by Meg Cabot
So Snowball couldn’t have snuck down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and stolen the top layer off the wedding cake and eaten it!
How would Snowball even have REACHED the top layer of the wedding cake without knocking the whole thing down, anyway? The wedding cake is five feet tall (and on a table with no chairs around it).
OBVIOUSLY a human being had to have done it. You don’t have to be a member of the Royal Genovian Guard, trained in the art of investigation and mystery detection, to deduce that.
But the majordomo doesn’t believe me. Neither does Chef Bernard. When he and the rest of the cooking staff came in this morning and saw what had happened to the cake, of course they all assumed it was Snowball. I don’t really blame them, because of her previous crimes.
Still, she couldn’t possibly have done this! Some-how last night Luisa had to have snuck into the kitchen and done it, in order to ruin my life. It’s almost like my dream is coming true, in a way. I wonder if I’m a little bit psychic? Is it possible to be a princess, good at drawing, and also psychic?
No. That’s too many good things at once.
“Look,” I said to them as calmly as I could, using as many of my diplomacy skills as I could muster, because I knew I couldn’t outright blame Luisa without having any proof. “It couldn’t possibly have been Snowball. Snowball was with me all night. And she isn’t tall enough to have reached the top of that cake without leaving paw prints on the rest of it. Unless you think she FLEW to the top.”
Everyone looked at the cake. It was only me, Dad, and Grandmère there from the family, because they didn’t want to disturb anyone else in the palace (like Mia) because it was “only a domestic issue,” and also because Mia was the bride and “needed her rest.”
Only a domestic issue? My dog was being accused of a crime she didn’t commit!
“Olivia has a point,” Dad said. “It would have taken a feat of true engineering.”
“But how else could it have happened?” the majordomo wailed. “Who would take the top layer—only the top layer—of a seven-layer wedding cake? We have searched everywhere, but it is gone.”
“That’s more proof that it wasn’t Snowball,” I said. “Because if it was her, you’d have found bits of cake lying around somewhere. Snowball never eats everything she steals. She always hides some for later. So if it was Snowball, there would be icing and crumbs somewhere on the grounds of this palace.”
My dad looked unhappy. He was wearing his robe, which is red satin and has a fancy letter P, either for Prince or Phillipe, on the lapel.
“I don’t want to have the grounds searched for the top layer of a royal wedding cake right now,” he said. “The guests are going to be arriving in a few hours.”
“Why don’t we all go back to bed,” Grandmère said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “I think Chef Bernard has the situation well in hand.”
“Non!” Chef Bernard cried. “Non, I do not! This cake was to have served five hundred and fifty. Now it is to serve seven hundred, thanks to zee children from the zee school. But it is MISSING A LAYER!”
Grandmère blinked at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Chef. Just cut smaller slices.”
Both Chef Bernard and the majordomo looked like they wanted to cut something—and not a slice of cake, either.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the chef said sadly.
As we were walking back up the stairs to our bedrooms, I said to Dad, feeling desperate, “Snowball didn’t do it. You have to see that.”
“Of course I do, sweetheart,” Dad said, yawning.
“Not a word about any of this to anyone, you two,” Grandmère said. “I don’t want Amelia to know about anything that goes wrong today. Not that anything else is going to go wrong. The sun is shining, the crowds are already ten-deep outside … it looks like a fine day for a wedding. It’s a pity about the cake, but … well, these things do happen.”
Dad rubbed his bald head. “I don’t see how. I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you suppose it could have been the dog?”
“NO!” I yelled. “It wasn’t. It was—”
But Grandmère gave me her most evil stare.
“Nothing else is going to go wrong today,” Grandmère said firmly. “Nothing. Do you understand, Olivia?”
I swallowed. “Yes, Grandmère.”
It’s not fair! Why should I have to act like a princess, when Luisa Ferrari gets to do whatever she wants, and get away with it? I don’t care how sad she was when her parents got divorced, or how lacking she might be in character or common sense.
The next time I see Luisa Ferrari, she’s going to get what she deserves.
