Chapter 2
Mia

Did you hear the way he spoke to me? That little jerk! If he weren't the Prince of Monaco, I'd—I'd—I'd do something really bad to him!

No one talks to Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo like that and gets away with it! Not even Prince How-many-times-did-you-change-before-you-settled-on-that-dress.

Yeah, he's so off Tina's and my list of hottest guys ever.

I didn't make another appearance until lunch when Julia threatened that if I did not start walking of my own accord, she would push me down the stairs and not care if I suffered a concussion, because it would therefore be my own fault. So to my dismay, I went to eat lunch in the gardens with my father, Grandmère, and Prince Michael.

"Well, Princess Amelia has finally decided to grace us with her presence," my father sniffed. He gave me a rather obvious glare, and I tried not to roll my eyes. Good, Dad. He's definitely not gonna notice that.

"I wasn't feeling hungry this morning," I mumbled as I took my seat.

"I doubt that," Prince Michael smirked.

I shot him a glare and said, "So, Mikey—can I call you Mikey? How has your stay in the Genovian palace been thus far?"

"Very lovely, thank you. And I don't mind you calling me Mikey at all, as long as I get to call you Meels."

Where the heck does he get MEELS?

But of course, the stunning reply (note the sarcasm) I come up with is, "You can call me Mia."

Brilliant, Mia. Simply brilliant.

I watched a self-confident smirk spread across his face as he said, "Alright then. Mia it is."

No. The way he said my name is not sexy.

Instead, I fixed him with a stare that I hoped was intimidating, but my grandmother smashed those dreams. She gave me a disgusted look and said, "Amelia, what are you doing? You look constipated. Do you need to visit the washroom?"

Before I could fix her with my constipated glare, Alfred stepped into the gardens and cleared his throat decisively. "Pardon the intrusion, but there is a Miss Tina Hakim Baba on the phone insisting to speak with Princess Amelia."

Grandmère's tattooed eyelids narrowed. If I looked constipated, she looked like she wanted her money back for some bogus Lamaze lessons while giving birth to my father. "Alfred, we are having our lunch. Tell Miss Hakim Baba that Princess Amelia can call her back."

Alfred bit his lip nervously. "I understand, Your Highness, and you know I wouldn't interrupt lunch normally, but she insists that it's a matter of the utmost urgency."

A million different scenarios began running through my mind. What if she's dying? What if one of her siblings is dying? What if Boris is dying? Omigod, someone's dying!

"I better take this," I said shakily as I stood up and rushed into the palace to take the call. Inside, Julia handed me the phone with raised eyebrows. I said nothing to her, but brought the phone to my ear and immediately demanded, "Tina, what's happening?"

"I should be asking you that question!" She pouted. "Prince Michael Moscovitz is spending TWO MONTHS at my best friends palace, and she completely neglects to tell me! I had to find out from some big haired anchor on CNN at the lunch hour report!"

I gritted my teeth. "Is that all you called for?"

"Um…yes."

I hung up and thrust the phone back into Julia's hands. "If she calls again, tell her I'm not here," I commanded and walked back out into the gardens to finish lunch.

Michael

Right when I was beginning to feel a little awkward about being left alone with Dowager Princess Clarisse and Prince Philippe, Mia came storming back into the gardens with the cloudiest look of irritation on her face.

"Is Tina alright?" Her father asked as she took her seat.

"Oh yeah," she replied through gritted teeth while spearing her baby spinach with a surprising vengeance. "Just peachy."

"What about you? You don't look too good," I said bluntly. She fixed me with a glare of utmost loathing, but said nothing in return.

"Amelia, what did she want?" Clarisse demanded.

"I hung up before I got to ask," she replied. She pushed her plate away, stood up and announced, "Excuse me," before turning around and strolling back into the palace, leaving me once again with Clarisse and Philippe.

Damn it, that girl's gonna pay.

