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“Grandmère, stop. What about Dad? Have you heard anything from him?”
“Your father’s on his way here. He was only given a fine by the judge. And they returned his sword.”
“Grandmère, that’s wonderful!”
“Yes. You would think that—plus the news about Ivan—would make him a very happy man. But I’m afraid he was quite abrupt with me on the telephone. I suppose your antics today have spoiled his celebratory mood a bit.”
“My antics? More like his antics twelve years ago.”
“What was that, Amelia?” she demanded. “I’ve told you before not to mumble, it’s unbecoming.”
“Nothing. He’s not seriously upset with me, is he? Because if so, he knows where to reach me.”
“He’s far too busy fielding calls from the deputy prime minister about his illegitimate daughter. Why that woman can’t deal with the press herself is beyond me.”
“Um, maybe because Olivia is Dad’s daughter, and they’re questions he should be answering?”
Grandmère sniffed. “Well, she shouldn’t have chosen to be deputy prime minister of Genovia if she can’t take the heat. She couldn’t run a book club, let alone a country.”
“That’s far from true, Grandmère, she graduated first in her class at the Sorbonne. And what do you know about book clubs, anyway? All you ever read anymore is the entertainment news from BuzzFeed.”
“Which is how I know someone spoke to that horrible Brian Fitzpatrick from Rate the Royals about all this. He’s saying terrible things about your father while making you out to be some kind of saint.”
“Well, I don’t have any publically unacknowledged children in New Jersey.” Still, it was surprising that Brian Fitzpatrick had anything nice to say about me considering the way I’d treated him the other day.
“Don’t be fresh, Amelia, it isn’t attractive. And now Lazarres-Reynolds is saying the best way to handle the situation is for you to bring the child instead of Michael when you go on Wake Up America tomorrow morning. They don’t want you to talk about the wedding anymore, they only want you to talk about her. They say it will be the best way to, uh, how did they put it? Oh, yes . . . come out ahead of the story.”
“Well, you can tell Lazarres-Reynolds from me that that will only happen over my dead body,” I said, throwing a quick, protective look at Olivia, who was now on her third bag of mini chocolate cookies and showing Tina how to draw a giraffe.
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“I’ll do no such thing,” Grandmère hissed in her scariest voice. “And you’re going to this benefit to raise heart-attack awareness tonight, as well. We’ve got to show the world that nothing is amiss. Dominique can send someone to fetch a gown for you to change into.”
“Uh,” I said. I’d totally forgotten the event at the W. “No, Grandmère. I realize sudden cardiac death is an important issue, and moreover, it was my choice to bring awareness to it after Mr. Gianini passed away from it, but considering today’s events, I feel the best thing to do is cancel and stay home with—”
She cut me off faster than Ian Ziering cuts sharks with chain saws midair.
“No one is interested in your feelings, Amelia. Lazarres-Reynolds is sending a representative over right now—one here, and one to the bohunk uncle’s house—to start planning the offensive.”
“What offensive?”
“On the media! What on earth did you expect, Amelia? This revelation about your father was bound to bring him worldwide attention, and not the pleasant kind either!”
She was shouting so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear. I could tell everyone else in the car could hear her, because they all looked over at me inquiringly. Fortunately, she was shouting in her native French, so Olivia, at least, couldn’t understand. I gave her an embarrassed shrug.
“Grandmothers,” I mouthed, and Olivia smiled, but it was clear from her slightly troubled expression that she knew something, at least, was up.
“Now do you understand why Genovia so desperately needs a large wedding right now, full of pageantry and elegance and cannon fire?” Grandmère continued to shout. “Between this and the refugee crisis, I don’t know how else we’re going to get out of it, Amelia. This is our annus horribilis. Being a bride, particularly a princess bride, you can turn it all around by becoming a symbol of hope and beauty and joy.”
“Yes,” I said, wincing a little at the shrillness of her tone. “I understand. But in the meantime I can’t allow my little sister to be paraded around like a prizewinning show dog. I thought the whole point of the wedding was to distract the public from her existence—”
“It was, until you thrust her into the spotlight,” Grandmère said.
“I didn’t mean to do that, but at least someone did the right thing and stepped up and—”
“Excuse me.”
I paused as a voice I recognized chimed in. Only it was my sister Olivia’s voice, and it was speaking perfect French, and it shouldn’t have been. I slowly turned my head to find her looking at me expectantly.
