by Meg Cabot
is how a man ought to treat the woman he loves.'
All I could think was poor Grandpa. He couldn't have had any idea what he was getting himself into when it came to Grandmere, who'd been a total babe back when she was young, before she'd gotten her eyeliner tattooed and plucked
out all her eyebrows. I'm sure Gramps just took one look at her across that dance floor where they met back when he
was just the dashing heir to the throne and she was a pert young debutante, and froze, like a deer caught in headlights,
never suspecting what lay ahead . . .
Years of subtle mind games and Sidecar shaking.
'I don't think I can be like that, Grandmere,' I said. 'I mean, I don't want Michael to give me diamonds. I just want him
to ask me to the prom.'
'Well, he won't do it,' Grandmere said, 'if he doesn't know there's a possibility you're entertaining offers from other boys.'
'Grandmere!' I was shocked. 'I would never to go to the prom with anybody but Michael!' Not like there was a big chance
of anybody else asking me, either, but I felt that was beside the point.
'But you must never let him know that, Amelia,' Grandmere said, severely. 'You must keep him always in doubt of your feelings, always on his toes. Men enjoy the hunt, you see, and once their quarry has been taken, they tend to lose all
interest. Here. This is for you to read. I believe it will adequately illustrate my point.'
And then from her Gucci bag, Grandmere drew out a book, which she handed to me. I looked down at it incredulously.
'Jane Eyre?' I couldn't believe it. 'Grandmere, no offence, but I saw the movie and it was way boring.'
'Movie?' Grandmere said, with a sniff. 'Read that book, Amelia, and see if it doesn't teach you a thing or two about
how men and women relate to one another.'
'Grandmere,' I said, not sure how to break it to her that she was way behind the times. 'I think people who want to know
how men and women relate to one another are reading Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus these days.'
'Read it!' Grandmere yelled, so loudly that she scared Rommel clear off her lap. He slunk off to cower behind a potted geranium.
I swear I don't know what I did to deserve a grandmother like mine. Lilly's grandma totally worships her boyfriend, Boris Pelkowski. She is always sending him Tupperware tubs of kreplach and stuff. I don't know why I have to get a grandma
who is already trying to get me to break up with a guy I've only been going out with for twenty-four days.
Seven days, twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes until I see him again.
Tuesday, January 12, 10 a.m.,
Session of Genovian Parliament
Jane Eyre is boring, so far nothing but orphanages, bad haircuts and a lot of coughing.
Tuesday, January 12, 2 p.m.,
Still in a Session of Genovian Parliament
Jane Eyre looking up. She has gotten a job as a governess in the house of very rich guy, Mr Rochester.
Mr Rochester is bossy, much like Wolverine, or Michael.
Tuesday; January 12, 5 p.m.,
Still Sitting in on Session of Genovian Parliament
Mr Rochester = total hottie. Going on my list of Totally Hot Guys between Hugh Jackman and that
Bosnian dude from ER.
Tuesday, January 12, 7 p.m.,
Ivory Dining Room
Jane Eyre = total idiot! It was not Mr Rochester's fault! Why is she being so mean to him?
Wednesday, January 13, 3 a,m.,
Royal Genovian Bedchamber
OK, I guess I understand what Grandmere was getting at with this book. But seriously, that whole part where Mrs Fairfax warns Jane not to get too chummy with Mr. Rochester before the wedding was just because back in those days there was
no birth control. Well, and also the part about him already having a wife.
Still - and I may have to consult with Lilly on this - I am pretty sure it is unwise to pattern one's behaviour on the advice
of a fictional character, especially one from a book written in 1846.
However, I do get the general gist of Mrs Fairfax's warning, which was this: Do not chase boys. Chasing boys can lead
to horrible things like mansions going up in flames, hand amputations and bigamous marriages. Have some self-respect
and don't let things go too far before the wedding day.
Which in modern parlance translates to Don't Put Out Until Senior Prom.
I get this. I so get this.
But what is Michael going to think if I just stop calling???? I mean, he might think I don't like him any more!!!!
I guess that is Grandmere's point. I guess you are supposed to keep boys on their toes this way.
I don't know. But it seemed to work with Grandpa. And for Jane, in the end. I guess I could give it a try.
But it won't be easy. It is nine o'clock at night in Florida right now. Who knows what Michael is doing? He might have
gone down to the beach for a stroll and met some beautiful, homeless musician girl, who is living under the boardwalk
and making a living off the tourists, for whom she plays wryly observant folk songs on her Stratocaster. She could be
wearing fringy things and be all busty and snaggle-toothed, like Jewel. No boy could be expected just to walk on by
when a girl like that is standing there.
