Who Made You a Princess?

by Shelley Adina

  “Uh-huh.”

  “At least my father will understand that. He will not like it, but he will understand it. And I have something to confess, as well.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I, too, believe there may be someone else. It is too soon to know, but if you mean what you say, then I am free to find out.”

  Vanessa? DeLayne? Some other girl? Whoever she was, I hoped she lived up to him. “Um. Back to your dad. Do you think he’ll go through with pulling his stake out of my dad’s company?”

  “Oh, yes. The Sheikh has a deal, and he will make sure every last point of the contract is followed.” From the sound of it, Rashid had had a little experience along that line. I guess I wasn’t the only one with a father who put business ahead of family.

  “I guess I’d better prepare myself for changes, then.” I slouched in the studded leather library chair. “Like going to public school and being disowned.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Disowned?”

  With a nod, I rehashed what my father had told me.

  “But this is terrible,” he said. “How can he punish you in this way?”

  “I don’t think he’s punishing me, not really. The consequences are what they are, and he wants me to know that. I mean, most people just give back the ring when they decide not to get married. With you and me, the consequences are…bigger. It’s not either of our faults that our dads made a deal with strings attached. We still have to live with it.”

  He gazed at me, and I thought I saw a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. “I could not live with it.”

  “I don’t know if I can, either. But I’m going to try. I’ll show him. I’ll get into Harvard without his money or his help. There’s a reason for all those scholarships.”

  He smiled. “You would have made a fine princess, you know.”

  I had to smile, too. “Maybe. Just not the right one for you.” This seemed to be as good a moment as any. “Rashid, I need to give you back your necklace.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the velvet box Ms. Curzon had been keeping for me.

  Then I hesitated and cracked it open to take one last look. The diamonds glittered happily at me under the library lights. “Take it before I run out of here with it.” I closed the box and handed it to him.

  “You are welcome to keep it.”

  “Are you kidding? I know about the Star of the Desert. No way am I hanging onto a family heirloom. It goes to your bride, whoever she turns out to be.”

  He slipped the box into an inner pocket in his jacket. “The woman who most deserves to wear the Star will not accept it. I am very sorry for that.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Rashid. Be glad we were friends. Be glad we still can be. On the day you get married, you can expect a nice box from Bloomingdale’s or Tiffany, even if I have to save up for ten years to give it to you.”

  With a laugh, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. For one last time, I paused to appreciate the feel of his lips and the scent of his mad expensive cologne.

  “I will make a special point of looking for it, Shani.” He pulled me to my feet. “Good-bye.”

  I hugged him, just because I could and no one was looking. “Good-bye, Rashid. See you in American Diplomacy.”

  And I watched the handsome prince turn and walk away from me.

  Cue the violins.

  From the Wall Street Journal, October 29, 2009

  PetroNova Stock Slashed In Half

  In an unprecedented tumble, stock in petroleum exploration firm PetroNova (LSE:PTNV) fell by almost fifty percent on the news that the Sheikh of Yasir, its primary source of capital, was pulling his backing out of the company.

  While CEO Roger Hanna was not available for comment due to a family emergency, CFO Sarah Leonard told the press, “The Sheikh’s contributions to Petro-Nova in terms of capital, exploration freedom in Yasir, and his wise decisions on our Board of Directors have been instrumental in the success of this company. However, he is anxious to explore other ventures in the area of environmental reform, and we understand his decision not to proceed with a third round of venture capital.”

  Leonard went on, “I want to reassure our stockholders that PetroNova is a completely viable investment.”

  The market would appear to disagree. With its value down by half, the Board will be forced to reorganize, and it is likely Hanna will be ousted from his position at the helm.

  From the Chicago Tribune, November 18, 2009

  Layoff Cripples Local Firm

  PetroNova, one of the most successful independent oil exploration firms in the world, stands poised on the brink of disaster—or a new era. But from the point of view of the 2,000 employees who were affected by a reduction in force this week, it’s definitely the former.

