But for some reason I have tons of cookies, ice cream, cheese popcorn, and cat food. At least Fat Louie will be all right. He has a plethora of varieties to choose from in his finicky old age.
I’m sure if Rate the Royals saw how incredibly giving and kind I am to the animals, it would be worth another point. Prince Harry doesn’t even own a cat.
P.P.S.
No! I must stop this! I don’t care! I’m not going to stoop to the level of Brian Fitzpatrick. You thought you would bring me down, didn’t you, Brian? But all you’ve done is make me more determined than ever to conquer the universe with my wit, charm, and kindness.
P.P.P.S.
Would having the Royal Genovian Guard look up the ISP address of Rate the Royals and then send Brian Fitzpatrick a cease and desist be an abuse of my powers? Check on this. Because this is what I’d really like to do for my birthday.
Aside from getting out of seeing Cirque du Soleil tonight. And, of course, sending Brian Fitzpatrick a box filled with deadly scorpions.
CHAPTER 12
9:25 a.m., Friday, May 1
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
Rate the Royals Rating: 5
Was getting out of the shower when I got the following text(s):
Michael Moscovitz “FPC”: Picking you up in exactly one hour for a birthday surprise. Take the bag Marie Rose has packed for you and meet me in the consulate lobby. Don’t bring your laptop. There’s no Internet where we’re going.
Before I could text back that I couldn’t possibly do as he asked, I got this:
Don’t argue. Just do it.
Then this:
P.S. Make sure she’s packed that bikini you wore to the beach last New Year’s. The white one.
He added an emoji of a penguin experiencing what appeared to be a fatal myocardial infarction, since its heart was exploding from its body.
I think this was meant to show love or possibly lust, not a marine animal suffering a brutal death, though I’m not entirely sure. Guys are so odd, especially guys who work with computers (and robots) all day, like Michael does, and also like to design their own emojis as a hobby.
I know Michael meant his new emoji to be funny, but considering how Mr. G. died, it’s a little insensitive.
Wait . . .
Could this be what’s behind that strange shadow in his eyes? Simply that he’s been plotting something behind my back?
No.
What kind of place doesn’t have Internet access, though? Does that mean it also doesn’t have cable television? What if it really is a yoga/meditation retreat?
God, I hope not. Michael knows I freak out if I go too long without television. It’s embarrassing to admit, but television is my drug of choice. And how will I be able to keep abreast with what’s happening on all the NCISs in Qalif?
CHAPTER 13
9:45 a.m., Friday, May 1
Third-Floor Apartment
Consulate General of Genovia
Rate the Royals Rating: 5
Just dialed Michael’s cell, but he wouldn’t pick up.
So then I phoned his office number, but his latest assistant (Michael goes through assistants the way I go through tea bags, only because he keeps promoting them, not because he’s dunked them in boiling water) said he was in a town car headed up to see me.
“Do you want me to put you through to his cell phone, Your Highness?”
I told the assistant that he doesn’t have to call me “Your Highness” because he’s not a Genovian citizen and we’re on U.S. soil. Then I said no, that I’d tried Michael’s cell already, thanked him, and hung up.
• Note to self: Is it my imagination, or did Michael’s new assistant sound disappointed about the Your Highness thing? I hope he doesn’t turn out to be another one of those weirdos who fetishizes royals. I’ll have to get his full name from Michael and then have Lars look into him.
Oh, another text:
Are you just sitting there writing in your diary or are you actually making progress?
Oh my God. How does he DO that?
<Michael Moscovitz “FPC”
HRH Mia Thermopolis “FtLouie”>
Michael, this is very sweet of you, but you KNOW whatever it is you’ve got planned, I can’t go. It’s absurd. Why won’t you pick up your phone?
Because I don’t want to get into it with you. What part of “don’t argue” did you not understand?
I’m not arguing, I’m telling you facts. Seriously, this is a terrible time for me to leave. The country of Genovia needs me. The center needs me. My family needs me.
I need you. We need to have a relaxing weekend away from orange-throwing Genovians and your insane family.
There’s been a DEATH in my insane family, Michael, and another ALMOST death (if you count my dad). And what about my grandmother? I can’t leave.
Yes, you CAN leave, and you will. Perin and Ling Su can handle the center—that’s why you hired them. And Frank died a year ago. And don’t worry about your dad, he can take care of himself. And your grandmother’s been taken care of, too.
What? What is that supposed to mean? No one “takes care” of my grandmother. Grandmère’s like that old dowager countess on Downton Abbey (only not as nice). She takes care of herself, although occasionally she allows servants to prepare her food and drink and drive her around (thank God, since they took away her license years ago, which they should probably do to my dad).
It’s sweet of you, Michael, whatever you have planned, but you know this is crazy. It’s because of the orange-throwing Genovians that I can’t leave. And in addition to everything else, I have that charity gala I promised to attend on Saturday night. And I can’t leave behind my laptop. Neither can you! Do I have to remind you that you own a computer-based business?