Forever Princess (10 page)

Lilly opened her mouth and started to say something, but Kenneth put his arm around her and glared at me and went, “Are you still going out with J.P.?”

I just blinked at him in confusion. “Yes,” I said.

“Then never mind,” Kenneth said, and swung Lilly away from me like he was mad at me, or something.

And she didn't try to stop him.

Which is weird because Lilly isn't exactly the type of girl to let a guy tell her what to do. Even Kenneth, who she really likes. More than likes, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, that was the end of my big first meeting with Michael after almost two years. I got down off the stage with as much dignity as I could (it helps when you have a bodyguard to escort you), and we headed to the limo where the girls were waiting, and they demanded every detail, which I was able to give them as I wrote this (although I left out a few details in the version I told them, of course).

I have to take them to Nobu, where they say we're going to sample every type of sushi on the menu.

But I don't know how I'm going to be able to concentrate on appreciating the subtle flavors of Chef Matsuhisa when the whole time I'm going to be all,
What am I going to do about showing my book to Michael?

Seriously. Not to sound common—as Grandmère would say—but I am pretty much screwed right now.

Because I can't give my book to Michael. He invented a robotic arm that saves people's lives. I wrote a romance novel. One of these things is not like the other.

And I really don't want the guy who just got an honorary master's degree in science from Columbia (and who's had his hand down my shirt on numerous occasions) reading my sex scenes.

Talk about embarrassing.

Saturday, April 29, 7 p.m., the loft

I decided that Dr. K is right.

I really have to stop lying so much. I mean, if I'm going to meet Michael tomorrow for this newspaper interview thing (which there's no way I can get out of, because if I don't do it then I have to admit that I
wasn't
there today to interview him for the
Atom
, and there is absolutely
no way
I'm fessing up that I was
really
there to ask him for a CardioArm…or, worse, to spy on him with my giggling girlfriends), then I'm going to have to give him a copy of my senior project.

I'm just going to have to. There's no way I can get around it. He totally remembered—don't ask me how, when he's obviously the busiest man in the universe.

And if I'm going to come clean with my ex-boyfriend regarding the truth about my senior project, well, that means I have to tell the truth about it to the people in my life who are more important than he is. Such as, my best friend, and my actual boyfriend.

Because otherwise, it's just not fair. I mean, for Michael to know the truth about
Ransom My Heart
, but not Tina or J.P.?

So I decided that I'm just going to bite the bullet and give ALL of them a copy. This weekend.

In fact, I e-mailed Tina hers just now. I've got nothing but free time tonight, since J.P. is at rehearsal, and I'm babysitting Rocky while Mom and Mr. G are at a community meeting to discuss NYU's rampant expansionism and what they can do to stop it before the only people who can afford to live in the Village are twenty-year-old Tisch
film students with trust funds.

I sent Tina a copy of my manuscript with this message:

I haven't heard back from her, but that's because the Hakim Babas usually have dinner all together this time of day, and Tina's not allowed to check her messages at the table. It's a family rule that even Mr. Hakim Baba follows now that his doctor warned him about his high blood pressure.

I kind of feel sick—sick and excited at the same time. About sending
Ransom My Heart
to Tina, I mean. I can't imagine what she's going to say. Will she be mad at me for lying to her? Or stoked, because romance novels are her favorite thing in the whole world? It's true she prefers contemporary romance novels, and usually ones with sheiks in them.

But it's possible she might like mine. I put a ton of references to the desert in it.

More importantly, what's J.P. going to say about it when I tell him? I mean, he knows I love writing, and that I want to be an author someday.

But I've never actually mentioned
romance
writing to him before.

Well, I guess I'm going to find out what he thinks soon enough. I'm sending him a copy, too.

Although, who knows when he'll actually open it up and read it. His play rehearsals have been known to go on until midnight.

And now Rocky is begging me to watch Dora the Explorer with him. I understand that millions of kids love Dora and have learned to read or whatever from her show. But I wouldn't mind if Dora fell off a cliff and took her little pals with her.

Saturday, April 29, 8:30 p.m.

I just got a text from Tina!

OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A ROMANCE NOVEL AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!!!!!!!!!! YOU R SO AWESOME!!!!!!!!! I LUV U!!!!!!!!! ROMANCE NOVELS 4EVER!!!! I'VE STARTED IT ALREADY AND IT'S SO CUTE!!!! YOU HAVE TO TRY TO GET THIS PUBLISHED!!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE A WHOLE BOOK!!!!!!!! Tina

It was as I was reading this that my phone rang, and I saw it was J.P. I picked up, and before I could say anything, even “Hello,” he was all, “Wait…you wrote a
romance novel
?”

He was laughing. But not in a mean way. In an affectionate,
I can't believe it
way.

Before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

“Yeah,” I said. “Remember my senior project?”

“The one about the history of Genovian olive oil presses, circa 1254–1650?” J.P. sounded incredulous. “Of course.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, actually, I sort of…lied about that.” Oh, dear God in heaven, I prayed. Don't let him hate me for lying. “My senior project was really a historical romance novel. The one I just sent you. It's medieval,
set in 1291 England. Do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” J.P. laughed some more. “Of course I don't hate you. I could never hate you. But a
romance novel
?” he said, again. “Like the kind Tina reads?”

