Katy Birchall - Secrets of a Teenage Heiress

‘That’s because he has nothing interesting to say,’ I protested, as Cal rolled his eyes. ‘It’s me the people want to know about.’

‘We’ll talk about this later. You’ll have to do without the selfie stick for one night. And so will Fritz.’

‘But Mu–’

‘End of discussion, Flick,’ Mum said firmly. ‘Now, I’ve got another meeting to get to. Good to see you, Callum. Keep up the hard work.’

She patted Cal on the shoulder and walked back across the reception hall and through the revolving doors to her car waiting outside.

‘You’re starting a vlog?’ Cal sniggered. ‘About what?’

‘About my life,’ I huffed. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Why would anyone want to know about your life?’

‘Excuse me, I featured on the Daily Post ’s “50 Heirs to Watch” list. So there.’

‘Yeah, you came in at number forty-nine,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Real impressive.’

I glared at his back, then stomped loudly towards the lift with Fritz, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Audrey and Matthew, and prodded the button for Floor 15. Leaning against the back mirror of the lift, I cuddled Fritz as the blinking light passed the other floor numbers.

The whole thing was completely ridiculous and totally unfair. Just because Prince Gustav Xavier III is a prince, it doesn’t mean he can go around stealing stuff. And, what’s more, HE’S NOT EVEN A REAL PRINCE! The monarchy in his country hasn’t properly existed since FOREVER, but he still swans about the place using the ‘prince’ title, going to the best parties and stealing other people’s selfie sticks.

That was when the idea hit me. He wasn’t actually using the selfie stick right now because he was at afternoon tea with his aunt! Mum had said it had been left out for him for when he got back. So I could sneak into his suite, grab the selfie stick, take it back to my room for Fritz’s photo shoot and then if Prince Gustav needed it later, he could come and ask and I might be inclined to lend it to him. I congratulated myself out loud to Fritz on such an excellent plan. He barked in agreement.

All I had to do was break into Mum’s office in the flat and get hold of her master key, which opens every room in the hotel. And that was a doddle. I’d had a key cut for her office without her knowing when I was nine. I would be in and out of Prince Gustav’s room in a matter of seconds without anyone noticing. Easy.

Obviously now that I was hiding inside Prince Gustav’s wardrobe while he pouted in what he referred to as a ‘mysterious yet alluring way’, I regretted that decision.

I had been so close to victory. I’d had the selfie stick in my hands when I heard a booming voice echoing down the corridor. I had run to the door to check through the peephole and, sure enough, there was Prince Gustav, striding towards me, arguing with one of his many security guards about the pros and cons of social media.

I quickly threw the selfie stick back down and, after running about the room in a panic, I clambered into the wardrobe and crouched back as far as possible.

Attempting to get comfortable without making any noise, I realised that the chances of my mum finding out about this were really quite high. If Prince Gustav decided to don different outfits for his new Instagram account, which, judging by his levels of enthusiasm, was highly likely, I was busted.

My only hope was that Prince Gustav might have to rush off to a party or something, leaving the coast clear.

‘Keep this up, Your Royal Highness, and you’ll have more Instagram followers by the end of the day than all the Kardashians put together!’

I sighed as Prince Gustav pulled the bouquet of flowers out of the vase on the dressing table and struck a rose-sniffing pose.

‘Very creative, Your Highness!’ Freddie cheered. ‘Something for the ladies!’

That was when disaster struck.

The dulcet tones of Fritz’s high-pitched bark went off in my pocket: my text alert. I had forgotten to put my phone on silent and I was suddenly getting a flurry of messages. Who was texting me this much? I reached for my phone but it was too late.

I heard quick footsteps and someone yell, ‘GET BACK, YOUR HIGHNESS,’ before the wardrobe doors were dramatically swung open and I found myself squinting up at the prince’s burly security men.

‘Hi,’ I squeaked, ducking my head to look through their legs at Prince Gustav, who was standing against the back wall with a security guard shielding him, the selfie stick still swinging from his hand and the flowers scattered all over the floor. ‘Welcome to Hotel Royale, Prince Gustav. I’m Flick.’

He blinked back at me in shocked silence.

‘Great pictures, by the way. Instagram won’t know what’s hit it.’

Yep. Mum was definitely going to kill me.

Flick! OMG I had to text you straight away. You’ll never believe what just happened to me! Are you there?

Flick? Are you there? Helloooooo!

OK, I’ll just tell you anyway. I was just in the garden talking to Mum and A BIRD LANDED ON MY HEAD

Seriously, it just landed right on there!!! I didn’t even have any food on my head or anything, it just perched there! According to Dad it was a sparrow. I’ll send you all the pics now! Mum took a hundred of them! Enjoy!

Hey Grace, sorry for the late reply.

Got myself in a bit of an awkward situation here involving a prince.

Talk later

OMG your life is so cool compared to mine. You’re hanging out with royalty and I’ve spent the evening with a bird on my head!! Oh well. At least it didn’t poop in my hair! See you at school!

‘Fan. Demand?’

That’s how my mum spoke those words, as though there was a full stop between them. She always speaks like that when she’s really angry – no long sentences but every word coming out of her mouth is said veeeeery sloooooowly to make sure her victim feels as nervous as possible. Luckily, I’m pretty immune to that tone these days.

‘Yes.’ I nodded, folding my arms and wondering how long this was going to take. This whole selfie-stick debacle had taken up most of my evening already.

Mum looked at Audrey and Matthew – both of whom were standing a few metres away watching the proceedings – supposedly to see if either of them had any comments at this stage. Neither of them said anything, so she turned back to face me.

Fritz was there too, lying across my feet, which is this weird thing he does. I don’t mind it because if I’m not wearing shoes it keeps my feet warm, which is handy, but sometimes I forget he’s there and get up to do something and he suddenly tips off and goes rolling across the floor. I would find those occasions funny if he didn’t get in such a strop with me afterwards.

‘Just so I’m clear,’ Mum began, leaning back on her desk, ‘“fan demand” is . . . your explanation?’

‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘Otherwise none of this would have happened.’

‘What. Do. You. Mean?’

‘I tried explaining this to you earlier but you refused to listen.’ I sighed. ‘I had to upload a new post on to Fritz’s Instagram feed at 5.30 p.m. That’s when I had promised his legion of fans that the next photo would be up. I didn’t want to let them down! It would be like that time Matthew promised he’d get me front-row tickets for Cirque du Soleil at the last minute but it wasn’t his priority and I ended up in Row F behind some stupid lady with a topknot.’