Maggie Malone Gets the Royal Treatment Read online

  Chapter 12

  When I Am Nearly Killed by a Scone

  My mouth is hanging open and I’m wondering what I could possibly say to make Princess Penelope hate me a little less when I hear a man’s voice coming from the front of the limo.

  “Everything all right back there, Your Highnesses?” he asks, lowering the glass between us just a few inches.

  Penelope glares at me.

  “Oh! Umm… we’re grand, thanks,” I say. “Just joking around, you know. Giving each other the old punch in the gut.”

  “Very well,” he says, raising the glass again.

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be now?” Penelope says. I don’t have time to ask her what she means by that, because right then, we pull up in front of Winfordshire Abbey.

  I have never seen a building like this in my life! It’s the size of thirty churches all smushed together, with towers and arches and ten thousand spiky things sticking up out of the top. It looks like a fort or a fortress, and not one tiny bit like the Buffalo Lodge where Grandpa Flannery’s gotten hitched at least half a dozen times.

  A man in a fancy red suit and hat opens the limo door, and I get out and join the other bridesmaids. There are six of them and they are all wearing the same buttoned-up baby dress as me and Penelope. Crowds of people are lined up behind metal gates, screaming at me like I’m a famous rock star or something. I notice that Penelope hasn’t gotten out of the limo. That’s weird. Maybe she’s really nervous or got snatched up by aliens or something. I won’t tell you which one I’m hoping for.

  I grin like a crazy person and lift my right arm to give the famous princess wave. I keep smiling and start tilting my head and turning my hand left to right. I’m really getting into it when out of nowhere, Amelia rushes over, puts a giant silk cape over my shoulders, and practically pushes me into the abbey.

  What gives? That was really fun! I was having my first real Princess Mimi moment!

  “Unfortunately, it seems you’ve sat in something vile and it has attached itself to your backside,” Amelia says, looking horrified.

  “What? How could that have—“ I crane my neck around to have a look. I feel dizzy when I see it: a blob of…it looks like peanut butter…the size of Texas smeared across my butt. And it just so happens I am deathly allergic to peanut butter.

  “Oh my goodness, Amelia, I can’t…” I gasp, grabbing her arm to keep myself from falling. “I can’t…breathe. And why is the room spinning like that? Who turned off the lights? I’m going to die! I’m going to die!!!”

  “Princess Wilhelmina, get hold of yourself,” she says sternly, gripping my shoulders. “As disastrous as this is, I am fairly certain that a bit of molasses is not going to kill you.”

  “Molasses?” I ask. “What is? But how? I didn’t—”

  Just then Princess Penelope bursts into the abbey.

  “Oh, Mimi, I heard what happened,” she says. “How terribly awful of me to leave my scone on the limousine seat like that. Is there anything I can do? I am so, so very sorry.” The funny thing is, she doesn’t look—or sound—one tiny bit sorry.

  “What’s done is done,” Amelia says. “It’s a good thing the Crown Cape lives here at Winfordshire Abbey.”

  “She gets to wear the Crown Cape?” Penelope spits, her face turning practically purple. “All day long? Surely you don’t mean in the actual wedding?”

  “Have you another idea, Penelope?” Amelia asks, pointing at my backside.

  “But the Crown Cape belongs to Her Majesty the Queen!” Penelope cries. “If Mimi wears it, everyone will think she’s the queen’s favorite.”

  “So be it,” Amelia says, turning from Penelope and fastening the cape’s jeweled clasp at my neck.

  Penelope squares her shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. You’ll be sorry, she mouths before marching off to join the rest of the bridal party.

  Is this royally happening?

  “Try not to sit in anything else sticky,” Amelia scolds as she steers me to the altar where the wedding party is lining up for pictures. “There’s no backup Crown Cape, you know.”

  Half of England is standing in near-perfect rows across the altar of Winfordshire Abbey. Amelia leads me to one side and I fall into line, toward the back.

  “Lovely, brilliant,” says the photographer. “But Princess Wilhelmina? Kindly move to the front row, center. Yes, right there in Princess Clementine’s spot. We mustn’t let that Crown Cape get lost in these photographs. That’s it. Now a bit to the left. Ah, jolly good! A few close-ups of you now for the media, Princess Wilhelmina.”

