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I knew what he wanted, of course. I also knew Mom and Mr. G would be asleep, because they always crash early on Fridays after a long work week.
Really, the last thing I felt like doing after the paparazzi incident was to mess around in my room with my boyfriend.
But as he pointed out (beneath his breath, so Lars couldn’t overhear), it had been ages since we’d been alone together, what with his rehearsal schedule and my princess stuff.
So I said good-bye to Lars at the vestibule and let J.P. come up. I mean, he WAS sweet, defending me from the paparazzi like that.
And he let me have that extra piece of crispy salmon skin, even though I know he wanted it.
I feel terrible about all the lies I’ve told him. Really, I do.
An excerpt from Ransom My Heart by Daphne Delacroix
“I told you not to move!” said the diminutive captor astride Hugo’s back.
Hugo, admiring the slim arch of the foot, the only part of her that he could actually see, decided he ought to apologize now. Surely the girl had a right to be angry; in all innocence, she had come to the spring to bathe, not to be spied upon. And while he was greatly enjoying the feel of her nubile body against him, he was not enjoying her wrath. Better that he calm the spirited wench, and see her back on the road to Stephensgate, where he could make sure that she was kept from straddling other men’s backs, and thereby getting herself into mischief.
“I earnestly beg your pardon, demoiselle,” he began, in what he hoped was a contrite tone, though it was difficult for him to speak without laughing. “I stumbled upon you in your most private hour, and for that, I must ask your forgiveness—”
“I took you for simple, but not completely stupid” was the girl’s surprising reply. Hugo was amazed to hear that her own voice was as rich with amusement as his own.
“I meant for you to stumble upon me, o
f course,” she elaborated. Quick as lightning, the knife left his throat, and the maid seized both of his wrists and had them trussed behind him before he was even aware of what was happening.
“You’re my prisoner now,” Finnula Crais said, with evident satisfaction at a job well done. “To gain your freedom, you’ll have to pay for it. Handsomely.”
Saturday, April 29, 10 a.m., the loft
Ever since I’ve woken up, all I can think about is what that reporter said…about Dad losing in the polls and it being all my fault.
I know it’s not true. I mean, yes, it’s true we’re having an election.
But the fact that Dad is losing isn’t my fault.
And then, naturally, my mind keeps turning back to what Grandmère said, back in Dr. Knutz’s office. About how if we could get our hands on one of Michael’s CardioArms, Dad might stand a better chance against René.
Except I know how wrong it is to think that way. The reason we need a CardioArm is because it would make the lives of the citizens of Genovia so much easier.
A CardioArm at the Royal Genovian Hospital wouldn’t stimulate the economy or bring tourists to Genovia or even help Dad in the polls or anything like that, like Grandmère seems to believe.
But it would help Genovians who are sick not to have to travel to hospitals outside of our country to get medical care, because instead, they could easily get noninvasive heart surgery right inside our own borders. They’d save time and expense.
Plus, like the article said, they’d heal faster, because of the CardioArm’s precision.
I’m not saying if we got one, people would be more likely to vote for Dad. I’m just saying, getting one would be the right thing to do—the princessy thing to do—for my own people.
And I’m not saying by going to the thing today, I want to get back together with Michael. I mean, if he’d even have me, which he fully wouldn’t, because he’s moved on, as is illustrated by the fact that clearly, he’s been in Manhattan for a while now, and hasn’t even so much as called. Or e-mailed.
I’m just saying obviously I should go to the thing at Columbia today. Because it’s what a true princess would do for her people. Get them the most up-to-date medical technology available.
Just how I’m going to do that without looking like the world’s biggest tool, I have no idea. I mean, I can’t go, “Um, Michael, due to the fact that we used to date, even though I treated you horribly, can you jump Genovia to the top of the waiting list and get us a CardioArm right away? Here’s a check.”
But I think that’s pretty much the way it’s going to go. Part of being a princess means swallowing your pride and doing the right thing for your people, no matter how personally humiliating it might be.
And anyway, he still owes me for the Judith Gershner thing. I understand now that the reason Michael didn’t tell me about how he had sex with her before he and I started going out was because he knew I wasn’t mature enough at the time to handle the information.
He was right: I wasn’t.