“Yeah,” I said. Why did he sound like that? It wasn't
that
strange. “Well, not
exactly
like the kind she likes to read. But sort of. See, Dr. K told me it was great that I helped Genovia become a constitutional monarchy, and all, but that I should really do something for
myself
, not just for the people of Genovia. And since I love writing, I thought—and Dr. K agreed—maybe I should write a book, because I want to be an author, and all, and I was always writing in my journal anyway. And, well, I love romance novels…they're so satisfying, and proven to be stress relievers—did you know many of the Domina Rei, leaders in the business and political world, read romance novels to relax? I did some research, and over twenty-five percent of all books sold are romances. So, I figured if I was going to write something that had a hope of being published, statistically, a romance had the best shot—”

Okay. I was babbling. I mean, did I really just tell him over twenty-five percent of all books sold were romances? No wonder he wasn't saying anything.

“You wrote a
romance novel
?” he finally said. Again.

Weirdly, J.P. was turning out to be less upset about the fact that I'd lied to him than he was about the fact that I'd written a romance novel.

“Um, yeah,” I went on, trying not to focus too much on how stunned he sounded. “See, I did a whole lot of research on medieval times—you know, like when Princess
Amelie lived? Then I wrote my book. And now I'm trying to get it published—”

“You're trying to get it
published
?” J.P. echoed, his voice breaking a little on the word
published
.

“Yes,” I said, a little surprised by his surprise. What was up with that? Isn't that what you did when you wrote a book? I mean, he'd written a play, and I was pretty sure he was trying to get it produced. Right? “Only not very successfully. No one seems to want it. Except vanity presses, of course, who want
me
to pay
them
. But that's not unusual, I guess. I mean, J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter novel got rejected numerous times before she—”

“Do the publishers know the book is by
you
?” J.P. interrupted. “The princess of Genovia?”

“Well, no, of course not,” I said. “I'm using a pseudonym. If I said it was by me, they'd totally want to publish it. But then I wouldn't know for sure if they really liked it and thought it was good and worth publishing, or if they just wanted to publish a book written by the princess of Genovia. Do you see the difference? I don't even want to be published if it's going to happen that way. I mean, I just want to see if I can do it—be a published author—without it happening because I'm a princess. I want it to happen because what I wrote is good—maybe not the best. But okay enough to be sold at Wal-Mart or wherever.”

J.P. just sighed.

“Mia,” he said. “What are you
doing
?”

I blinked. “Doing? What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you selling yourself short? Why are you writing commercial fiction?”

I had to admit, he completely lost me there. What was he talking about, “selling myself short”? And commercial fiction? What other kind of fiction was I supposed to write? Fiction based on real-life people? I'd tried that once…a long time ago. I wrote a short story based on real people—it was about J.P., as a matter of fact, before I had gotten to know him.

And I'd had the character based on him kill himself at the end by throwing himself under the F train!

Thank GOD I'd realized at the last minute—just before the story was about to be distributed to the entire school via Lilly's literary magazine—that you just can't
do
that. You can't write stories based on real people and have them throwing themselves under the F train at the end.

Because you'll just end up hurting their feelings if they happen to read it and recognize themselves in it.

And I don't want to hurt anybody!

But I couldn't tell J.P. that. He didn't know about the short story I'd written about him. I'd kept that a secret this whole time we'd been going out.

So, in answer to his commercial-fiction question, I said, “Well. Because…it's fun. And I like it.”

“But you're so much better than that, Mia,” he said.

I have to admit, this kind of stung. It was like he was saying my book—which I'd spent almost two years working on, and which he hadn't even read yet—wasn't worth anything.

Wow. This was
really
not the reaction I'd hoped for from him.

“Maybe you should read it first,” I said, trying to
keep the tears that had suddenly popped into my eyes—I don't know from where, I'm really not usually that sensitive—from spilling over, “before you make judgments about it.”

J.P. sounded instantly contrite.

“Of course,” he said. “You're right. Sorry. Listen…I have to get back to rehearsal. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said. “Call me.”

“I will,” he said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” I said. And hung up.

The thing is, it's going to be fine. I know it will. He'll read
Ransom My Heart
, and he'll love it. I know he will. Just like I'll see
A Prince Among Men
on opening night next week, and I'll love it. Everything's going to be fine! That's why we're so well suited for each other. Because we're both so creative. We're artists.

I mean, J.P. will probably have a few editorial notes to make about
Ransom My Heart
. No book is perfect. But that's okay, because that's how creative couples are. Like Stephen and Tabitha King. I welcome his input! I'll probably have a few notes on
A Prince Among Men
as well. We'll go over his notes on my book together tomorrow, and—

OH MY GOD I'M MEETING MICHAEL FOR COFFEE TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!

How am I ever going to get to sleep NOW?????

Sunday, April 30, 3 a.m., the loft

Questions to ask Michael for the Atom:

(I can't ask him this! What if he says Micromini Midori? I won't be able to bear it! Plus, I can't put that answer in a school paper! Oh…maybe I should just ask it anyway…he could say something like sushi…)

I can't ask this either! Because it sounds like I'm asking to see how long it would take Genovia to get one, and that I'm hinting that I want one….

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH THESE ARE SO LAME!!!!!!