"Prince Michael, how would you like a tour of the palace?" Philippe asked after the plates were cleared away.

"I would like one very much," I replied politely.

He beamed and said, "Julia? Please tell Mia that Prince Michael would like a tour of the palace. And if she refuses, tell her I'll withdraw the donations to Greenpeace."

Ooh. Hittin' below the belt, ain'tcha, Prince Philippe?

I followed Mia's cute personal assistant up the staircase and to a closed door on which Julia knocked quietly. "Princess?"

She threw open the door and poked her head through the crack. "Yes, Julia?"

"Your father demands that you give Michael a tour of the palace or he'll withdraw the donations to Greenpeace."

With a scowl, she stepped out of her room, into the hallway, and said to me, "Okay, this is the palace. You are currently standing in a hallway that's probably a billion years old." She stepped back into her room. "This is my room. And this is my door, slamming in your face."

SLAM.

Julia laughed and said, "Sorry, but I can't help you out. You'll have to talk to her." Still chuckling, she started walking down the hall, but not before calling out, "Good luck."

I stared at the door, trying to call upon my telekinetic powers to knock it down.

Man, if Stephen King was writing the story to my life, I'd be able to open this door in a snap. I'd also have Princess Amelia throwing herself at me and Osama Bin Laden would be dead.

But I digress.

"Princess, are you sure you want your father hearing about my wonderfully thorough tour?" I asked lightly. "Or would you like to try it again?"

I heard a sigh through the thick door and it opened again. She gave a defeated, "Alright," as she closed the door behind her and began to walk down the hall.

I followed her down the winding staircase and she began in the foyer. "This is the foyer. There isn't really much to say about it except for the fact that it's new."

The first floor was kind of boring, but the really good stuff came with the third floor. That's where everyone slept and Mia told me that they always kept the foreign dignitaries in the room in which I was currently residing. I didn't think that Genovia could be so...cool.

By the time we had gone around the entire palace, she turned to me and said frostily, "I hoped that quenched your seemingly undying thirst for knowledge of the layout of my palace. Do you have any other questions?"

"Um, yes—" But before I could tell her what my question was, we were interrupted by a sudden appearance of Alfred.

"Your Highness—"

"Which one?" We both asked.

"Er—Amelia," he said, a little thrown off. "We have a visitor for you."

She rolled her eyes. "If it's Tina, then—"

"No, it's Mr. Kenneth Showalter."

She groaned. "Why is he here?"

"He insists upon seeing you," Alfred said with an apologetic smile.

All of a sudden, a short, skinny, and rather pale teenage boy with a dork-ish grin plastered across his face popped up from behind Alfred's back and gave Mia a small wave. "Hiya, Mia!" He called loudly.

I glanced at Mia and could tell she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Hi, Kenny. How are you?"

"Pretty good. I was hoping that—"

"I can't, I'm busy showing Michael around," she interrupted with a head jerk my way.

Immediately, I felt waves of hostility radiating from Kenny. "And you are?" He asked coldly.

Feeling the need to be an obnoxious jerk, I said in my snootiest voice, "I am Prince Michael Marcel Montague Moscovitz of Monaco. And you are?"

Kenny wasn't that much shorter than me, but he was drawing himself up to his full height, like a dog protecting his territory. "I am Kenneth William Showalter II, son of Sir Kenneth William Showalter I." He was shooting daggers from his eyes and I was readily accepting the challenge this pitifully small young man was posing.

"Now that you two are finished comparing yourselves to each other," Mia interrupted our stare down with a cold voice, "I'm going to retire to my bedroom and neither of you are to follow me."

"But—" Kenny started, completely forgetting me.

"I'm sorry, Kenny, butI'm tired and I want a nap." She left with a huff and Alfred chuckled, quietly walking down the staircase.

When she was gone, I turned back to Kenny who was ruthlessly glaring at me for all he was worth. "Look, hot shot. You stay away from my girlfriend, got it?"