  Something tells me Princess Penelope is going to make me pay for this, I think, taking a deep breath and plastering a smile across my face.

  Chapter 13

  When I Sort of Save the Day

  After ten kajillion pictures—and as many evil glares from Penelope—it’s finally time for the actual Royal Wedding. The moment I’ve been waiting for! Sure, I’m a little nervous—but really, how badly could I mess this up?

  Even though it’s the size of a mall, Winfordshire Abbey is packed like a can of sardines with women in crazy hats with feathers and wings and gigantic bows and men who look like they just stepped out of The Nutcracker. This Wincastle place sure has a weird sense of style.

  All of us big-fat-baby-dresses are in the back, being paired up with our escorts. An orchestra starts playing this creepy, sleepy music as Amelia shuffles us into position. She fluffs the Crown Cape so that it drapes perfectly around my shoulders, with the bottom pooling softly at my feet.

  Suddenly the organ plays three sharp notes, and every person in the abbey stands. You could hear a pin drop in this place. A side door opens and in walks Clementine’s uncle, Prince Alexander, and on his arm is Her Royal Majesty Queen Millicent III. She’s, like, the mother of all royalty! My mom has a plate with her face on it and I’m right here in the same room with her. I swear, sometimes this whole MMB thing is hard even for me to believe.

  Once Her Royal Majesty is seated, it’s showtime. Prince Henry and I are second in line, just behind the flower girl and the ring bearer. Princess Penelope and Lord Harold are right behind us.

  The flower girl, Princess Sophie, is the cutest little thing I have ever seen. She’s got these rosy cheeks and this golden blond hair that she gets to wear down (lucky!). Of course she’s wearing the big fat baby dress too—but she looks like an angel in hers, especially with that pretty wreath of flowers on top of her head. It looks like a halo. Her brother, Prince Valdemar, has the same golden hair and a dusting of freckles across his little button of a nose.

  It’s hard to believe these two kids might be running a whole country someday. They’re just too cute for words.

  The organ strikes up a new song, and the lady in charge of the little kids gives them a gentle nudge. Prince Valdemar has his arm linked in Princess Sophie’s. They look like a miniature bride and groom. I just want to pinch their adorable little cheeks.

  “No, Henrietta!” Princess Sophie says suddenly.

  “What do you mean no?” Henrietta, Princess Sophie’s governess, asks.

  “I’m not going!” Princess Sophie says, even louder this time.

  “You’re not going?” Henrietta whispers back, confused.

  “I am not going down that aisle and you can’t make me,” Princess Sophie says. With her British accent, she sounds exactly like that bratty I-want-an-Oompa-Loompa-now girl from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

  “Of course you are, dear,” says Henrietta, giving her another push.

  “Am not, am not, am not!” Princess Sophie screams. She’s waving her arms and jumping up and down, and people in the abbey begin to turn around. Poor Prince Valdemar is looking down at his shiny shoes and trying not to cry.

  “Princess Sophie, I have had enough of this behavior,” Henrietta whispers angrily, grabbin
g her tiny arm. “You are expected to act like a lady at all times, and you will obey my orders, do you hear me?”

  “I am not going and you cannot make me, Henrietta hog face!” Princess Sophie yells this last bit at full volume, and the entire abbey full of guests gasps at the same time. Now every head is twisted around to watch the show. Henrietta’s nose does turn up a bit at the end, but I think “hog face” is a little harsh.

  “Princess Sophie,” I whisper, kneeling down. “What’s the matter? Are you nervous about going down the aisle?” She nods her head and a tear slips down her cheek.

  “I am too,” I tell her with a wink. She smiles a thin, close-lipped smile. “I’ll bet Princess Clementine is more nervous than both of us put together, don’t you think?”

  Princess Sophie nods her head and wipes the tear away with the back of her hand.

  “And what do you suppose would happen if she refused to go down the aisle?” I ask her.

  “There wouldn’t be a royal wedding at all!” the little princess mumbles, looking down sadly.

