Tuesday, June 21
New York airport is big and full of people. It's probably always that way, even at three in the morning, the most ungodly hour there is. I'm in one of those executive club things, the ones that are full of business execs tapping away madly on their laptops, muttering into their cellphones, and wearing their dark suits which could not possibly stay so immaculate on the plane.
All the yogurt is low fat, there's no sugar-filled cereal, and they don't have any pop - only pure imported spring water. Nick went to try and get the limo sorted out, because apparently one of King Casper's other wives is staying in the consulate right now, and using the limo. My limo. Stupid hag. Next to the king, I'm the most important person in Armen (even though I've never been there). And if the old biddy doesn't believe it, she should at least be able to notice that I have a bodyguard, and she doesn't. Ergo, she's expendable. I'm not.
Later Tuesday
That worked out quite nicely. The dowager princess of Genovia, Clarice, kindly lent me her limo and driver so I could at least get to the consulate. Her husband was good friends with Grandpa, though, so somehow it's not surprising. I'm also supposed to be spending the summer with her granddaughter. So we got to the consulate, just as the stupid woman herself was heading out. Elbows tucked in to her sides, arms out, with a big handbag, and a pet poodle, she did her stupid little royal walk down the steps towards us. I could tell instantly that she was the sort of person I hate. Little pink suit, big pink hat, stupid little veil. Ugh.
She gave me this look, like, what do you think you're doing here? I did as Grandpa told me, and ignored her. Nick didn't. That's what he's paid a five figure salary for.
I don't remember the exact words, but basically he made it pretty clear that she had better bow, right away. Of course, she didn't. I didn't really expect her to. I was wearing my typical jeans and shirt, rumpled from being unable to sit still on the plane.
She made a mistake, of course. She thought she was superior to me, and tried to impress me with her titles. Never, ever do that. That was one of Grandpa's biggest lessons. 'Cause the other person might prove to be more important than you, or even able to use your name against you. Like a kidnapper.
"My dear," she said hautily, "I am Lady Tanya Jume del Minoti. Please remove yourself, or I shall have to have security do it for you."
I couldn't help but grin. "If they do, it'll be more than their jobs are worth. Because you see, darling Tanya, you aren't a del Minoti. You're just plain old Tanya Jume, and you're in my house."
"Snipe! Who do you think you are?"
That was, of course, Nick's cue to announce me. Never introduce yourself, Grandpa had said. Let someone else do it for you. Unless, he'd allowed, it was at an informal gathering with children your own age. Then you'll be thought rude if you don't. Rude was something Grandpa would never allow. "May I present Sara Mari Ryel del Minoti, Duchess of Rysoth and Princess of Armen." I didn't normally include the Ryel, because it made too many four letter words in my name, which was already a mouthful and a chore to remember, but the Ryels were a powerful family. It also gave testament to my parentage.
"As I said, you're in my house. I want you out by four o'clock this afternoon." It was three. I highly doubted she could get out in less than an hour, but I'd soon find out.
"Where will I go?"
"Back to Armen, of course. I don't want you here."
"Your father..."
"Can take up any issues he has with me, directly." And she was gone. Sometimes being a princess has its perks, like ordering stupid old harpies around.
So anyway, I went and wandered around the consulate after she'd gone. It's a nice enough place, I guess, though I can't say I care much for the style. Lots of abstract art and gaudy colors, like it was decorated in the sixties, by someone who thought pleather and faux fur would be in style forever. The outside of the building's pretty nice. At least the architect had some idea of what they were doing. I'll have to make some changes to this place before it's habitable. Okay, a lot of changes, but whatever.
Still Later, Tuesday
Well, King Casper just called. Apparently the old biddy called him as soon as she reached the airport. There was a lot of 'who are you's and 'who told you you could do that's. Apparently she forgot to mention that little detail about me being the princess. I also, apparently, had several thugs forcibly throw her off the grounds. I listened to a lecture for about ten minutes before he drew breath and I could mention who I was.