Saturday, June 20
9:35 A.M.
Royal Genovian Bedroom
Wedding Day
I haven’t seen Luisa yet. But it’s only a matter of time.
Right now Nishi and I are both getting our hair done by Paolo.
Well, by his assistants. Paolo—Hair Stylist to Royalty—only has time for one person today, and that’s my sister, the bride.
The florists sent over arrangements for our hair—which Paolo’s assistants are tucking in along with my tiara—as well as bouquets for us to hold.
In order to look good for the camera, we’re also getting makeup. Not a lot, because it’s important to appear “natural and dewy fresh” like the young girls that we are (according to orders given by Dominique de Bois, director of Royal Genovian Press Relations and Marketing).
But when you’re being filmed in high definition, that means being sprayed with a light film of foundation that exactly matches your own skin color, so there won’t be any uneven spots (the lady doing my makeup told me that even male sports stars do this).
This is almost exciting enough for me to forget how mad I am at Luisa.
Almost.
Nishi says she is in paradise (although we both agreed we’re glad we don’t have to get sprayed every day).
After the makeup and hair comes the next most important part:
THE DRESSES!
Ours were delivered, newly pressed, by the housekeeping staff in garment bags, so I couldn’t see what mine looked like until Francesca, my personal wardrobe consultant, unzipped it. When she did, she paused before taking it out of the bag.
“Oh my,” she said. “Your Highness, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your dress, it … it’s … purple.”
“Surprise!” I cried.
“I LOVE it!” Nishi yelled when she saw hers.
“I know,” I said. “Grandmère and I had Sebastiano dye them at the last minute. We think Mia will be so surprised.”
“Yes,” said Francesca, helping me to step into all the flouncy layers. “I think the princess will be very surprised indeed.”
I hope it will be a good surprise! I think I look as good as I did in my dream … only better, because I’m not covered in dirty paw prints. Snowball is sitting on my bed, watching us, perfectly dirt-free (when I took her out for her morning walk, I was careful to keep her on her leash, and away from all puddles).
After all the hair and makeup people went away, Nishi and I checked out our reflections in the full-length mirror in my bathroom.
“We look like naiads,” Nishi said approvingly. “Those were a type of water nymph that lived in fountains and streams and stuff in ancient Greece. We look just like them, only in purple instead of green or blue.”
“Cool,” I said. “Total naiads.”
Then we took a bunch of selfies with Nishi’s cell phone, posing on my bed that’s shaped like a boat, so we looked even more like naiads, or maybe even the mermaid spigots on Grandmère’s royal bathtub.
Now Francesca has left to go see when they’re going to be ready for us to come down, and Nishi is coming up with plans to get revenge on Luisa (because of course I told Nishi what Luisa did, even though Grandmère said not to. But Nishi won’t tell Mia).
Nishi and Olivia’s Plans to Get Revenge on Luisa Ferrari
Nishi Plan #1:
Trip Luisa in front of television cameras so her skirt falls over her head and her underwear shows in front of worldwide audience.
Olivia’s note:
No. Luisa would like this as she craves attention. Also, it might ruin Mia’s wedding and I promised Grandmère I wouldn’t let anything happen to ruin Mia’s day.
Nishi Plan #2:
Trip Luisa in front of wedding carriage. Luisa gets run over.
Olivia’s note:
Luisa might be seriously hurt from this and we could go to jail. Jail is not very princessy. Also, remember my promise to Grandmère.
Nishi Plan #3:
Get Luisa alone. Get her to confess what she did. Record confession on cell phone. Upload video to Internet so everyone sees it.
Olivia’s note:
Better! But I still think this might give Luisa the attention she wants. She could become an international Internet sensation and then write a bestselling book about it.
Nishi Plan #4:
Buy poison. Poison her.
Olivia’s note:
Like I said, jail is not very princessy. Also, where do we buy poison? And having one of the junior bridesmaids die of poisoning would COMPLETELY ruin Mia’s wedding.
