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Implying I don’t look like a model without makeup (although of course I don’t).
Grandmère certainly wasn’t about to come to my defense, however. She was feeding bits of her leftover veal marsala to Rommel, who was sitting on her lap, shivering as usual, since all of his fur has fallen out due to canine allergies.
“I wouldn’t count on her father letting you,” she said to Sebastiano. “Phillipe is hopelessly old-fashioned.”
Which is so the pot calling the kettle black! I mean, Grandmère still thinks that cats go around trying to suck the breath out of their owners while they are sleeping. Seriously. She is always trying to convince me to give Fat Louie away.
So while Grandmère was going on about how old-fashioned her son is, I got up and joined him on the balcony.
He was checking his messages on his cell phone. He’s supposed to play racquetball tomorrow with the prime minister of France, who is in town for the same summit as the emperor of Japan.
“Mia,” he said, when he saw me. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing. Go back inside.”
“I will, in a minute,” I said. I stood there next to him and looked out over the city. It really is kind of awe-inspiring, the view of Manhattan from the penthouse of the Plaza Hotel. I mean, you look at all those lights in all those windows, and you think, for each light there’s probably at least one person, but maybe even more, maybe even like ten people, and that’s, well, pretty mind-boggling.
I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life. But it still impresses me.
Anyway, while I was standing there looking at all the lights, I suddenly realized that one of them probably belonged to Judith Gershner. Judith was probably sitting in her room right this moment cloning something new. A pigeon, or whatever. I got yet another flashback of her and Michael looking down at me after I’d split open my tongue. Hmmm, let me see: girl who can clone things, or girl who bit her own tongue? I don’t know, who would you choose?
My dad must have noticed something was wrong, since he went, “Look, I know Sebastiano is a bit much, but just put up with him for the next couple of weeks. For my sake.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Sebastiano,” I said sadly.
My dad made this grunting noise, but he made no move to go back inside, even though it was about forty degrees out there, and my dad, well, he’s completely bald. I could see that the tips of his ears were getting red with cold, but still he didn’t budge. He didn’t even have a coat on, just another one of his charcoal-gray Armani suits.
I figured this was invitation enough to go on. You see, ordinarily my dad is not who I would go to first if I had a problem. Not that we’re not close. It’s just that, you know, he’s a guy.
On the other hand, he’s had a lot of experience in the romance department, so I figured he might just be able to offer some insight into this particular dilemma.
“Dad,” I said. “What do you do if you like someone, but they don’t, you know, know it?”
My dad went, “If Kenny doesn’t know you like him by now, then I’m afraid he’s never going to get the message. Haven’t you been out with him every weekend since Halloween?”
This is the problem with having a bodyguard who is on your father’s payroll: All of your personal business totally gets discussed behind your back.
“I’m not talking about Kenny, Dad,” I said. “It’s someone else. Only lik
e I said, he doesn’t know I like him.”
“What’s wrong with Kenny?” my dad wanted to know. “I like Kenny.”
Of course my dad likes Kenny. Because the chances of me and Kenny ever getting past first base are like, nil. What father doesn’t want his teenage daughter to date a guy like that?
But if my dad has any serious hope of keeping the Genovian throne in the hands of the Renaldos, and not allowing it to slip into Sebastiano’s control, he had better get over the whole Kenny thing, because I’m pretty sure that Kenny and I will not be doing any procreating. In this lifetime, anyway.
“Dad,” I said. “Forget Kenny, okay? Kenny and I are just friends. I’m talking about someone else.”
My dad was looking over the side of the balcony railing like he wanted to spit. Not that he ever would. I don’t think. “Do I know him? This someone else, I mean?”
I hesitated. I’ve never really admitted to anyone out loud that I have a crush on Michael. Really. Not to anybody. I mean, who could I tell? Lilly would just make fun of me, or worse, tell Michael. And Mom, well, she’s got her own problems.
“It’s Lilly’s brother,” I said in a rush, to get it over with.
My dad looked alarmed. “Isn’t he in college?”
“Not yet,” I said. “He’s going in the fall.” When he still looked alarmed, I said, “Don’t worry, Dad. I don’t stand a chance. Michael is very smart. He’d never like someone like me.”
Then my dad got all offended. It was like he couldn’t figure out which to be, worried about my liking a senior, or angry that that senior didn’t like me back.