"Excuse me," I interjected, "I'm Sara Mari del Minoti. I think I have every right to kick people out of my house."
It seemed he needed to think about that. Like it wasn't totally obvious. Hello, I'd just said my name which was, conveniently, very similar to his name. Could there be any relationship between us? Like, me being his heir? Nah, couldn't be.
"What are you doing in New York?"
Hadn't he organized this bloody meeting? Well, maybe, or maybe not. If he had, he certainly didn't remember it. He hadn't even remembered me a second ago, and I'm his kid.
"Someone, you I suspect, arranged for me to spend the summer with Princess Mia."
"Who?"
I wanted to groan. In fact, I think I did. Staying polite, particularly with idiots, has always been hard. I just never thought my father would be one of those idiots.
"Her Royal Highness the princess of Genovia, Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, heir to the principality of Genovia, daughter of the Prince of Genovia, Artur Christoff Phillipe Gerard Grimaldi Renaldo. Do I need to tell you where Genovia is?" I asked, annoyed. I was amazed I could remember those names. Or maybe not so much, since Grandpa had pounded them, along with dozens like them, into my head last few summers, when I went to Rysoth to learn about being a noble (and a royal) and start running my estate.
"Indeed. I hope it goes well for you. Now, on the matter of the bodyguards, you know we don't hold with having more than a few. From Lady Tanya's description…"
"She had best get her eyes checked," I interrupted. What was all that shit about my having a bunch of toughs to bodily throw her off the estate? "I had one person with me. Nick."
"Who?"
I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he wouldn't be able to see it. "Antonio Nicolarin Samson. Geoff Samson's son."
"Ah. Of course. I assigned him to you, didn't I?" "Years ago."
He seemed to think that was explanation enough, and got ready to hung up, saying the various parting pleasantries that were appropriate.
I interrupted. Terrible habit, I know. "Can I redecorate the consulate? It's hideous."
m"Go ahead. Use your credit card." Mother had given me one of the royal credit cards at some point. Basically, you flash one of those and suddenly the people in the store can't do enough for you. Most people don't use them, apparently, but I've never liked calling the dressmakers and artisans and all them to the house. They tend to get lost if you don't live full time on a large estate.
They had no trouble finding the consulate, though. They probably fought to get here first. That didn't stop a couple of them (the gays, I think), fainting when they saw the place. It is horribly decorated, I admit, but that's going a bit far. But, anyway, they'll start fixing the place up tomorrow, while I'm away talking to the various members of the Genovian royal family. Anything they do will be better than what it is now.
Wednesday, June 22
It was with a far from happy outlook that I went to breakfast this morning. I mean, who really wants to go to the Plaza to eat with a pair of stuck up old monarchs? I was wearing one of those horrid outfits Mother bought me in London. Alright, it's not like it's embarrassing to go out in it. It is very fashionable. But that doesn't mean I like it. I'm certainly not going to wear it to meet Mia later. You just don't go to a place full of people your own age dressed like that. Unless you're Clarice, of course. The stupid restaurant was filled with people her age. Old.
They almost didn't let me in. But Nick talked to the guy quietly for a bit, pulled out a passport - mine, probably - growled something, and suddenly he couldn't do enough. That seems to happen a lot. Oh well. It's convenient.
Despite me being really grumpy and stuff, breakfast didn't actually go that bad. Clarice was about what I expected - scary, old, annoying - but Prince Phillipe wasn't so bad. If my dad turned out to be like him, it wouldn't be so bad. 'Cause I mean, apart from the whole thing with it being three royals eating a full brunch in a private stateroom, it could almost have been breakfast at one of my friend's houses. None of that rot about etiquette. You know, like he knew the stuff, and stuck by it, but wasn't so concerned about being formal and proper. If his daughter screws up as much as they say, that's definitely lucky for her. Course, she has to deal with Clarice, but at least that's only one crazy old bat. Not like me. I gotta put up with my mother, Aunt Karen, my mom's various crazy old friends, and, more than likely, various nutters like Lady Tanya.
