Royally Crushed (47 page)

I’m about to say,
Like you could stop me
, but he continues, “You haven’t been a butthead, though. You’ve had a lot happen to you this year. I could easily see how hearing that I’m dating someone could be the last straw for you.”

“Really?”

“Really. But you have to realize that it’s been a hard year for me, too.”

We drop the conversation as a group of freshmen come up and grab cups of punch. A few of them produce euros for bottled water, which I pull out of a cooler stashed under the table—a little extra fund-raiser to help the student council coffers.

When they’re gone, I climb back onto my stool. The music switches to a slow song, but the dance floor stays packed. Even the people who came alone seem to pair up.

“If you want to dance with Anna, Dad, go ahead.” It’s not like I can be any more humiliated than I am right now. Dateless. Sitting with my own father during a slow song.

If Steffi were here, she’d be thinking of all kinds of things to say to me.

“No, I think she’s busy catching up with Helmut. She’s been so swamped at work lately—and spending her free time with me—that I think she feels out of touch with her family. Family’s important.”

I can tell he’s working up to a mushy father-daughter moment, and sure enough, that’s what comes next. “You know, Valerie, I meant it when I told you in Scheffau that you’re the most important person in the world to me.”

“I know.”

“And the fact that I’m seeing Anna won’t change that. It’s been good for me to go out with her.” His voice gets lower, so quiet I can barely hear him over the music. “It’s
good for me to know that I can be appreciated for who I am. To know that just because your mother walked out on me, my romantic life isn’t over. And I’ll admit,” he lets out a chuckle, “it’s also good for my ego.”

“I bet. Isn’t she, like, way younger than you?”

“I haven’t exactly asked to see her driver’s license. It wouldn’t be proper, you know. . . .” He shifts on the stool, then shakes his head. “But I’d guess I have at least five years on her. Probably more.”

“Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t resist.”

He smiles at me, and I know we’re cool.

“I’m sure it’s a nice ego boost, having Georg in your life.”

I don’t say anything. It’s not like he’s in my life at this particular moment. I mean, sitting here without him is, like, the opposite of an ego boost, whatever that is. Ego dive? Ego plummet? Ego crash? I think it’s gotta be ego crash.

“It’s a challenge, I realize. He has to be very careful about appearances. I happen to know he asked his father if he could come tonight—if there was some way he could be out in public with you.”

No way! “How do you know?”

“Because Prince Manfred and I discussed it.”

My love life? Dad discussed my love life with my boyfriend’s father, who also happens to be
the ruler of this country
?

Whoa.

I HAVE TO STAND UP TO HAND OUT ANOTHER CUP OF
punch, but I get back to Dad as fast as possible. “You discussed it?”

“We know how hard it is for you and Georg. But after the tabloid story . . . well, it’s just too soon. Georg’s going to be the leader of this country someday, and that means that—despite the fact that three quarters of the world’s population can’t find Schwerinborg on a map—he’s under intense scrutiny. He’s not just going to be a ceremonial head of state. He’ll be the actual head of state. But Prince Manfred and I don’t want that scrutiny to ruin your relationship.”

Manny has a point. It almost did tank our relationship when that article came out.

“I know you hate when I use the word ‘sucks,’ Dad, but I have to say, as much as I know that Prince Manfred’s right, it sucks.”

He bites his lip, like he wants to tell me I’m not funny, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Especially after my earlier “butthead” comment.

“I know it does, Val. But that doesn’t mean the two of you have to hide forever.”

“No problem. We can always do the Oscar thing another night. Maybe even next weekend?”

I swear as I look at Dad that he’s trying to hide a smile at my sarcasm. “Well,” he says, “Prince Manfred and I agreed that we want the two of you to be able to see each other—either in the palace or on vacations, where you’ll be away from the press—as often as is feasible, so long as you two behave yourselves and keep your grades up.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure. Like I’m going to let my grades take a nosedive.” I’m a total straight-A geek. I don’t need my parents to nag me about my grades and Dad knows it.

I’m the kind of wacky person who flips out over a B the way Ulrike flips out over dance details.

