“Okay, Grandmère,” I said. “I’ll play along with your little game. But Cousin Ivan isn’t going to win. We can still beat him. I know we can.”
“I’d be quite interested to hear your strategy,” Grandmère said, blowing a long stream of orange-scented smoke (despite the claims of the vapor companies, I’m quite sure there is still nicotine in the “juice” Grandmère smokes). “Unless of course you’re planning to get yourself photographed with him in a compromising position. But I’m afraid that will only make him more popular, and forever cement your reputation as the Princess of Gen-HO-via.”
This was a low blow, and disheartening to think that even my own grandmother thinks that the only way women can get ahead in this day and age is with their sexuality.
I was so disgusted that I had no choice but to leave the dining room and go back to my own apartment and lie down with a cool cloth on my forehead and watch television (which is quite hard to do when your eye is twitching nonstop).
CHAPTER 9
12:01 a.m., Friday, May 1
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
New York City
Michael just texted.
Michael Moscovitz “FPC”*: Wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday. Wish I was there.
*Future Prince Consort
HRH Mia Thermopolis “FtLouie”: No you don’t. I can still hear them down there. They’re drinking shots and comparing Genovian Yacht Classic horror stories.
<Michael Moscovitz “FPC”
HRH Mia Thermopolis “FtLouie”>
What could turn the Genovian Yacht Classic into a horror story? Protesters?
Worse. Computer programmers.
The Chosen People? What have we done now?
You came sweeping in with your advanced technology and won all the trophies and made them feel inferior.
It’s not only our advanced technology that makes them feel inferior.
Is sex really all men ever think about?
Not always, sometimes we think about food. Why, is that not what women think about all the time?
No, we think about it—and food—all the time, too, but more in a narrative context where the girl ends up being trapped in a secret room full of cake with a bed in the middle of it and then you come in dressed in full armor and go, “Put down that cake and prithee get naked.”
Noted, though I’m not sure how the sex works with the armor. What was with going outside with your grandma in front of those protesters tonight?
Oh, nothing.
They weren’t throwing fruit over nothing.
What are you wearing?
Mia, I’m serious about this.
I’m serious, too. The armor has a codpiece. I’ve researched it.
We’re going to discuss this tomorrow.
Couldn’t we discuss it now? I think I need a professional trained in extinguishing fires. Because there’s one going on in my pants.
I meant we’re going to discuss the protesters.
Before or after the show of shows, story of stories, sights of all sights?
If by that you mean Cirque du Soleil, how would you feel if we skipped that particular tradition this year?
Uh, Michael, you know Grandmère always pays extra for front-row VIP seats.
What if I’ve come up with something better for us to do?
What could be better than a dramatic mix of circus arts and street entertainment performed live under a large tent near New York City’s main jail complex? Except of course the aforementioned secret room filled with cake.
You’ll find out tomorrow.
Michael, you know I hate surprises, right?
I think you’ll like this one.
I can already guarantee I won’t unless it involves cake and armor.
You really need to do something about that negativity. May I recommend a nice yoga/meditation retreat?
That isn’t funny. Just reading the word meditate made my eyelid start twitching more.
Good night! Sweet dreams . . .
He added an emoji he’d made himself of a gorilla with hearts for eyes. Yes, in his spare time from work, my boyfriend designs emojis.
I think I’m going to have to watch about three more episodes of NCIS before I’ll be able to calm down.
I wish I were a special agent for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service Major Case Response Team and not the princess of a tiny principality on the Mediterranean. Then I could just save the country from terrorist threats over and over, and never have to hear about oranges (or Reiki, or meditation retreats) again.
Three things for which I am grateful:
• That I’ve got a TV with streaming Netflix.
• Michael.
• Tylenol PM. Seriously, I’m so sleepy right now, I think I’m . . .
CHAPTER 10
8:37 a.m., Friday, May 1
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
New York City
Woke up to 1,479 happy birthday posts, texts, e-mails, and voice mails, several of which are from people I actually know.
This is what happens when you become a public figure. Total strangers wish you happiness on your birthday, which is very, very nice.
But birthday wishes from people who know you (and still care about you, despite being aware of your character flaws) are even nicer.
No sign yet of Michael’s “birthday surprise.”
I’m going to try to be a less suspicious and cynical person now that I’m a year older and wiser, but I can’t say I’m a fan of surprises. “Guess what, Mia? You’re the Princess of Genovia.” That’s just one example of a surprise I’ve received that turned out not to be so great.