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Thermopolis,” probably as a result of Olivia’s concern about the possible diseases she might have inherited from the Renaldo side of the family, which I frowned at her for, both because Olivia’s worries are well founded (who isn’t worried about diabetes?) and also because I am not that much of a hypochondriac.
• Note to self: Remember to look up later on iTriage what could be causing my boobs to hurt so much. They’ve been killing me for days. Could it be a side effect of all the magnesium?
“Well, fortunately I’m here to help you now,” I said to Olivia. “Shall we get started?”
“Yes!” Olivia smiled so broadly that I only just noticed the bright turquoise bands she has on her back teeth. “That would be great!”
So that’s the homework we’re doing. Filling in all the missing information on her “Who Am I?” work sheet as François drives us back to New York so that Olivia can meet her father (and grandmother), and maybe even go to the Central Park Zoo to see some of the wildlife illustrations there, if there’s time.
• Note to self: Are there even illustrations on the plaques there? I’ve spent a lot of time at the zoo, but I’ve never noticed—because I was always too busy feeling traumatized from finding out I was a princess (or dealing with various other crises)—the signage.
I’m letting Olivia eat all the junk food she wants out of the minibar, and not just because she said, “Aunt Catherine doesn’t let me have sugar.”
(Tina disapproves, since “sugar really isn’t that good for children, or anyone,” but as Lilly put it, “How often do you find out you’re a princess? The kid ought to celebrate while she can, since I imagine her entire world is about to fall apart very, very soon.”)
This, like the rest of the day—this whole week, actually—?is probably going to be a disaster.
But oh, well.
What else is new?
CHAPTER 53
4:35 p.m., Wednesday, May 6
Limo back to New York City
Rate the Royals Rating: 7
Michael just phoned. It hasn’t taken long at all for the [REDACTED] to hit the fan.
Well, I sort of suspected that already, since Dominique stopped screaming long enough when she phoned earlier to say:
“I will take care of everything. Do not speak to anyone. Do not stop the car to eat, or even to go to the toilettes. Do not answer your telephone unless eet eez someone you know.”
“Uh . . .” I’d said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, you have done quite enough,” Dominique said crisply, and hung up.
Publicists are a lot like cats: super lovable until you cross them. Then the claws come out.
Michael’s the one who let me know what was going on:
“Are you aware that someone posted a photo of you with a child they’re calling ‘Princess Mia’s illegitimate sister’ on social media a little while ago, and the post has been picked up by just about every news outlet in the western hemisphere?”
“Ugh,” I said. I couldn’t show too much emotion about it with Olivia sitting there beside me. We’d finished her “Who Am I?” work sheet and had begun her math homework (or rather, Olivia has begun it, with Lilly and Tina giving her occasional help when she asks. I have no idea how to multiply and divide fractions. Why do they even make children learn this when there are calculators? Although some of them—like Olivia, apparently—want to do it).
“Oh, well,” I went on. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Mia, I just had two agents from the RGG show up in my office,” Michael said. “They say I’ve been assigned extra security due to anonymous threats from people who don’t approve of interracial relationships that result in illegitimate princesses.”
“Well, that is just ridiculous.”
I glanced over at Lars but saw that, like any highly trained bodyguard, he was already in contact with the office, murmuring swiftly in French about the danger public.
“Mia, I know it’s ridiculous, that’s not why I’m calling. I’m worried about you. Where are you?”
“Michael, I’m fine, I’m still in the car. I’m so, so sorry about all this—”