As the slow song winds down and Helmut manages to weave in the first beats of a hip hop tune, a few people start to leave the dance floor and wander toward the refreshment table.

“You’re on,” Dad says. He glances toward Anna. I follow his gaze across to the DJ’s area, and I see her look over at us and smile.

“I think I’ll go do the chaperone thing. Make sure no one’s getting into trouble.”

“Yeah, you do that,” I tease. It’s like I can feel the sap in the air, between his giddy-lovey mood for Anna and his sense that he’s sufficiently parented me for the night.

Gag.

I intentionally don’t look in Dad and Anna’s direction. But as I wave to Maya, who’s still groovin’ on the floor (man, can that girl move), I realize that Steffi is still nowhere to be seen.

Not. Good.

I can’t imagine her missing out if she thought this was the cool place to be tonight, which—contrary to early indications on ticket sales—it obviously is. But as I hand out bottles of water and try to calculate change, I tell myself that I need to believe in Georg. To forget all about Steffi. Even if she’s at the same party where he is—probably by sneaking her way in—it’s not like anything’s going to happen.

Not like it did with David.

I can’t help it. The thought pops into my mind, probably because of the near-constant reminders I’m getting from Jules, Natalie, and Christie that I need to come clean.

At that moment, I realize that they’re right. I can’t wait any longer. I
have
to tell Georg about what happened over break in Virginia. Otherwise, I’m always going to worry that something could happen to our relationship.

And not because of Steffi. Because of me.

Because I know how I’d feel if I suspected Georg was hiding something from me . . . even if it were something like the (way short) time I spent with David. Time that didn’t mean a thing. I’m going nuts just thinking about what he’s doing tonight, and it’s probably just some dumb thing for his parents. No different for him than Nat’s parents’ dinner party is for her.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, Georg will be home from his party when I get back to the palace.

If he is—and if I can convince him to come over—I’ll tell him tonight. He might not take it well, and I know there’ll be a lot of groveling on my part, but as much as it’s going to rot, at least I’ll know I’ve been honest with him.

The palace looks completely normal as we drive up. In other words, all the lights in the public areas are on, but the section that houses Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia’s private apartments is pretty dark. Only one light is on that I can see.

I don’t know what I was expecting, since it’s nearly
midnight. Guess I was so fixated on my monumental decision to tell Georg about David that I blanked on the fact that he might not be available for a while.

“Doesn’t look like they’re home yet,” Dad says as he turns the car into the courtyard and shows his employee ID to the bored-looking guy at the gate, who waves us through.

“Did Georg’s parents go to the Oscar party, too?” I ask. “You never did tell me where it is.”

Anna glances at Dad, then turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia had to go to Italy tonight. They’re flying home in the morning.

“So . . . the same thing Georg went to?” He didn’t mention Italy. Or being gone overnight.

“No. They’re at an opera premiere,” Dad says as he pulls into a covered area on the side of the palace close to where we live (the older, unrenovated, not-so-glamorous area) and cuts the engine. “Georg is here in Schwerinborg. I promised his parents I’d check in on him when we returned from the hotel.”

“Um, wouldn’t he have to sign in with security when he gets back? His parents would hear pretty fast if he didn’t come home when he’s supposed to.” That’s his usual routine, and he once told me that if he doesn’t follow the proper safety measures, his parents give him a serious lecture
(though I imagine it’s done in a very restrained, royalish way).

“Of course,” Dad replies. “But I think they like having a little extra assurance.”

We get out of the car and start walking toward the palace. As we crunch across the gravel courtyard, heading for the door closest to our apartments, Dad reaches out and takes Anna’s hand like it’s an everyday thing.

I’m not sure I like it, but I’m finding I don’t
dis
like it as much as when we were on the ski trip.

I must be mellowing. I mean, it’s hitting me that I’m starting to think of her as Anna instead of The Fräulein—and not cursing myself out when it happens.

“Why don’t you go check on him for me?” Dad asks, looking over his shoulder at me. “I’ll see Anna to her car.”