  The anchor firm in the Bering Business Park, the five-year-old company had just reached the billion-dollar value milestone last year. But with the departure of its primary stakeholder, the Sheikh of Yasir, last month, the Cinderella story came to an end.

  CEO Roger Hanna, a regular in the on-court seats at Bulls games and a frequent and generous contributor to charities citywide, is a changed man. He appeared haggard during our interview, but remained upbeat. “It was time for a change,” he said. The spacious corner office was filled with packing boxes, and it was obvious that Hanna had been among the 2,000 employees receiving pink slips. “I’ll be forming a new company based on our small but active abandonment division. Going back to my roots and doing what I’ve always wanted to do—cleaning up well sites after companies like PetroNova are finished with exploration and drilling. I feel I can make important contributions to saving our environment in this new field.”

  When asked about his feelings about the Sheikh’s decision, Hanna was tight-lipped. “I can’t speak for His Highness, who is entitled to do what he wants with his money. I’m just doing the best I can for my family and what’s left of my company.”

  With the recent sales of his multimillion-dollar home, the corporate jet, and his antique automobile collection, the former CEO made sure his employees got their final paychecks. Philanthropic gestures aside, it’s not certain he will be able to secure funding for his startup. In this economic climate, banks may not look with a favorable eye on the engineer of a collapse such as the one suffered by PetroNova. It’s also not clear if the skeleton crew of about forty people left on the site will stay to help him in the new venture.

  Chicago will miss the man who was Entrepreneur of the Year in 2005. “One thing is for sure,” said one departing employee who asked not to be named. “PetroNova will miss him. I’m glad I won’t be working here if Roger’s gone.”

  POP! POP-POP-POPPITY-POP.

  Lissa’s dad, Gabe Mansfield, tried not to squint against the barrage of flash from a zillion cameras. While he waited for us next to the limo door, we scrambled out one after the other—Lissa and Kaz, Gillian and Jeremy, Carly and Brett, and me, Mac, and Danyel.

  “Holy freaking ravioli,” Danyel muttered as he helped Mac out and offered each of us an arm. “This is like Armageddon.”

  “Hardly,” Mac retorted through a brilliant smile. “Shani, can I tell you again how fabulous you look?”

  “As many times as you want,” I said. “I think we all look so fine we’ll get our own spread again in People.”

  Because last week I’d picked up a voice mail from my mom. “Don’t tell your father about this,” she said, her words rushed and quiet. “But before we left Paris the last time, I bought your birthday present. Your father is giving your things to charity, but he doesn’t know about this. I know you haven’t forgiven me, and I know you’re monitoring your calls, but I’m doing this anyway. I’m FedExing it to you so you can wear it to the premiere.”

  The box had come the next day, and inside it was no less than an haute couture gown, designed for me by Karl Lagerfeld himself and made to my exact measurements.

  Lissa and Mac had both swooned with admiration. I wasn’t so sure I even wanted to wear it. It s
eemed too much like putting a Band-Aid on a sliced artery, you know? But then I thought, she could have sold it at auction to make a down payment on a house, and she didn’t. So in the end I decided to wear it, like a last hurrah for the way things used to be.

  “Check it out, guys,” Carly said, jerking her chin to the left. “ET’s interviewing Lissa’s parents.”

  “Parents plural?” I blurted. “Where’d her mom come from?”

  But no one knew. She certainly hadn’t been in the limo with us, but you know what? From the expression on Gabe’s face, he didn’t care if she’d been beamed down onto the red carpet by aliens.

  “That’s an Armani Couture dress,” Carly whispered. “Doesn’t she look fabu in ice blue?” Then she looked at Lissa. “Lissa? Amiga, are you okay?”

  Lissa fumbled in her jeweled evening bag, her breathing jerky. “Oh, no. I didn’t bring any—”

  Carly handed her a tissue. “We’re all going to need these anyway, from what I’ve seen on the trailers. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I mean that.” She smiled as she tried to dab tears away, keeping her back to the Entertainment Tonight camera crew. “I didn’t think she would come. Dad was convinced she wouldn’t. But she did.”