"What, you mean Alfred?" I asked in confusion. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against gays, but I pride myself on having a very attuned gay-dar, and I could've sworn—

"No!" He growled. "I mean stay away from Mia!"

Wait a minute, Mia was going out with this? I used to eat kids like this for breakfast! What does she see in this puny little twerp? After a few moments of sheer astonishment, I asked, "Does she know she's your girlfriend?"

His eyes narrowed and I couldn't help but chuckle. Clarisse would say he looked constipated. "Yes, we are officially going out, not that I think it's your business—"

"Look, dude, you were the one who informed me, alright? So don't blame me when I'm just trying to make sure that—"

"She's my girl, and you stay the hell away from her!"

My eyes narrowed. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy that treats his girlfriend like baggage, and Kenny here was starting to act like one of those guys. "Keep talking about her like that, she's not gonna be your girl for much longer," I said coolly, and walked off before Overbite over there could reply.

Geez, what a loser.

Mia

Kenny's such a dweeb.

I don't even know why I said yes when he asked me out. I don't even like him that way. He's just that sweet kid in my biology class that keeps gummy bears in his pocket and shares whenever I look depressed.

We need to break up. Seriously.

But geez, what was with that peeing-on-your-territory scene out in the hall about anyways? If Kenny really wanted to keep a girl, he should probably try not to be a total jerk to strangers that could likely kill him and escape with little to no repercussions.

I pulled out my journal and wrote at the top of the page:

Pros of dating Kenny
1. Because he's the son of a Parliamentary member, he doesn't have to go through etiquette lessons or anything lame like that, and he knows everyone in the Genovian court, making him the perfect Royal Escort
2. He gives me the answers to the biology homework
3. The cook in his mansion actually makes gummy bears, and those are really good
4. Grandmère likes him (but I guess that can double as a con)

Cons of dating Kenny

1. He might have taken ballroom dancing lessons, but he's horrible at it; he keeps stepping on my feet
2. He doesn't like Baywatch
3. He doesn't like cats
4. I can't kiss him because…just ew
5. He goes to the Anime Convention every year in costume and the people actually recognize him
6. I just flat out don't like him

Clearly, the cons heavily outweigh the pros, therefore, a breakup is in order.

If only I had the guts to do it.

Dinner that evening was nothing special. By the time I had emerged from my room, Kenny had left, but not without a doggie bag from Adele, our cook.

When I got to the formal dining room and began dinner, my father cleared his throat ceremoniously and announced, "I would like to be the first to inform the two young people at this table that we are holding a Welcome Ball in honor of Prince Michael this Friday evening." He watched our faces expectantly; Michael was beaming, but I blanched.

"Dad, are you joking?" I asked fearfully. "Please tell me you're joking."

He grinned. "No joke, Mia. As Grandmère informed me, Sebastiano is already working on your gown."

"Gown?" I whispered faintly. Oh, how I cringed at that word.

Michael noticed my shiver and smiled. "What, you scared of a dress? I thought princesses loved dressing up."

I shot him a withering glare. "For your information, I hate dressing up, especially for balls."

"Not even for Kenny?" He asked with a sinister grin.

"Oh, will Kenneth be coming?" Grandmère asked, her voice suspiciously getting brighter. "I always liked that young man. Good head on his shoulders."

"Comes from good stock, too," my father added. "Did you meet him, Michael?"

He nodded, and I could tell that he was trying not to grimace. "I did. He's very devoted to Princess Amelia."

I was pulling out the awkward turtle right underneath the table. And was it just me, but was he giving me a curious stare underneath that smirk?

"Why are we talking about Kenny?" I asked shakily. "Shouldn't you guys be discussing the plans for this ball? Ask Michael what his favorite foods are and such?"

"We already did, Amelia," my father said with a smile. He obviously thought I cared for Prince Michael's comfort here. As Grandmère would say, pfft.