  “We wouldn’t want to give her any ideas then, would we?” I ask.

  “No, I suppose not,” she agrees. “But I still can’t do it.”

  “Of course you can,” I tell her gently.

  “But I haven’t any teef,” she says, looking up at me and opening her mouth widely. She’s got a huge hole where her two front teeth should be.

  “Oh, sweetie, you lost your front teeth!” I say, all excitedly. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations! Have you shown Princess Clementine yet? That’s very good luck on a wedding day, you know.”

  “It is?” she asks, looking a tiny bit hopeful.

  “Oh yes,” I say, scrambling to make up a good story. “Yes, when someone in the wedding party loses a tooth just before the wedding, it’s a sign that the bride and groom will live a long, happy, smiling life together.”

  “I didn’t know that!” she says with a big grin.

  “How lucky is Princess Clementine?” I ask her. “And all because of you. Now don’t forget to smile really big when you walk down that aisle, so everyone can see all of that good luck.”

  She nods at me, then slips her arm back through Prince Valdemar’s. He’s grinning like a fool.

  “Leave the smiling to me, Valdemar,” Princess Sophie tells her brother, giving his arm a nice tug.

  “Well, look who just saved the day,” Princess Penelope hisses into my ear. I pretend not to hear her. Right now, all I care about is getting down this aisle without tripping or fainting, like you always see on TV.

  Chapter 14

  When I Am Practically Strangled to Death

  Princess Sophie is really working the crowd with that smile, so it takes her and Prince Valdemar about a year to get to the altar. The waiting is killing me. Let’s get this show on the road, people! I only have one day as Princess Mimi, and I’d rather not spend it standing in the back of an abbey, even if it is a really famous and beautiful one.

  Finally the little kids are at the altar. Amelia gives me a weak smile and a tiny nod.

  “Princess?” whispers Prince Henry, offering me his arm. Not to be all gushy, but Penelope was right: Henry is way cuter than Lord Harold. In fact, he might be the cutest boy I have ever seen. Way cuter than Jake Ritchie and maybe even cuter than Justin Crowe. I link my arm with his and smile nervously. My knees are wobbling and my hands feel like two wet noodles. I can feel Penelope’s hot, angry breath on my neck, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Settle down, you silly stomach butterflies. I won’t let you ruin my royal moment!

  With my arm linked in Prince Henry’s, I take my first step forward. At least I try to, but suddenly I feel as if I’m being strangled and I start to tip backward. I squeeze Prince Henry’s arm tighter, gasping for air, and try to straighten back up.

  Am I fainting? It happens all the time in weddings on that show Real Funny Videos. Usually it’s the groom who goes down, though, and normally it’s during a really boring part of the wedding. I haven’t even made it out of the gate!

  I try to take a step again but something is seriously strangling me.

  That wicked witch is trying to kill me, I realize. She’s wrapped her paws around my neck and I’m going to die right here in Winfordshire Abbey. In this hideous, horrible, big fat baby dress! With a kazillion people watching!

  She wouldn’t do that, would she? I mean, she’s definitely awful, but I think murder is too evil—even for Princess Penelope.

  I wave my one free arm wildly. It’s as if there’s a rope around my neck and someone is yanking on it as hard as they can. It’s no use fighting it; the pull is too strong. I’m starting to see stars and the room is beginning to spin. I’m tipping back and I can’t stop it, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion.

  I hope my underwear isn’t showing when I land, is all I can think. I stop waving my free arm and use it to hold down the front of my big fat baby dress, just in case.

  Wow, the ceiling of this abbey is amazing, I notice as I continue to tip.

  Right before I hit the ground, Prince Henry figures out what’s going on and sweeps me back upright. His arm locked tightly with mine, he gives the back of the Crown Cape a nice tug with his other hand. I can breathe again! I shake my head to get some blood back into it. The abbey comes back into focus and I realize I’m not going to die in a big fat baby dress. Oh, happy day.

  “I beg your pardon,” Princess Penelope whispers sweetly into my ear. “It seems I was accidentally standing on the Crown Cape! Silly, careless me. Carry on, please.”