  I stole a peek at Patricia Sutter, who clung firmly to Gabe’s arm and smiled up at him as Lara Spencer fired question after question. “What happened, do you think?”

  Lissa shook her head. “I don’t know.” She glanced at Kaz. “We’re sitting with them, whatever happens.”

  “Done.”

  “We’re all sitting together,” Gillian said. “Lissa got Gabe’s executive assistant to send us the seating chart. And guess who’s in the row in front of us?”

  “Who?” Jeremy asked.

  “Ewan MacGregor and Orlando Bloom!”

  We girls went, “Squeeee!” while the boys rolled their eyes.

  And then suddenly The Insider got into our faces. “And this looks like Gabe Mansfield’s entourage,” Steven Cojocaru said with a huge smile. “Who do we have here? And I must know what you’re wearing.”

  Lissa stuffed the tissue into her bag and morphed into the Hollywood royalty she is. “I’m his daughter, Lissa, and this is graphic artist Kaz Griffin. Next to him is fashion designer Carly Aragon.”

  “Yeah? Who are you wearing, Carly?”

  “I’m wearing my own design,” Carly said quietly. “I made it when I interned with Tori Wu in San Francisco this past summer.”

  The camera crew swirled around her, and I knew Carly’s phone would be ringing off the hook by Monday as the fashion magazines descended like a flock of magpies. I knew she planned to apply to FIDM and Parsons, so this would fatten up her clip portfolio big time.

  “And what about you?” Steven said to me. “Are you enjoying the view here on the red carpet? Who are you wearing? What’s your name?”

  “I’m Shani Hanna, and I’m wearing Karl Lagerfeld couture, from Paris,” I said as if it totally didn’t matter. “And I’m having a wonderful time here with all my best friends.”

  “Hanna?” His eyes sharpened on me. “Are you the Shani Hanna whose name was linked to the Prince of Yasir?” I nodded. He obviously knew the truth, so no point trying to keep it on the down low. “Miss Hanna, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  I glanced at Gabe and Patricia, who were already moving on up the ropes to the next interview. “Um, if we’re quick. I don’t want to lose the rest of my party.”

  Reaching behind me, I grabbed Danyel’s hand for support.

  “I’ll just keep you a minute. Miss Hanna, is it true you were engaged to the prince?”

  I smiled a professional smile. “Not at all.”

  “You must be up on the gossip. It’s been reported that he’s now seeing the daughter of the Principessa di Firenze, who goes to Spencer Academy. Can you confirm that?”

  “I can, Steve. They seem very happy together.” Which was the truth. Rashid’s mystery girl wasn’t such a mystery after all. Vanessa—believe it or not—had found someone who demanded that she be real. Rashid didn’t put up with any of her snot-nosed garbage, and she’d started showing signs of becoming an actual human being. It would probably end if and when they broke up, but in the meantime, Spencer was heaving a sigh of relief.

  “Miss Hanna, that Harry Winston necklace looks too, too familiar. Wasn’t that the diamond cluster piece given to you by His Highness?”

  “The original was,” I said.

  He snapped his fingers and looked into the camera a moment. “That’s what’s different. girlfriend, what happened to the Star of the Desert? It seems to be missing.”

  But at that moment, Gabe turned and waved at us urgently, flashing “five minutes” with his fingers. Five minutes to curtain and the beginning of The Middle Window, and we weren’t seated yet. His handlers swarmed around us and herded us away from the TV crews.

  I tossed a smile at Steven over my shoulder and Danyel and I hurried toward the yawning cavern that was the entrance to the Kodak Theatre.

  It was none of the world’s business what I wore around my throat. This was its last appearance, anyway. From now on, any diamonds in my future would be the kind I paid for with my own hard-earned money, sometime out there in the future, once I had my M.B.A. and my career was on its way. Or maybe I’d get one from a certain special person who might wear Danyel’s smile, or might not.

