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And you can bet he’s going to pay for it, too.
I may never get over this. I am going to have to readjust everything I ever thought about him. Kind of like when Luke Skywalker finds out his dad is really Darth Vader. Only the opposite.
Anywa
y, while Grandmère was plotzing behind the baby grand, I went up to Dad and threw my arms around him and was like, “You did it!”
He looked at me curiously. “Why do you sound surprised?”
Oops. I said, totally embarrassed, “Oh, well, because, you know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Well,” I said. (WHY? WHY do I have such a big mouth?)
I thought about lying. But I think my dad must have realized what I was thinking, since he said, in this warning voice, “Mia . . .”
“Oh, okay,” I said, grudgingly, letting him go. “It’s just that sometimes you give the appearance—just the appearance, mind you—of being a little bit scared of Grandmère.”
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.
