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“But, Dad?—”
“You're more important than the hardware store.”
I beam at him, my heart squeezing. My dad, the hero.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“You don't need to do that, Douglas. Our granddaughter is in good hands here,” Grandpapa reassures.
“I don't doubt it. I just want to be here for Maddie if she needs me, and y’all might think a ball is no big deal, but it's not an everyday thing where we’re from.”
The two men regard one another, and I'm sure there are so many unspoken things that hang in the air. For starters, there's the fact Grandpapa expects me to become his heir, whereas Dad will support me whether I decide to or not. Not to mention the fact Mom deserted her role to follow her heart to America and my dad. On some level Doug Turner is King Harald’s enemy.
But I'm not going to dwell on that. It’s just regular family stuff—only with a whole lot more at stake.
Grandmama’s eyes rove over my jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt combo. “We will need to get you some new clothes, dear. A few things befitting your station.”
“I guess.”
“I'll have the royal dressmaker visit you tomorrow morning. Gustav is a miracle worker,” she says and I wonder if she's implying that I need a miracle.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“No need to thank me, dear. Every princess needs a helping hand to look her best, even the new ones. Especially the new ones.” She throws me a wink and a smile. “I imagine it will be a lot of fun.”
Getting primped and measured doesn't sound like fun to me, but I smile at her anyway. She's doing her best, and the least I can do is be open to it.
As Dad makes awkward small talk with Grandpapa, I lean a little closer to Grandmama and ask, “So, this ball. Is it, like, super formal?”
“Of course. What ball isn't?”
I chew on my lip. “Does that mean I'll need to wear high heels and a floor-length fancy dress?”
She pats me on the hand. “As fancy as you want it to be, my dear.”
“I haven’t been to a ball before, and the only time I wore a floor-length dress was to a Halloween party in 7th grade when I went as Morticia Adams and my best friend at the time went as Wednesday.”
“Your friend dressed as a day of the week? How unusual.”
“No. She was Wednesday Addams.”
“Oh, I see. Tell me, are these Addams ladies friends of yours?”
I let out a giggle. “Morticia is the mom of the Addams family, and Wednesday is her daughter. They’re famous.”
“Oh. I don't think I know an Addams family. Unless you mean Herbert Adams, the famous Ledonian ski champion from the 1970s? Although I'm not aware that he had a family. More of a confirmed bachelor, is my understanding.”
I decide to drop the whole thing.
“My point is, I don't have a lot of experience in the whole long dress-slash-high heels combo. Can Vladimir cover long-dress-slash-high heels in the etiquette training, as well?”
Grandmama suppresses a smile. “Between you and I, I'm not sure Vladimir has a whole lot of experience in the long-dress-slash-high heels combo, as you put it.”
I flick my gaze to Vladimir. He's looking straight ahead with his habitual grim expression on his face. Part of me wants to get up and tickle him to see what will happen. But I imagine princesses don't tickle their bodyguards a whole lot. And if they do, I bet they don't do it in front of their sovereigns-slash-grandparents, anyway.
“I'll ask your lady’s maid to help you with how to move in a long dress and heels. I’m certain she’ll be able to. Now, Madeline dear, tell us all about your cool life back in America.”
“There’s not much to tell, really,” I reply with a shrug. “I live in an apartment a lot smaller than this, and I work as a sales assistant for a glazing company in an industrial park in Houston.”
