.”

  I thought of the way Prince Khalil had told me I was “the opposite of a dork” Monday in the language lab at school, and how I’d “see.” I hadn’t understood what he’d been talking about then, but I got it now.

  His letter! He’d been referring to his letter, and how I’d see what he meant—that he thought I was cool, and I’d know it when I got the letter he’d sent me, explaining his true feelings for me!

  Only I hadn’t responded. Not the next day. Not when he’d sat down next to me at fondue night. Not when he’d said I’d looked cute after the snowball fight. And even today, on the train, when he’d sat there beside me, texting, for hours!

  I’d never mentioned a word about his letter or whether or not I wanted to go for ice cream (or a coffee). He must think I’m the rudest, snobbiest girl in the whole world!

  “It’s too late!” I cried again, sinking to the floor as if an avalanche back in Stockerdörfl had struck me dead (wishful thinking).

  “How is it too late?” Mia cried. She sounded genuinely alarmed. I don’t fling myself to the floor too often. Unlike my friends (and Mia) I’m not usually overdramatic about stuff.

  I stared at the ceiling. “You say this came a few days ago?”

  “Yes,” Mia said, nodding. “Before you left. But it got lost in all the excitement with the babies and everything. I guess that’s going to be a problem, going forward, with the three of you having birthdays so close together. But we’ll tell the press office to be extra diligent. It will never happen again.”

  “Right,” I said, sitting up. It was important to at least give the appearance of bravery, like all my Genovian ancestresses. “But Prince Khalil must have assumed I got it Monday night. I’m sure he’s been waiting for me to say something about it all week. But I never did. So,” I said with a sigh, “he got back together with his old girlfriend because he got tired of waiting around for me.”

  “WHAT?” Mia cried.

  “How do you know that?” Lilly asked. As a corporate lawyer, she is very analytical. Plus, she loves to argue about everything, which was why her brother, Michael, hadn’t joined us in the billiard room but had chosen to stay upstairs with the babies.

  “Because he was texting her the whole train ride home,” I explained, “even though he was sitting next to me. She sent him heart emojis. I didn’t mean to spy, but I saw them.”

  Going over in my head every conversation Prince Khalil and I had had in the past week, it became more and more obvious. How cold and strange I must have seemed to him, never having mentioned his letter, or any part of what he’d said in it about liking me in any way!

  It’s true that he probably already thinks I’m weird—he mentioned this in his letter.

  But now he must think me the biggest freak in the universe. What kind of girl gets asked out by a boy (via handwritten letter) and completely ignores it?

  A weird girl. The weirdest girl in the world.

  “Well,” Mia said, “texting another girl doesn’t mean he’s back together with her. It could just mean he was … helping her with her homework. And she was grateful. So she sent him heart emojis to say thank you.”

  Even Lilly threw my sister an incredulous look.

  “There was no homework this week. It was the Royal School Winter Games.” I love my sister, but sometimes I think she doesn’t know anything. “Oh, God,” I wailed, burying my face in my hands. “He must think I’m such a snob!”

  “He doesn’t think you’re a snob,” my sister said in a kind voice, gently patting my head. “It’s a little misunderstanding. You could text him right now and tell him what happened—”

  “Text him?”

  I raised my head. Grandmère had walked into the room. Or rather … she’d swooped, as usual.

  She had changed from her train clothes—a Chanel suit, fur coat, and heels—into her dressing gown and slippers. This time instead of a turban, there was night cream all over her face, except for two large spaces around her eyes.

  But since this is how she dresses for bed every night, I wasn’t scared … until I saw that she had Prince Khalil’s letter in her hand and was reading it.

  “You most certainly will NOT text him,” Grandmère said. She’d found the letter lying on top of the Ping-Pong table and read it through the gold-rimmed lorgnettes she keeps in the pocket of her robe for this purpose. “When a man declares his affection for a woman in a handwritten love letter—sent by royal courier, no less—she does NOT respond to him by text. To do so would be crass. The only way to respond to a handwritten letter like this one is in kind … in writing. Or preferably in person.”

  Lilly took another sip of her wine. “Have to say I agree with your grandmother on this one.”

  “It wasn’t a love letter, Grandmère,” I said, feeling even more mortified as I scrambled to my feet. “He crossed out the word ‘love,’ didn’t you see?”