  “You, Penelope, are rotten to the core,” Prince Henry hisses over his shoulder. “You always have been and you always will be. You are a disgrace to the crown and to all of Wincastle as well. If I weren’t a gentleman, I’d tell you precisely what horrible hopes I have for you.”

  Prince Henry turns to me, his face a sea of big green eyes with the sweetest smile I have ever seen. “Now, if you are ready, Princess Mimi, I’d be honored to walk a true princess down the aisle as she deserves.”

  I nod furiously, because I don’t trust myself to speak at the moment and I don’t know what else to do. I don’t dare look back at Princess Puckerface, that’s for sure. Instead, I take a deep breath and take my first actual step down the aisle. I am arm-in-arm with the handsomest prince in all of England, the Crown Cape swishes prettily behind me, and not one person in that abbey knows about the Texas-size stain across my backside. My smile must be even bigger than Princess Sophie’s. Good always beats evil, I think in my head.

  It turns out, evil doesn’t give up all that easily.

  Chapter 15

  When I Almost Choke on a Lamb

  I’ve heard that royal weddings last for all of ever, but this one is taking even longer. The guy running the show is some big, important archbishop who is droning on like a human noise machine. I’m worried I’m going to fall asleep—or worse, get hypnotized like Stella did the time that famous magician came to school. He had her clucking like a chicken across the gymnasium floor. I am pretty sure that would not go over well here.

  Finally, after some stuff in Latin that I don’t get at all, the archbishop declares Princess Clementine and Prince Clayton husband and wife. Oh boy, I think. Here comes the kissing part. The bride and groom lock lips, and it’s actually pretty sweet.

  An organ blares and scares me so badly I let out a little yelp, but nobody seems to notice. Next thing I know, Prince Dreamy Green Eyes offers me his arm (yes, please!) to usher me back up the ten-mile aisle. I’m blinded by flashbulbs as we make our way out of Winfordshire Abbey and into the horse-drawn carriages waiting outside.

  The carriages are all four-seaters, and wouldn’t you know it? Prince Henry and I get tucked into seats right across from Princess Penelope and Lord Harold. She’s totally ignoring the poor guy.

  “So, Harol
d, how are things down in Southumberland?” I ask. When I do, he leans forward, almost into my lap. Talk about a close-talker. We used to call that popping somebody’s bubble in preschool and you could get sent to the middle of the rainbow carpet for that.

  “Positively perfection, Princess!” he tells me, spraying my face with spit. I’m blinking and twitching, trying to dodge the spray. “It’s plum season, as you know. And I’ve been pestering Princess Penelope here,” he says, turning his sprinkler her way, “to pay us a particularly overdue visit.”

  Penelope wipes her face with a handkerchief and gives me the stink eye. I just smile back at her, because what else can I do?

  The carriage takes us back to Wincastle Palace. I guess there’s a party that all of England is invited to later tonight, but first there’s a private luncheon just for the royal family. I hope they serve steak. I had the best steak I’ve ever eaten in my life at one of Grandpa Flannery’s weddings. It was the perfect shade of pink and tasted like grilled butter and you didn’t even really have to chew it because it melted right in your mouth. I’ll never forget that steak.

  Amelia meets us at the carriage and escorts us to the formal dining room. It’s the fanciest place I have ever seen in my life. It’s got the same billion-foot ceiling as Mimi’s bedroom—maybe taller—and dark red velvet walls and curtains. Every few feet on one wall is a painting of some old man or lady (dead kings and queens, I’m guessing). They’re those creepy kinds of paintings where the eyes follow you wherever you go. I try not to make eye contact with any of them.

  There is one gigantic table in the middle of the room with maybe fifty chairs around it. Amelia steers us toward the table, where there are little name cards at each seat. Wouldn’t you know it, there is Princess Penelope’s place…right next to Princess Wilhelmina.

  Can a pretend princess ever get a royal break?

  To my surprise, Princess Penelope pulls my chair back from the table. She nods at it and smiles, and I feel a tiny bit of relief. Maybe she’s gotten all that meanness out of her system and wants to be friends now. That sure would be nice. I mouth the words “thank you” and sit down.