Since Anna lives in downtown Freital, I guess she must’ve left her car here after work. Probably so she’d have an excuse to ride with me and Dad to the dance, but whatever. I guess I should be happy that at least someone’s relationship is working.

“I can take a hint,” I say under my breath. Then louder, I say, “Sure. I doubt he’s home yet, though.”

“If he’s not there, I’ll meet you at our place. He’ll know to call me when he gets in.”

When I get to the doors in the fancy wing—where
Georg and his parents live—I go through the metal detector and fill out the guest form like I always do, though I have to wonder if Georg’s around. And whether I’ll be able to get the words out about David.

“How long will you be, Miss Winslow?” the guard asks.

“Um, I’m not sure. Is Prince Georg home?”

“Yes.” He gives me an odd look and I realize he’d probably have sent me back home without the whole metal-detector inconvenience if Georg weren’t around. Even though I’m here all the time, it’s not like the security guys would let me wander around the family’s private wing alone.

“Maybe an hour, then?” Could be five minutes, though—about the length of time it takes for me to spit out the David story and Georg to throw me out.

I suppose if Georg does tell me to take a hike (though I know he’s too polite to use those exact words, my gut is telling me the sentiment could very well be there) I can always turn on the Oscars and e-mail the girls in Virginia with my comments on which actress has the ugliest gown.

Nothing beats an ugly feather dress—which the entertainment reporters are bound to note costs the equivalent of a year’s college tuition—for getting guy frustration out of my system.

Of course, the thought of bad clothes reminds me that I
haven’t looked in a mirror all night—not since before leaving for the dance. I looked decent when I left home, but Georg probably spent the evening around glamorous model types, so a checkup is definitely in order.

As I walk down the corridor, I rifle through my purse, manage to find my compact—which is a little dusty from disuse—and groan when I look in the tiny mirror. Sure enough, there are the telltale mascara marks from spending too long in a hot room. Ego crash number two on the night.

I run a finger under my eyes and fluff some powder on my face. Not great, but hopefully better than the demon-from-the-dark look I’d been sporting.

Georg opens the door on the first knock.

“Hey,” he says. He’s grinning ear to ear. And he’s still in his tux. Maybe he just got home?

“Hey, yourself.” Man, does he look good. Edible good. Like he could attend the real Oscars and not be dissed by the style gurus. And I tell him so.

“Thanks,” he says. “Come on in. The preshow is just beginning.”

“You’re watching?”

He opens the door wider, pulling me inside. We walk through the formal rooms toward the more casual family room, where he and his parents hang out and watch the news in the evenings. The smell of popcorn hits me, and I
take a deep breath. Then I hear voices and the words
Harry Winston necklace
. “You really are watching TV! And it’s in English!”

As he opens the door and flips on the light, I swear, my heart almost stops.

The place is full of flowers. And I mean
full
. Like, every available space in the TV room has them. The coffee table is covered, and so is the side table near the sofa. Even the top of the television is a mass of roses and these gigantic, sweetly perfumed white lilies that Dad says are Princess Claudia’s favorite. There are two champagne glasses and a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne sitting on the floor, right in front of the coffee table and the big pile of pillows where Georg sometimes crashes to do his homework.

And of course there’s a huge bowl of fresh popcorn.

He sweeps a hand out to encompass the room, as if playing the role of maître d’ at a five-star restaurant. “Valerie Winslow, welcome to your first official Schwerinborg Oscar party.”

I can’t even speak. I cover my mouth with my hands for a moment, trying to absorb it all.

“You like?”

Do I like? Is he freaking kidding me? This is infinitely better than the fantasy I had at the dance. “You planned all this?”

“There are some advantages to being a prince. I might not be able to go to public events with my girlfriend right now, but damned if I couldn’t get dibs”—he pauses on the word “dibs”—“on the leftover flowers from last night’s economic summit banquet to make up for it. To make it up to you. Took me a while to get them set up, but it was fun.”

It’s just now hitting the dim recesses of my brain.
This
was his Oscar party? “So you never went out tonight?”

“Nope.”

“And my dad must’ve known—”