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The judge decided in favor of the plaintiff—Tiffany—in the amount of $5,000, but only because Bud had paid his half of the rent for one month, and had written on the canceled check the word rent, which showed statement of intent. Case dismissed.
It was very soothing.
Three things I’m grateful for:
1. Fair judges.
2. My mother, for never entering me in a baby beauty pageant.
3. Austrian schnaps.
CHAPTER 41
5:05 p.m., Tuesday, May 5
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
Rate the Royals Rating: 7
I didn’t think things could get much worse, but everyone knows the minute you think this, they do. It’s like saying, “I think I’ll go to the pool today.” The second you say this, the sun disappears behind a cloud.
I was filling out baby Iris’s beauty pageant essay when my phone rang.
It was my father’s office, wanting to know when was the most convenient time for me to meet with “the Prince of Genovia and his lawyers.”
“His lawyers? Why does Dad need me to meet with his lawyers?” I asked.
“I believe it’s to discuss your prenuptial agreement, Your Highness,” his assistant said. “What day is best for you?”
“Prenup? My father wants me to get my fiancé to sign a prenup?”
“Why, yes. Yes, Your Highness, he does.”
I cannot believe this.
I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked, given what I know about my family.
But this is low, even for them. And frankly, the kind of thing I’d expect from Grandmère, not Dad.
But Marielle, Dad’s assistant, assured me that the prince is very concerned about protecting my (and the family’s) “financial interests.” A prenup is “standard” in all Genovian royal marriages (oh, really? Because there have been so many?) and are really meant to protect the assets of both parties.
But I know what all this actually means:
It means that somewhere deep down inside, Dad must believe the stupid rumor started by the Post. As if that is why Michael has been dating me on and off since the ninth grade: because he has been plotting to take advantage of me—like Bud took advantage of Tiffany on Judge Judy.
Only instead of refusing to pay half the rent and taking off to Atlantic City with an ex-girlfriend in a new Corvette, Michael is only marrying me to reincorporate Pavlov Surgical in Genovia in order to reduce its tax burden.
Except that I don’t need Judge Judy to rule on how stupid this idea is. I told Marielle that a good time for me to meet with the prince and his lawyers about my prenup would be “never.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, sounding surprised.
“You heard me. Never. Also, please tell my father to call me, as I have something important I’d like to discuss with him.”
When Marielle asked politely if she could know “the nature of the matter” I’d like to discuss with my father, I said: “Yes, please tell him it has to do with Olivia Grace Clarisse Mignonette Harrison.”
Then I hung up the phone.