No. Grandmere and Mrs Fairfax are right. I've got to resist. I've got to resist the urge to call him. When you are less
available, it drives men wild, just like in Jane Eyre.
Though I think changing my name and running away to live with distant relations like Jane did might be going a bit too far.
Five days, ten hours, and fifty-eight minutes until I see him again.
Thursday; January 14, 11 p.m.,
Royal Genovian Bedchamber
Tina spent all day yesterday reading Jane Eyre as per my recommendation and agrees with me that there might be
something to the whole letting-boys-chase-you-as-opposed-to-you-chasing-them thing. So she has decided not to
email or call Dave first.
Lilly, however, refuses to take part in this scheme, as she says game-playing is for children and that her relationship with
Boris is one that cannot be qualified by modern-day psycho-sexual mating practices. According to Tina (I can't call Lilly because Michael might pick up the phone and then he'll think I'm chasing him), Lilly says that Jane Eyre was one of the first feminist manifestos, and, though she doesn't feel that she needs Jane's brilliant guidance, she heartily approves of us using
it as a model for our romantic relationships. Although she sent a warning to me through Tina that I shouldn't expect Michael
to ask me to marry him until after he's gotten at least one post-graduate degree as well as a start-up position with a company that pays two hundred thousand dollars or more a year, plus an annual performance bonus.
Lilly also added that the one time she saw him ride a horse, Michael looked way unromantic, so I shouldn't get my hopes
up that he's going to be jumping any stiles like Mr Rochester any time soon.
But I find this hard to believe. I am sure Michael would look very handsome on a horse.
Tina mentioned that Lilly is still upset about the movie of my life they showed the other day. Tina saw it, though, and said it wasn't as bad as Lilly is making it out to be. She said the lady who played Principal Gupta was hilarious.
But Tina wasn't in the movie, on account of her dad having found out about it beforehand and threatening the filmmakers with
a lawsuit if they mentioned his daughter's name anywhere. Mr. Hakim Baba worries a lot about Tina getting kidnapped by a rival oil sheikh. Tina says she wouldn't mind being kidnapped, though, if the rival oil sheikh was cute and willing to commit to
a long-term relationship and remembered to buy her one of those diamond heart pendants from Kay
Jewelers on Valentine's Day.
Tina says the girl who played Lana Weinberger in the movie did a fabulous job and should get an Emmy. Also that she
didn't think Lana was going to be too happy about how she was portrayed, as a jealous wannabe.
Also the guy who played Josh was a babe. Tina is trying to find his email address.
Tina and I vowed that if either of us ever felt like calling our boyfriends, instead we would call one another. Unfortunately,
I have no mobile so it is not like Tina will be able to reach me if I am in the middle of knighting someone or anything. But
I am fully going to hit my dad up for a StarTAC phone tomorrow. Hey, I am heir to the throne of an entire country. At the
very least I should have a beeper.
Note to self: look up word stile.
Four days, fourteen hours and forty minutes until I see Michael again.
Friday, January 15,
Royal Genovian Limo on the Way to State Dinner in Neighbouring Monaco
To Do Before Leaving Genovia:
1. Find a safe place to put Michael's present where it will NOT be found by grandmother or nosy ladies-in-waiting
while packing my stuff (inside toe of combat boot? Inside panties I'll be wearing on plane?)
2. Say goodbye to kitchen staff, and thank them for all the vegetarian entrees.
3. Make sure harbourmaster has hung pair of scissors off every buoy in bay for use of yachting tourists who didn't
bring along their own set to snip six-pack holders.
4. Take funny nose and glasses off the statue of Grandmere in the Portrait Hall before she notices.
5. Give Rommel's mink sweater back.
6. Break Francois' record of eleven feet, seven inches sock-sliding down Crystal Hallway.
7. Let all the doves in the Palace dovecote go (if they want to come back, that is fine, but they should have the option
to be free).
8. Let Tante Jean Marie know that this is the twenty-first century and that she no longer has to live with the stigma of
feminine facial hair, and leave her my Jolene.
9. Go to the beach, just once, and walk barefoot through that famous white sand I haven't gotten within ten yards of
the entire time I've been here. Also, establish Sea-Turtle Nest Patrol so that eggs will be protected.
10. Get crown fixed (combs keep spearing me in the head).
Saturday, January 16, 11 p.m.
