Royal Wedding - Meg Cabot Page 0,67

wedding industry! Why doesn’t someone write a book about that? . . .

“Princessa? Are you all right?”

Sebastiano has begun to sweat profusely, since he’s run through all of the one-of-a-kind bridal gowns in his collection, including the ones he made with me in mind. “Princessa, I can’t start from scratch. I have noth I’ll be able to fin in time! I’m go to be ruin!”

I’ve told him it’s okay. “It’s just a dress.”

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently, since it made him catch his breath and go back into the studio, looking as if he were about to cry.

Dammit. What is wrong with me? Why couldn’t I lie when I needed to?

And it’s not just a dress. A bridal gown is never just a dress! It’s a symbol of hope, a source of inspiration, a thing of beauty in a world where there’s so much sadness and despair! What is wrong with me?

And where is Lilly? I know her studying for the bar is way more important than my choosing a stupid wedding dress, but I sort of wish she was here right now, even if it was only to tell me to—

CHAPTER 47

11:57 a.m., Wednesday, May 6

Limo in line at the Holland Tunnel

Rate the Royals Rating: 7

Lilly came barging into the dressing room just as I was giving up all hope of finding the “one,” or of maintaining my sanity.

“Look,” she said, shoving a stack of papers into my face.

“Where have you been?” I practically shrieked. “I can’t decide which is The One! It’s really upsetting Sebastiano.”

“What is the one?” she asked. “Do you mean Keanu Reeves from The Matrix? And who cares about Sebastiano? He only wants you to pick a dress so he can get his name on all the fashion websites. You’re the bride, not him. Tell him to suck your [REDACTED].”

“No, not Keanu Reeves. The One is what Tina keeps calling my wedding gown. And do you have to swear so much? I’m choosing a dress to marry your brother in, show a little class.”

“What’s wrong with the one you have on? You look pretty [REDACTED] hot.”

I looked down at myself. “I don’t know. It’s a ball gown. Ling Su says everyone will be expecting me to wear a ball gown, because I’m royal, and everything.”

I’d been staring at myself in dismay in the mirror for ten minutes, afraid to go out of the dressing room since I knew Lana and Trisha were going tell me I was being boring (and also that there was a chance Grandmère might have heard about Cousin Ivan’s threat to raise the security level, since that will adversely affect tourism, and I’d have to hear about it).

Lana and Trisha wanted me to go with something backless or at least so sheer it basically looked like Princess Leia’s gold bikini from Return of the Jedi, only in white, which I knew Michael would like, but I definitely did not have the confidence to wear on international television.

Boring as it might be, I like having a bodice no one can see through (the one I had on happened to be embroidered with diamonds—or as Sebastiano called them, “real dimes”), and a tulle skirt so wide, it would take up the entire aisle of the throne room. Talk about raising the threat level.

“Of course it’s a ball gown,” Lilly said. “As you just reminded me, you’re a princess, stupid. Why wouldn’t you wear a princess ball gown? Here.”

She scooped up a layer of the tulle and created what Sebastiano (who’d come back to stand beside me, his tears temporarily stifled), clapping his hands, declared a “pickup.”

“Okay,” Lilly said. “If that’s what you want to call them. Do one on either side. Like Cinderella’s ball gown in the cartoon. Do a couple of those thingies, out of the crystals you have on the bodice. That might make it less grotesque, and I won’t want to throw up as much.”

Suddenly the gown took on a whole new look. Not that I’ve ever been a huge fan of Cinderella—although of all the Disney princesses, she’s one of the most relatable. She had to do domestic work for a living, after all, and didn’t simply lie around in a coma waiting for someone to kiss her awake.

I could completely see this dress being The One. I got shivery, I could see it so much. I even wanted to cry a little.

“Wow,” I said. “I want to throw up less, too.”

“This wonderful,” Sebastiano said, clapping