Free Princess in the Spotlight by Meg Cabot Page A

think she has officially lost it.
    I walked into her hotel suite for my princess lesson today—since I am scheduled to have my official introduction to the Genovian people sometime in December, and Grandmère wants to be sure I don’t insult any dignitaries or whatever during it—and guess what Grandmère was doing?
    Consulting with the royal Genovian event planner about my mother’s wedding.
    I am totally serious. Grandmère had the guy flown in. All the way from Genovia! There they sat at the dining table with this huge sheet of paper stretched in front of them, on which were drawn all these circles, and to which Grandmère was attaching these tiny slips of paper. She looked up when I came in and said, in French, “Oh, Amelia. Very nice. Come and sit down. We have much to discuss, you and Vigo and I.”
    I think my eyes must have been bulging out of my head. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was totally hoping what I was seeing was, you know . . . not what I was seeing.
    “Grandmère,” I said. “What are you doing ?”
    “Isn’t it obvious?” Grandmère looked at me with her drawn-on eyebrows raised higher than ever. “Planning a wedding, of course.”
    I swallowed. This was bad. WAY bad.
    “Um,” I said. “Whose wedding, Grandmère?”
    She looked at me very sarcastically. “Guess,” she said.
    I swallowed some more. “Uh, Grandmère?” I said. “Can I talk to you a minute? In private?”
    But Grandmère just waved her hand and said, “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Vigo. He has been dying to meet you. Vigo, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Renaldo.”
    She left out the Thermopolis. She always does.
    Vigo jumped up from the table and came rushing over to me. He was way shorter than me, about my mom’s age, and had on a gray suit. He seemed to share my grandmother’s penchant for purple, since he was wearing a lavender shirt in some kind of very shiny material, along with an equally shiny dark purple tie.
    “Your Highness,” he gushed. “The pleasure is all mine. So delightful finally to meet you.” To Grandmère, he said, “You’re right, madame, she has the Renaldo nose.”
    “I told you, did I not?” Grandmère sounded smug. “Uncanny.”
    “Positively.” Vigo made a little picture frame out of his index fingers and thumbs and squinted at me through it.
    “Pink,” he said, decidedly. “Absolutely pink. I do so love a pink maid of honor. But the other attendants will be in ivory, I think. So Diana. But then, Diana was always so right .”
    “It’s really nice to meet you,” I said to Vigo. “But the thing is, I think my mom and Mr. Gianini were kind of planning on having a private ceremony down at—”
    “City Hall.” Grandmère rolled her eyes. It is very scary when she does this, because a long time ago, she had black eyeliner tattooed all around her eyelids so she wouldn’t have to waste valuable time putting on makeup when she could be, you know, terrorizing someone. “Yes, I heard all about it. It is ridiculous, of course. They will be married in the White and Gold Room at the Plaza, with a reception directly afterward in the Grand Ballroom, as befits the mother of the future regent of Genovia.”
    “Um,” I said. “I really don’t think that’s what they want.”
    Grandmère looked incredulous. “Whyever not? Your father is paying for it, of course. And I have been very generous. They are each allowed to invite twenty-five guests.”
    I looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. There were way more than fifty slips of paper in front of her.
    Grandmère must have noticed the direction of my gaze, since she went, “Well, I, of course, require at least three hundred.”
    I stared at her. “Three hundred what?”
    “Guests, of course.”
    I could see that I was way out of my depth. I was going to have to call in for reinforcements if I hoped to get anywhere with her.
    “Maybe,” I said, “I