Royal Genovian Bedchamber
Grandmere so needs to get a life.
Tonight was the royal ball - you know, to celebrate the end of my first official trip to Genovia in my capacity as heir to the throne.
Anyway, Grandmere's been going on about this ball all week, like this is going to be my big chance to redeem myself for
the whole snip-your-plastic-six-pack-holder thing I pulled during my first televised address to the populace.
So she makes this big deal out of my dress (a Sebastiano design - my dad finally forgave Sebastiano for putting those
pictures of me wearing his designs in the New York Times Sunday supplement. My dad even forgave Grandmere for letting Sebastiano do it without clearing it through him first. Though things are still a little strained between the two of them - I heard him tell her to 'lay off' the other day when she was giving him grief about his latest girlfriend, one of those bendy trapeze girls from the Cirque du Soleil. I don't know what happened to the bareback rider.
And she makes this big deal out of my hair (growing out and so becoming triangle-shaped again, but who cares, boys are supposed to like girls with long hair better than girls with short hair - I read that in French Cosmo). And she makes this big
deal out of my fingernails (OK, so in spite of the whole New Year's resolution thing, I still keep biting them. So sue me.
I can't help that I am orally fixated, the man is keeping me down).
Then, after all this big-deal making, we finally get to the stupid ball. And it turns out that all that fuss was just so that
Grandmere could shove me at Prince Rene, of all people, and the two of us could dance in front of this Newsweek
reporter who is in Genovia to do a story on our country's transition to the Euro!
Afterwards I was all, 'Grandmere, I am willing to cool it with the calling Michael stuff, but that does not mean I am going to start going out with Prince Rene,' who, by the way, asked me if I wanted to step outside on to the terrazzo and have a smoke.
I, of course, told him I do not smoke and that he shouldn't either as tobacco is responsible for half a million deaths a year
in the United States alone, but he only laughed at me all James Spader from Pretty in Pink-ishly.
So then I told him not to get any big ideas, that I already have a boyfriend and that maybe he didn't see the movie of my life,
but I fully know how to handle guys who are only after me for my crown jewels.
So then Prince Rene said I was adorable, and I said please don't patronize me as I am not a child, and then my dad came up and asked me if I had seen the Prime Minister of Greece and I said, 'Dad, Grandmere is trying to fix me upr with Rene,' and then my dad got all tight-lipped and took Grandmere aside and had A Word with her while Prince Rene slunk off to go
make out with one of the Hilton sisters.
Afterwards, Grandmere came up and told me not to be so ridiculous, that she merely wanted Prince Rene and I to dance together because it was a nice photo op for Newsweek and that maybe if they ran a story on us, it would attract more tourists.
To which I replied that in light of our crumbling infrastructure more tourists is exactly what this country doesn't need.
I suppose if my palace had been bought out from under me by some shoe designer, I would be pretty desperate, too,
but I wouldn't hit on a girl who has the weight of an entire populace on her shoulders, and already has a boyfriend, besides.
On the bright side, if Newsweek does run the photo, maybe Michael will get all jealous of Rene the way Mr. Rochester
did of that St. John guy, and he'll boss me around some more!!!
Two days, fourteen hours, and twelve minutes until I see Michael again.
I CAN'T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, January 18, 3 p.m., Genovian Time,
Royal Genovian Jet, 20,000 Feet in the Air
I cannot believe that:
a. my dad is staying in Genovia in order to resolve the parking crisis rather than coming back to New York with me
b. he actually believed Grandmere when she said that my princess lessons need to continue
c. she (not to mention Rommel) is coming back to New York with me
IT IS NOT FAIR. I held up my part of the agreement. I went to every single princess lesson Grandmere gave last fall.
I passed Algebra. I gave my stupid address to the Genovian people.
Grandmere says that in spite of what I might think, I still have a lot to learn about governance. Except that she is so wrong.
I know she is only coming back to New York with me so she can go on torturing me. It is kind of like her hobby now.
It is so not fair.
And yes, before I left, my dad slipped me a hundred dollars and told me if I didn't make a fuss about Grandmere, he'd
make it up to me someday.
But there is nothing he can do to make this up to me. Nothing.
He says she is just a harmless old lady and that I should try to enjoy her while I can because someday she won't be with
us any more. I just looked at him like he was crazy. Even he couldn't keep a straight face. He went, 'OK, I'll donate two hundred bucks a day to Greenpeace if you keep her out of my hair.'
Which is funny because of course my dad hasn't got any. Hair, I mean.