Nishi Plan #5:
Get some of Chrissy’s horse poo. Put poo in wedding cake. Give cake to Luisa.
Olivia’s note:
Won’t Luisa smell the horse poo? Also, I don’t want to touch horse poo. That’s gross! Also, I’m pretty sure she get could really sick from this, and then we’d have to go to jail. Plus maybe then all the other wedding guests will think there is poo in the wedding cake, and this will ruin the wedding.
Nishi Plan #6:
Ask Boris P to call Luisa up to the stage and dedicate a song just to her. While she is onstage staring up at him, all googly-eyed, have him change the song so it is about how horrible she is.
Olivia’s note:
But this might make Luisa feel so bad, it will ruin her self-esteem, and then she will never develop character or common sense. Royals are supposed to guide those less fortunate, not destroy them.
Nishi Plan #6, continued:
Call Prince Khalil to come over and see Boris P singing the song about how horrible Luisa is. Then he will know the truth about her, and then Prince Khalil will like you and not Luisa!
This is when I had to tell Nishi that I didn’t want to play this game anymore. It wasn’t fun and also seemed mean. Also, that I don’t like Prince Khalil.
But Nishi wouldn’t listen! She had the nerve to say, “I think you do like Prince Khalil, and I think he likes you back. I think Luisa knows that, and that’s why she wrecked your sister’s cake.”
My heart started beating kind of quickly when she said that. I don’t know why. I said, “Nishi, no. That’s not true.”
“It is true. Anyone can see it. Even Rocky. Here, I’ll go get Rocky and ask him.”
“No,” I said. “Why would you get Rocky? He’s just a little boy who doesn’t know anything. Leave him out of this.”
But Nishi said, “I’m getting him anyway. I’m going to ask him about the poo.”
“Nishi, no!” I said. “I thought you were joking about the poo! Let’s just drop it. Be serious now. The wedding is going to start soon. We need to—”
But she left before I could stop her. She flounced right out of my room (it’s hard not to flounce in these dresses; they have so many petticoats) and down the hall.
What choice did I have? I had to follow her. I didn’t want her busting in on Rocky and telling him about the poo (especially seeing as how it was so stupid. Although knowing Rocky, he might take it seriously) and getting him all riled up before the wedding.
That’s how I know the truth now—the truth about Rocky. It’s all Nishi’s fault.
It wasn’t Luisa who stole the top layer of Mia’s wedding cake.
It wasn’t Snowball, either.
It was Rocky.
Saturday, June 20
10:05 A.M.
Rocky’s Room
Wedding Day
“I don’t know what made me do it!” That’s what Rocky keeps saying. “I saw it there, and it just looked so delicious!”
I bet it was delicious. My sister and Michael have good taste. And the cake they picked out—chocolate cake with vanilla frosting—is the best kind.
Chocolate cake with vanilla frosting is all over the inside of Rocky’s rocket ship to the moon. Also, little white Genovian frosting roses and tiny sparkly frosting snowflakes, which had decorated the top of Mia and Michael’s cake.
At least until someone stole it.
Someone who was not my dog, Snowball, or my cousin Luisa Ferrari.
“Oh, Rocky,” I said, looking at the mess inside his cardboard rocket ship. “How could you?”
“I don’t know. I went down to the kitchen for a midnight snack and no one was there and I saw it and I thought—well, the cake was so big! I didn’t think anyone would notice one little layer. Especially the top. It was so little.”
“The top’s the most important part!” I cried. “That’s where they put the most decorations!”
“They take the top off and save it to eat a year later, for good luck,” Nishi said.
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “I saved them the trouble by eating it.” Then he looked sad. “But I guess it wasn’t very good luck for me. Are … are you going to tell?”
“Everyone thinks it was Olivia’s dog!” Nishi cried. “Well, except for us. We thought it was Luisa Ferrari. We came in here to ask you to throw some of Chrissy’s poo at her.”
Rocky brightened. “I still will, if you want me to.”
