Meg Cabot - Princess in the Spotlight

My dad reached out and wrapped an arm around my neck. He did this right in front of Liz Smith, who was getting up to follow everyone into the Grand Ballroom. She smiled at us as if she thought it was sweet, though.

“Mia,” my dad said. “I am not scared of my mother. She really isn’t as bad as you think. She just needs proper handling.”

This was news to me.

“Besides,” my dad said, “do you really think I would ever let you down? Or your mother? I will always be there for you two.”

This was so nice, I actually got tears in my eyes for a minute. But it might have been the smoke from all the cigarettes. There were a lot of French people at this party.

“Mia, I haven’t done so badly by you, have I?” my dad asked, all of a sudden.

I was surprised by the question. “No, Dad, of course not. You guys have always been okay parents.”

My dad nodded. “I see.”

I could see I hadn’t been complimentary enough, so I added, “No, I mean it. I really couldn’t ask for better . . .” I couldn’t help adding, “I could probably live without the princess thing, though.”

He looked as if he probably would have reached out and ruffled my hair if it hadn’t been so full of mousse his hand would have stuck to it.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “But do you really think you’d be happy, Mia, being Nancy Normal Teenager?”

Um. Yes.

Except I wouldn’t want my name to be Nancy.

We might have gone on to have a really profound moment I could have written about in my English journal if Vigo hadn’t come hurrying up just then. He looked frazzled. And why not? His wedding was turning out to be a disaster! First the bride and groom had neglected to show up, and now the hostess, the dowager princess, had locked herself into her hotel suite and would not come out.

“What do you mean, she won’t come out?” my father demanded.

“Just what I said, Your Highness.” Vigo looked like he was about to start crying. “I have never seen her so angry! She says she has been betrayed by her own family, and she will never be able to show her face in public again, the shame is so great.”

My dad looked heavenward. “Let’s go,” he said.

When we got to the door to the penthouse suite, my dad signaled for Vigo and me to be quiet. Then he knocked on the door.

“Mother,” he called. “Mother, it’s Phillipe. May I come in?”

No response. But I could tell she was in there. I could hear Rommel moaning softly.

“Mother,” my dad said. He tried turning the door handle, and found it locked. This caused him to sigh very deeply.

Well, you could see why. He had already spent the better part of the day thwarting all of her well-laid plans. That had to have been exhausting. And now this?

“Mother,” he said. “I want you to open this door.”

Still no response.

“Mother,” my father said. “You are being ridiculous. I want you to open this door this instant. If you don’t do it, I shall fetch the housekeeper, and have her open it for me. Are you trying to force me to resort to this? Is that it?”

I knew Grandmère would sooner let us see her without her makeup than ever allow a member of the hotel staff to be privy to one of our family squabbles, so I laid a hand on my dad’s arm and whispered, “Dad, let me try.”

My father shrugged, and, with a sort of if-you-want-to look, stepped aside.

I called through the door, “Grandmère? Grandmère, it’s me, Mia.”

I don’t know what I’d expected. Certainly not for her to open the door. I mean, if she wouldn’t do it for Vigo, whom she seemed to adore, or for her own son, who, if she didn’t adore, was at least her only child, why would she do it for me?

But I was greeted with only silence from behind that door. Well, except for Rommel’s whining.

I refused to be daunted, however. I raised my voice and called, “I’m really sorry about my mom and Mr. Gianini, Grandmère. But you have to admit it, I warned you that she didn’t want this wedding. Remember? I told you she wanted something small. You might have realized that by the fact that there isn’t a single person here who was actually invited by my mother. These are all your friends. Well, except for Mamaw and Papaw. And Mr. G’s parents. But I mean, come on. My mom does not know Imelda Marcos, okay? And Barbara Bush? I’m sure she’s a very nice lady, but not one of my mom’s closest buddies.”

Still no response.

“Grandmère,” I called through the door. “Look, I am really surprised at you. I thought you were always teaching me that a princess has to be strong. I thought you said that a princess, no matter what kind of adversity she is facing, has to put on a brave face and not hide behind her wealth and privilege. Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re doing right now? Shouldn’t you be down there right now, pretending this was exactly the way you planned things to go, and raising a glass to the happy couple in absentia?”

I jumped back as the doorknob to my grandmother’s suite slowly turned. A second later, Grandmère came out, a vision in purple velvet and a diamond tiara.

She said, with a great deal of dignity, “I had every intention of returning to the party. I merely came up here to freshen my lipstick.”

My dad and I exchanged glances.

“Sure, Grandmère,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

“A princess,” Grandmère said, closing the door to her suite behind her, “never leaves her guests unattended.”

“Okay,” I said.

“So what are you two doing here?” Grandmère glared at my dad and me.

“We were, um, just checking on you,” I explained.

“I see.” Then Grandmère did a surprising thing. She slipped her hand through the crook of my elbow. Then, without looking at my dad, she said, “Come along.”

I saw my dad roll his eyes at this blatant dis.

But he didn’t look scared, the way I would have been.

“Hold on, Grandmère,” I said.

Then I slipped my hand through the crook of my dad’s elbow, so the three of us were standing in the hallway, linked by . . .well, by me.

Grandmère just sniffed and didn’t say anything. But my dad smiled.

And you know what? I’m not sure, but I think it might have been a profound moment for all of us.

Well, all right. At least for me, anyway.