Royal Wedding - Meg Cabot Page 0,72
photos aren’t anything like what people are making them out to be. In fact, they’re kind of sweet, and the lighting’s surprisingly good. Maybe you should look at them, because the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Boris could be telling the truth about them being Photoshopped—at least partly—and if Lilly is right about the bro thing, which I think she is, maybe that girl really is some kind of editing genius who—”
“No!” Tina looked as if she were feeling sick to her stomach. “I’ll never look at them. And I think we should change the subject now. Let’s talk about what you’re going to say to your little sister when you meet her.”
I agreed, but only out of pity for her.
This turned out to be a huge mistake. In addition to being knowledgeable about fingernail polish, it appears that if I’m going to get along with a twelve-year-old, I’m also supposed to:
• Have read all the latest semi-erotic boy band fan fiction on something called Wattpad.
• Know how to Snapchat.
• Follow all the haul video stars on YouTube.
• And be up on all the gossip about an actress I’ve never heard of.
I’m dead.
CHAPTER 50
1:25 p.m., Wednesday, May 6
Still on Interstate 295
Rate the Royals Rating: 7
Michael/Mick just texted.
Why are you in New Jersey?
Who says I’m in New Jersey?
Someone just Instagramed a photo of you eating at a place called ‘Lou’s Lucky Deli.’ You’re with two women who look suspiciously like my sister and Tina Hakim Baba along with three men who, unless I’m mistaken, are Lars, Halim, and your grandmother’s chauffeur.
Oh! Ha. Yes. We stopped for sandwiches because we were starving.
That’s a long way to go for deli. What’s wrong with Katz’s?
We’re looking at bridesmaid dresses.
I thought you were sticking with Genovian designers.
They have those in New Jersey.
I know there’s only one reason you’d go to New Jersey these days, Mia, and it isn’t for bridesmaid dresses.
I’m sorry! We’re pulling into her town now. Tell you about it later?
Fine. But this means when I tell you what Boris has planned, you can’t get mad.
Wait . . . what? What does Boris have planned? Michael, seriously, no.
Tina is too fragile right now.
Not for Tina. For me.
Why would Boris have something planned for you?
It’s called a bachelor party. You’ve probably heard of them.
No.
No, you’ve never heard of a bachelor party?
No, you are not having one. Especially given by Boris.
We’ll talk about it, and your trip to New Jersey, when you get home.
No, we won’t, because when I get home we have that benefit for Sudden Cardiac Death Awareness tonight at the W. And anyway, Boris P. is not throwing you a bachelor party. I can’t believe you even WANT one.
Even one where Boris is chartering a private jet to fly me and some of our other closest World of Warcraft friends to Buenos Aires to eat gigantic steaks?
Never mind.
What? You don’t want to come?
Thank you, no. It sounds like a delightful outing, but I’ll pass. Take Lars with you, though. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.
You only want me to take Lars with me so he won’t be with YOU at your bachelorette party at Crazy Ivan’s.
Dammit! Who told you about that?
Tina told Boris, who told me. He says you girls shouldn’t be the only ones who have fun. Something about “dicklickers”?
I’m going to kill her . . .
He replied with an emoji of what I believe to be a house with flames coming out of the windows and the words, “When you get home expect to be severely reprimanded by the fire marshal.”
!
J.P. is completely wrong. Michael is the opposite of cold and analytical.
CHAPTER 51
2:45 p.m., Wednesday, May 6
Limo outside Olivia’s school
Cranbrook, New Jersey
Rate the Royals Rating: 7
Well, that did not go as well as I’d hoped.
When we pulled up outside Olivia’s aunt’s house—which was a lovely split-level—I saw that, along with a perfectly respectable Mercedes minivan, there was a yellow Ferrari parked in the driveway that had a vanity plate that said Hers on it.
“A Ferrari?” I shook my head. “I don’t even have a Ferrari.”
“You never got your license,” Tina pointed out.
“I’m helping to stimulate the economy,” I explained, “by keeping professional drivers employed.”
“There’s another Ferrari that matches that one exactly sitting in the manager’s parking space in front of O’Toole Construction and Home Design,” Lilly said. “Did you guys notice? But it says His on the vanity plate.”
I had not noticed. We’d gone to the O’Tooles’ place of business first,