I've decided that there's nothing wrong with being a princess. It's the people that come with the position that are bad.
At one point, for example, Clarice was kinda hinting that there were a couple of kids I should keep Mia away from. Her best friend, whose name is Lilly Something-or-other (Clarice couldn't remember), in particular.
"How 'bout no, kay?" I snapped. "You wanna break up her friendships, you do it. And you can deal with her afterwards. I'm not getting involved. I'm here to help her get involved in the international community. Get that? I'm not saying what she should or shouldn't do, who she can be friends with, all that stuff. That's her parents job." Clarice, well, she didn't look happy. But Prince Phillipe seemed close to laughing. Like I said, a cool dad.
I think I heard Nick snicker in the background. He was bored, I didn't doubt, and probably hungry too. We'd cut the time tight so we'd have more time to sleep in, and he hadn't gotten any breakfast. He standing against one wall of the room, next to Prince Phillipe's bodyguard, who's one of the big, burly types that I hate to have around. Clarice, apparently, doesn't have one. She does, on the other hand, have this horrid little poodle called Rommel. I don't like poodles in general, but I really hate Rommel. He's this grumpy little thing that sits in Clarice's lap and gets indigestion from eating caviar. I don't like caviar, so I'm not gonna say something stupid like 'imagine, getting sick from top quality caviar!', but really! Feeding an ugly little dog (he's hairless, though you can't tell, because he wears these hideous little dog sweaters that match Clarice's outfits) caviar. Of course it's gonna get sick. Some people are so stupid about their pets. Particularly crazy old bats.
Later Wednesday
Some day, I'm gonna find that crazy guy that designed school uniforms, and I'm gonna kill him in some nasty way and put his head on a spike so all the other fashion designers can see what happens if they do something similarly stupid. I mean, really. I thought it was just my school that had ugly uniforms. Apparently not. 'Cause the ones at Albert Einstein high school are just as bad. Same design, actually, just different colors. You know, different tie, different tartan, same horrid design, falling apart blazers and knee socks that won't stay up.
I dressed tidily, as my mother had wanted me to, but no jewels, no fancy dress, and no tiara. My tiara's nice enough, I guess, but it's uncomfortable, and people look at you funny. Just tidy jeans and a button up tailor shirt. You could have got an outfit like that for maybe a hundred bucks. Except that mine was all tailor made, so it had actually cost closer to five. Nick did the same sort of thing; black jeans, white oxford shirt, black jacket and, of course, the black bodyguard sunglasses.
I was totally shocked. The first person I met going in to the school (there weren't many around, 'cause it was like ten in the morning, so everyone was probably in class) was Michael Moscovitz, one of my best friends from camp. Back when I went to camp, I mean. Before the whole thing with being a princess. We'd stayed in touch over the years, but I'd never thought he'd come to school here. I mean, New York's a big place. Bigger than all of Armen. I think.
"Mike," I hissed back. "Friend from camp."
"Business, man. Always business." Mike didn't know anything about my being royal. I'd never told him. Or any of my other friends, for that matter. It complicates things.
He laughed a little. "How come you haven't been to camp past couple of years."
"Business, again."
"Now that I don't believe. You never worked when you didn't have to. But whatever. Who's your friend."
"Mike, Nick. Nick, Mike." Grandpa would throw a fit if he heard me give an introduction like that. "Anyway, do I gotta sign in as a visitor or something?"
"Sure. I'll take you in." Which is what he did. He took us in, brought us to the secretary. Except that she wanted my name, and wasn't taking 'Sara' as an answer.
"Just tell her your name," Nick hissed. "It'll come out eventually." Mike was looking at me like I was crazy.
"No," I hissed back.