Michael

Aw, these people are so nice. They're throwing me a ball as a welcome here, how sweet is that?

Please note the sarcasm.

Hell, I guess it's not their fault. I mean, after all, that's how royals celebrate. They throw a ball and expect the younger adults to have fun. Well, I could tell from the look on Mia's face that she was far from thrilled, and honestly, I don't blame her. Balls were never exactly my thing, but who am I to refuse?

After dinner, I went back to my chambers and looked around at the clean, almost hotel-like décor. No expense was spared on my behalf; I had a fully stocked mini fridge, soft pillows, clean sheets, and my favorite soaps and shampoos were stocked in the bathroom.

I threw myself onto my king sized bed and turned on the plasma screen TV, ready for an evening of complete boredom. Right when I was starting to faze out of consciousness while still managing to keep my eyes open, I heard a soft knock on my door.

Curiously, I got off the bed and opened the door. Standing before me with her arms crossed and a frown on her face was none other than Princess Amelia. Feeling my heart start to pound and my palms begin to sweat, I swallowed and said with my coolest, most composed voice, "Your Highness, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My father wants me to spend some quality time with you," she growled.

I raised my eyebrows. "Tell me how you really feel."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll just tell him you were asleep, then we'll both be happy."

She turned round to leave, but I grabbed her hand before she got away. "Wait, why don't you just come in and we can talk? That way, you don't have to lie."

She sighed and nodded, following me into my room and taking the seat in front of the desk. I turned off the TV and faced her.

"So…" she trailed off.

"So…" I replied, just to tick her off. She looked so cute when she got worked up.

"What's your favorite color?" She asked.

"Blue. Yours?"

"Pink's good."

I smirked. "I didn't think you were that much of a girly girl, but yet again, Princess, you prove me wrong."

She bristled, just as I predicted. "There is nothing wrong with the color pink. It is a lovely hue and is appropriate for any and all occasions."

"Like funerals, huh?"

She ignored me and turned her gaze outside the window. I was too busy admiring her profile to hear her next question. "Huh?" I asked distractedly.

She rolled her eyes. "I asked you, what's your favorite movie?"

"Star Wars," I replied promptly. "The Original Star Wars trilogy. You?"

"Dirty Dancing," she replied.

"Really?"

"I love Patrick Swayze's character in that movie."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Let me guess, because he's cute?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing. It just proves my point that girls don't really care about the plot anymore. As long as the movie's got a hot actor in it, they'll come running."

Her eyes narrowed. "For your information—"

"Is that your favorite phrase or something?" There was a little voice in my head that was screaming at me to quit, but being the idiot that I was, I refused. "You don't have to inform me every time I make a statement, Princess."

"I happen to like many movies, and not because the leading man is cute!" She shouted. Now she was getting really worked up.

"Really? Then how about you give me an example?"

"I don't need to prove myself to you, Prince Michael!" She spat.

"You're just making an excuse because you can't think of something."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I'm superficial."

"Oh, right. I forgot," I sneered. "You're going out with Kenny, and you certainly can't like him for his looks."

"Kenny is twice the man you will EVER be!" She screamed. I finally managed to make her lose it and now, I was ready to piss my pants. "Don't you dare insult my boyfriend because he's a sweet guy. He knows how to make a girl feel like a princess, unlike you. He isn't spoiled, he isn't self-centered, and he doesn't get his thrills by insulting girls who never did anything wrong! So you just shut up!" And with that, she stormed out of my room and slammed the door on her way.

I fell backwards onto my bed and sighed. Michael, can't you ever learn to shut your mouth?

A/N- First, I absolutely LOVE the reviews! I love the positive feedback, so for you guys I'm definitely continuing, as you can see. Second, I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow, so I'm not gonna be able to update until I get back. And you know what I absolutely love seeing in my inbox after a loooong time of not checking my email? Reviews! So please leave one.