“NO!” I didn’t know what to do. I was mad, but more at myself than at Rocky. I couldn’t believe I’d been so quick to blame a girl—my cousin, a fellow classmate who may not be the nicest person, but is technically only a little insecure—for something a nine-year-old boy had done. “And no, we’re not going to tell on you.”
He looked relieved. “Phew! Thanks. I owe you one, Liv.”
“Yes,” I said. “You do. And we’re going to have to throw out your rocket ship now, you know, Rocky. We can’t leave it like this; the cardboard is too messy. It will grow mold, and mice might get into it.” People don’t know this, but even thousand-year-old palaces get mice. Maybe even more than other, newer palaces.
Rocky sighed. “That’s all right. I think … I think I might be ready to give up my rocket ship.”
I looked at him in astonishment. “You are?” I asked. “Since when?”
“Since yesterday,” he said. “I don’t want to go to the moon anymore to visit the dinosaurs. I want to stay here in Genovia and study reptiles. And amphibians.”
Nishi started laughing. “You and everybody else around here!”
I glared at her. I didn’t see what was so funny. “I think the study of reptiles and amphibians is very noble.”
“Ha,” Nishi laughed. “You would!”
I still didn’t see what was so funny, but I didn’t get a chance to ask, because just then the door to Rocky’s room opened, and Francesca peeked in. “Oh, there you are, Your Highness,” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s time.”
!!!!!
Saturday, June 20
Noon
Royal Throne Room
Wedding Day
It’s happening. It’s finally happening!
My sister looks beautiful. Her dress is perfect. When she came down the stairs, the light from the windows caught the tiny crystals sewn onto the bodice and the entwined letter Ms on the skirt of her gown—M for Mia, and M for Michael—and blazed like diamonds! She’s always looked like a princess to me, but at that moment, she looked like a QUEEN.
Even my dad and Grandmère were stunned into silence for a moment as they watched her come down the stairs, and I noticed that Mia’s mom was crying. Everyone was crying a little, I think, even the majordomo and Chef Bernard, who snuck upstairs from the kitche
n to catch a glimpse of the bride as she made her way to the throne room.
But they were crying in a happy way.
“Well?” Mia said when she got to the bottom of the staircase. “Isn’t someone going to say something?”
“You look hot, P.O.G.,” said Michael’s sister, Lilly, breaking the silence.
P.O.G. stands for Princess of Genovia. Everyone laughed except Michael, who wasn’t there because he wasn’t allowed to see the bride until she walked down the aisle. He and the groomsmen were already in the throne room with the prime minister.
It was right then that Rocky did something terrible … or wonderful, depending. He stepped up to his sister, his hand on his sword hilt (some not-very-intelligent person had decided it would be a good idea for Rocky to wear a tiny formal Genovian military uniform to the wedding, so he could match his soon-to-be adoptive dad), and said, “Mia, I’m the one who stole the top of your cake.”
Mia looked down at him, her tiara sparkling wildly, and said, “Excuse me?”
“I did it,” Rocky said. “It was me. I’m sorry. I ate it. Don’t worry, though, everyone is going to love it. It tasted delici—”
“Ooooh-kay,” Dad said, lifting Rocky high into the air and handing him over to Lars, Mia’s bodyguard. “We’ll discuss that among ourselves at a later date, young man. For now I think you’d better be going, or you’ll be late. Don’t want to keep the crowd waiting.”
It was true! You could hear not only all the people screaming outside, but the music playing inside.
It was only RIGHT THEN that Mia noticed what Nishi and I and the rest of the bridesmaids and junior bridesmaids were wearing.
“Oh,” she said, appearing a bit startled. “You’re all in…”
“Purple!” I cried, twirling around in my dress, which, by the way, did not have any paw prints on it. “Surprise! Grandmère did it! Well, Grandmère and I did it, together. I know you wanted cream-colored dresses for your bridesmaids, but Grandmère and I thought you’d like this better, because purple is the color of royalty, and for a wedding, it’s different … like you!”
“Yeah,” Lilly muttered, looking down at her purple skirt. “It’s different, all right. Who cares if we look like eggplants?”