  “Yes, I did see that. Which means only, of course, that he is uncertain of the return of his affections, and is embarrassed to reveal too much. He is young. It is to be forgiven in this case.”

  “Or it could mean what it says.” I couldn’t remember ever having felt more wretched. “That he only likes me as a friend. Or that he used to.”

  Mia frowned. “Don’t pay any attention to Grandmère, Olivia. It’s fine to text Prince Khalil back, if that’s what you want to do—”

  Grandmère’s jaw dropped. “Text him? TEXT HIM? Certainly not! When a man cares enough to expose his very soul in pen and ink, unless the woman finds him repulsive—which I am guessing you do not—it is the height of rudeness to respond using a mechanical device. Of course if you don’t like the boy—”

  Mia held up one finger, reminding everyone in the room that she was not only the current ruler of our country, but also a woman who had recently given birth to twins and wasn’t going to put up with any nonsense from anyone, even her own grandmother.

  “You’re going to see Prince Khalil tomorrow night at your birthday ball,” Mia reminded me. “He RSVP’d yes, and hasn’t canceled. I had the Royal Genovian Press Office double check. So whatever you might believe he thinks of you, he’s still coming here tomorrow night, so you can respond in person, like Grandmère said.”

  I felt engulfed in panic—but also a kind of excitement, too, at the same time. Prince Khalil was coming here, to the palace?

  What on earth was I going to say to him when he got here?

  Well, at the very least I could show him Carlos, my iguana, and how much he’d grown since Khalil had last been here, and I suppose I could show him the frog I’d seen in the gardens, the one I’d lied about being a Karpathos—

  Wait. What was I thinking? He wasn’t going to care about any of that.

  He was going to want to know why I hadn’t responded to his letter.

  If he cared about me at all anymore, which was doubtful after I’d been so rude to him … and of course since he’d reignited his flame with the fiery-haired Princess Sophie Eugenie.

  “But I think it’s a bit late to be discussing any of this,” Mia went on, “especially after you’ve had such a long journey. I think you’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.”

  “That is certainly true,” Grandmère said. “I feel as if I’m developing a slight scratch in my throat. It’s delightful to visit the mountains now and again, but only so that one can feel a better appreciation for the sea when one returns.”

  So we all went to bed … but not before Grandmère, as she was about to turn toward her own room—where her maid, Maxine, would be waiting with Grandmère’s hot water bottle and bedtime tonic
—said to me, “Don’t worry about Prince Khalil, Olivia. If it turns out he does like this horrid other girl and not you, he’s not worth having. Because that means he doesn’t have a shred of common sense.”

  I shook my head. “This other girl isn’t horrid, Grandmère. She’s very nice, actually, from what I hear. And she’s an excellent hockey goalie, even though our team beat hers.”

  She snorted.

  “Never mind all that. You have skills that are just as valuable, and any boy, prince or not, who doesn’t want you is an imbecile.”

  Then she slapped me on the behind and said, “Now go to bed. You know a woman must have eight hours of sleep a night to look her best in the morning. And I don’t know about you, but I did NOT get a full eight hours of sleep one single night while I was in Stockerdörfl. I was up much too late every night, chasing the Duke of Marborough and his horrid little friend the marquis away from the hot tub, which for some reason they seemed intent on filling with bubble bath. Good night, ma petite princesse.”

  Saturday, November 28

  11:00 A.M.

  MY BIRTHDAY Royal Pool

  When I woke up this morning (on my own. Francesca didn’t wake me up, because it’s my birthday, so for once I was allowed to sleep as late as I wanted to, because there’s no school, no royal appearance, and no special event to attend today except my BIRTHDAY BALL TONIGHT) and went downstairs to eat breakfast, no one was around.

  No one! In a palace full of people!

  It took me a while to figure out where everyone had gone. I had to ask the majordomo, who finally told me:

  • Mia and Michael had taken the twins to their first postbirth checkup at the pediatrician.

  • Dad, Helen, and Rocky were on some kind of secret mission (I assume to do with my birthday, hoping to surprise me, since the majordomo wouldn’t give me any details. But I’ve already had the biggest surprise any girl could get in her life: finding out that her dad is actually the Prince of Genovia!).

  • Lilly had gone off somewhere with Mia’s bodyguard, Lars, because it’s Lars’s day off.