“He certainly does.”
“He’s got what it takes.”
“But, I don’t—”
“Now, don’t you dare be modest, young man!” Dylan clap her hands along with her words, shouting, “You. Are. A. Star.” She holds her hands together and says, “You just don’t know it yet.”
Whiny Princesses and the People Who Love Them…
Arabella
“Oh, bugger,”I say, staring at my mobile phone screen at a Google alert concerning me. It’s an article about the eerie resemblance I bear to my dead mother, Queen Cecily. “I should've known they wouldn't let this anniversary pass us by without pouring salt on the wound.”
Arthur, who clearly just got the same alert as me, says, “Bastards.”
“I'm sorry, hon,” Tessa says, patting me on the knee.
We’re in the back of the limo, waiting for Gran, who, in spite of being in her eighties, insists on wearing high heels to every event. I swear she does this just to get the bodyguards to hold her arm wherever she goes. Gran has a thing for strapping younger men with guns. Anyway, we’re on our way to the wedding of the season at which I’m supposed to be hunting down the dull men from the dossiers so I can be the bride at the biggest weddingnextseason. Spoiler alert: I’m not going to look for any of them, and if one of them does somehow approach me, I’m going to brush him off like a piece of lint on a pair of black pants. I’m not in the mood for love.
The truth is, I was already fuming before this article came out. I’m still raw about not being allowed to become the ambassador for the Equal Everywhere campaign. Also, now that I’ve been told I can’t wear my non-existent red dress, it’s all I want to wear. Instead, I’m in a chiffon robin’s egg blue gown with a modest (read boring) boat neck. I’ve paired it with extremely dull two-inch beige heels.Oooh, beige. Who’s the sex cat now?
But it honestly won’t matter what I’m wearing because all that will matter is this stupid article. “Why couldn't they have released this a few hours from now?” I sigh. “Now all I'm going to hear about for the rest of the day is how I'm the reincarnation of my mother. As if I don't get that enough.”
Gran slides into the limo wearing a sparkling gold Dior dress. She's so tiny that if she wears anything drab, people barely know she's there and if there's one thing Gran likes, it's for people to know when she's arrived. She settles herself in, then looks at me and narrows her eyes. “What's up your royal tush today?”
“Nothing. I'm absolutely thrilled to be attending yet another function with my foulmouthed, feisty grandmother as my plus one.”
“You should be thanking me. I turned down several offers just so you wouldn’t have to go alone,” she says.
“Of course you did,” I say, feeling like even more of a loser than I did when I woke up this morning.
“Go easy on her, Gran. The media is making quite a fuss about what would've been our mother's fiftieth birthday.” Arthur shoots her a look that says our little Arabella can't handle any type of criticism. I know he's doing it to be nice, but it irritates the living shit out of me.
“Don't patronize her,” Gran says. “It's the last thing she needs.”
I'm about to thank her when she adds this little gem. “She'll always be a baby if you treat her like one.”
“Thanks for that,” I say.
“You're most welcome.”
“I was being sarcastic. Just because I resemble her, everyone assumes I can't handle more than some weak tea and light conversation.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Gran says, patting me on the hand. “Is that what you believe?”
“Yes. And to be honest, I'm sick to death of being ordered around and underestimated by everyone.” I give Arthur a dirty look. “Including you.”
“Arabella,” Gran begins in a tone that says I'm about to be subjected to her off-the-cuff wisdom. “If you don't like being ordered around, underestimated, and compared to your mother, do something about it.”
“And exactly what am I supposed to do? Die my hair black or get a ‘Not Cecily’ tattoo on my face?”
“You needn't go to that much trouble,” she says. “You only need to stop being so very unremarkable.”
I slump down in my seat, and turn to face the window, blinking the tears back.
“Gran, that was offside, even for you,” Arthur says quietly. “You should apologize.”
“And you should not make a habit of telling me what to do,” Gran answers.