"Do it, or I'll do it for you." It's a sad day when your bodyguard can tell you what to do.
"Fine," I muttered back. "Sara Minoti."
"Nice try," the secretary said. "You think I haven't heard of the Minotis?" I wanted to hit her just then.
"I," I said, grinding out every word, "am Princess Sara Mari Ryel del Minoti of Armen, here to see Princess Amelia," I took a breath. Bloody Europeans and their long names. "Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo of Genovia." She blinked, and made out the visitor pass. Maybe she thought I was some crazy person seeking publicity, but nobody claims to be a Minoti lightly. Everyone knows they have the Mafia behind them. In my case, it was true quite literally.
"And this is...?"
"My bodyguard. Antonio Nicolarin Samson." I glanced towards Mike. He was looking at me funny.
"Business?"
"Um... you could call it that."
"Right. Because being a princess isn't a big deal at all."
"Yeah, well... people look at you funny when you're a princess."
"And let me guess, you can't do whatever you want."
"That's about it."
"I'll take them to see Mia, Miss Molina."
"Are you sure? Shouldn't I just call her down."
"Oh no, that's all right."
"I've got G and T with her anyway."
He lead us away down the hall. Institution colored walls, standard issue lockers... basically, it was a typical school. "Aren't you a little old to be having classes with her? She's what… fourteen?"
"Fifteen. But everyone's in G and T together." I nodded to show I understood. Well, everyone knows Americans are crazy.
When Mike opened the door, I saw a typical classroom. You know, desks, chairs, bored teenagers. They weren't as bored as normal, though, because as far as I could tell, that weren't actually doing anything. The teacher looked like she was just getting ready to leave. I could hear the sound of a violin coming from what looked like a closet door. And, of course, everyone was just sitting around talking.
"Oh, Mrs. Hill. This is Sara. She's here to see Mia." Good introduction, Mike. Like, really, people aren't gonna wonder why a couple of kids are coming in in the middle of class to talk to 'New York's Royal'.
I picked out Mia immediately. She was the one with the bodyguard beside her. "Man, I'd hate a job like that," Nick muttered. I had to agree. Imagine having to look after a kid while she did everything. At least Nick isn't with me every minute of the day, except when we leave the city.
Mrs. Hill said something, then left. I went and dropped into an empty seat at the table where Mia was talking to her friend, a sort of pug-faced girl. Mike dropped into the seat beside me, and Nick settled himself on top of a nearby desk. Of course. It's not like he ever has to do anything. All the awkward introductions are always left to me.
"Hey Mia. Um, this is Sara."
"What are you doing here?" the pug-faced girl asked. "I thought you were taking the day off." Mike said something about forgetting something, which she said she highly doubted. The girl turned to me. "What about you?"
"Nice to meet you too."
Mia seemed to think this was the right time to try out her princess training. And I stress, try. She wasn't very good at it. Oh, she got most of the words right, but if she'd tried that anywhere else, she'd probably have a war on her hands. You really have to pity the Genovians, with a princess like that. I mean, insulting foreign dignitaries without realizing it is one thing, but doing it without meaning to, but seeming like you mean to, well, that's something else entirely. From what I've seen of Clarice, I'm surprised Mia's allowed out of the house without a keeper. Besides her bodyguard, I mean.
She introduced herself (sovereign to subject), and her friends (high ranking official and close friends to press), and even her bodyguard (would she present the maid to a queen? Honestly, stupid girl, you don't present the hired help unless you're asked to).
"Pleasure to meet you, Mia." I didn't bother to reintroduce myself - Mike had already given my name, after all - and I didn't introduce Nick. Once I might have, but that was before Grandpa taught me etiquette. "Your grandmother sent me, by the way."
I could almost see her mind processing that. Grandmother... princess duties... foreign dignitaries... other princess!
"Oh," she said, a bit weakly. Well, thanks, Mia. Nice to meet you to.