  I was leaving all that up to God. Because He’d worked a miracle.

  I settled into the plush seat in the middle of the theater, all my friends talking and rustling and arranging their pretty dresses around me as we settled down. Inside I felt a warm, glowing calm. Thanksgiving was next week, and I had more invites than I knew what to do with—from Mrs. Loyola, from Carly’s dad, from Lissa. But there was only one place I really wanted to be: at Danyel’s parents’ place in Santa Barbara. Malika wouldn’t be cooking the turkey, which meant there was a chance it’d be the real thing.

  This time last year I’d jetted off to Bermuda for the long weekend. By myself. But the days of jetting anywhere, alone or not, were over.

  And you know what? I was good with that. I had my friends, I had Danyel, and I had the rest of my senior year, guaranteed, at Spencer Academy. I even had this couture dress for special occasions. I might wear it out and everyone would get tired of looking at it, but that was okay, too.

  So, you probably want to know about that miracle, right? I don’t know if it was Rashid’s idea or the Big Guy’s, but the day before yesterday I received a velvet box by special courier. Inside was the Winston diamond cluster necklace—minus the Star of the Desert.

  On top of it lay a letter.

  Delivered by hand

  November 19, 2009

  Shani, my dear friend,

  As you advised me, the Star of the Desert has gone back to Yasir to wait for my bride, whoever she might be. But when I ordered this necklace, it was for you. I would very much like you to have it as a token of my high esteem for your friendship, your honesty, and your integrity. You have opened up my life to make it as I choose, and for that I will always be grateful.

  I have left instructions with Harry Winston that if by chance the necklace were to come back, they are to refund you the full purchase price. I understand that college educations are expensive, especially at Harvard Business School. But I believe that two million dollars will take you a long way toward your goal—and beyond that, you will have a nice sum to begin your life with after college.

  We have set each other free, my friend.

  Go with God.

  Rashid

  About the Author

  Shelley Adina wrote her first teen novel when she was thirteen. It was rejected by the literary publisher to whom she sent it, but he did say she knew how to tell a story. That was enough to keep her going through the rest of her adolescence, a career, a move to another country, a B.A. in Literature, an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction, and countless manuscript pages.

  Shelley is a w
orld traveler and pop culture junkie with an incurable addiction to designer handbags. She knows the value of a relationship with a gracious God and loving Christian friends and loves writing about fun and faith—with a side of glamour.Between books, Shelley loves traveling, listening to and making music, and watching all kinds of movies.

  IF YOU LIKED

  who made you a princess?

  you’ll love the fifth book in the All About Us series:

  tidings of great boys

  available in September 2009!

  Turn the page for a sneak peek…

  Chapter 1

  SOME PEOPLE are born with the gift of friendship. Some achieve it. And then you have people like me, who have friendship thrust upon them.

  Believe me, there’s no one happier about that than I am—in fact, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now without it—but it wasn’t always that way. My name is Lindsay Margaret Eithne MacPhail, and because my dad is a Scottish earl, that makes my mother a countess and me a lady.

  I know. Stop laughing.

  To my friends I’m simply Mac. If you call me Lady Lindsay I’ll think you’re (1) being pretentious, or (2) announcing me at a court ball, and since none of my friends are likely to do either, let’s keep it Mac between us, all right?

  This all started when I sat in the the dark, deserted computer lab and watched the timestamp on the monitor click over: eleven o’clock.

  “Carrie?” I settled the earphones on my head and leaned toward the microphone pickup.

  “All right?” Her familiar voice came over Skype and I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. She sounded like sleepovers and mischief and long walks through the woods and heath. Like rain and mist and Marmite on toast. She sounded like home.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d chosen to come to Spencer Academy for the fall term instead of going back to St. Cecelia’s. I’d hounded my mother and when that didn’t work, my dad. So I had no business being homesick. Besides, being all weepy just wasted precious minutes. Carrie had to leave for school and I had to sneak back up to the third floor without the future Mrs. Milsom, our dorm mistress, catching me after lights-out.