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8 a.m.–9 a.m.
Breakfast with members of Genovian Olive Growers Association
10 a.m.–11 a.m.
Christmas Tree Lighting ceremony, Genovia Palace Courtyard
11:30 a.m.–1 p.m.
Meet with Genovian Historical Society
1 p.m.–3 p.m.
Lunch with Genovian Board of Tourism
3:30 p.m.–5:30 p.m.
Tour of Genovian National Art Museum
6 p.m.–7 p.m.
Visit Genovian War Veterans Memorial,
place flowers on grave of Unknown Soldier
7:30 p.m.–8:30 p.m.
Change for dinner
8:30 p.m.–11:30 p.m.
Dinner with Royal Family of Monaco
And so on.
It all culminates in my appearance on my dad’s annual nationally televised Christmas Eve address to the people of Genovia, during which he will introduce me to the populace. I am then supposed to make a speech about how thrilled I am to be Dad’s heir, and how I promise to try to do as good a job as he has at leading Genovia into the twenty-first century.
Nervous? Me? About going on TV and promising fifty thousand people that I won’t let their country down?
Nah. Not me.
I just want to throw up every time I think about it, that’s all.
Whatever. Not that I thought my trip to Genovia was going to be like going to Disneyland, but still. You’d think they’d have scheduled in some fun time. I’m not even asking for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Just, like, some swimming or horseback riding.
But apparently, there is no time for fun in Genovia.
As if going over my itinerary wasn’t bad enough, I also had to meet my cousin Sebastiano. Sebastiano Grimaldi is my dead grandfather’s sister’s daughter’s kid. Which I guess actually makes him my cousin a couple times removed. But not removed enough that, if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be inheriting the throne to Genovia.
Seriously. If my dad had died without ever having had a kid, Sebastiano would be the next prince of Genovia.
Maybe that’s why my dad, every time he looks at Sebastiano, heaves this big shudder.
Or maybe it’s just because my dad feels about Sebastiano the way I feel about my cousin Hank: I like him in theory, but in actual practice, he kind of bugs me.
Sebastiano doesn’t bug Grandmère, though. You can tell that Grandmère just loves him. Which is really weird, because I always supposed Grandmère was incapable of loving anyone. Well, with the exception of Rommel, her miniature poodle.
But you can tell she totally adores Sebastiano. When she introduced him to me, and he bowed with this big flourish and kissed the air above my hand, Grandmère was practically beaming beneath her pink silk turban. Really.
