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  their daughter and son, Vivian and Victor. Vivian was a student at Yale, and Victor went to boarding school in Massachusetts. They were practically as American as I was.

  "So, what do you think of L.A.?" Vivian asked me as I was trying hard to eat my cheesecake dessert like a princess and not shove half of it in my mouth at one time. I was kind of starving.

  "Oh, I love it," I replied automatically. "Although I actually want to go back east for school, like you."

  Ingrid kicked my ankle under the table and I had to concentrate to keep from wincing.

  "Really?" Vivian replied, looking at her parents with surprise. "I thought the king and queen were avidly opposed to the American education system."

  I looked at Ingrid, flustered. So that was what the kick was for. "Oh, well, we're still... discussing it," I said.

  Vivian's father laughed, his mustache twitching. "You keep it at, young lady," he said. "I've known your father all my life. He may put up a good fight, but inside he's an old softy."

  The other people at the table laughed politely and I sighed, relieved, and started to slump back in my chair. But Ingrid slipped her hand behind me and pressed my spine, making me sit up straight. I bolted up again and smiled a thank-you to her. She just sipped her water like nothing was going on.

  Then suddenly her eyes widened and she brought her glass down, clipping the edge of her plate noisily and almost spilling water everywhere. I followed her gaze to see what had her so freaked and what I saw made my heart skip a beat.

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  Markus Ingvaldsson had just walked into the room. I had never seen anyone so ... perfect-looking in my life.

  Okay, you're supposed to avoid this guy. You're supposed to totally spurn him. You're not supposed to get all gushy about him, I reminded myself.

  "There he is, the egomeister himself," Ingrid said. She lifted her napkin from her lap and folded and refolded it, stealing glances at Markus as he started to work the room, going from table to table to greet people. "He's probably late because his personal groomers couldn't get his hair right."

  "Seriously," I said. "Look at that guy." Markus stopped to talk to an elderly man, listening intently with his hand poised under his chin and his brow furrowed. It was an obvious pose--completely fake. And when he broke out into a laugh a moment later, it was a big, loud, head-tipped-back kind of laugh. The kind you force out when you haven't been listening to a word the person was saying but have instead been stealing glances at your reflection in the surrounding windows.

  "Ugh. He's so in love with himself," Ingrid said. "Here he comes." She sat up straight and fiddled with her silverware, then folded her hands in her lap.

  "Ingrid, Carina!" Markus said as he approached us. "It's so good to see some familiar faces."

  There was a loooooonnnng pause. Every set of eyes in the room seemed to be trained on me. And I couldn't help noticing that Markus smelled really, really good.

  "Hello, Markus," I said finally.

  He hovered by my chair, and suddenly I realized he

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  was waiting for me to stand and shake his hand or kiss him or something. Well, he could wait all he wanted. Carina wanted me to give him the cold shoulder, and that was what I was going to do.

  "Carina ... they're adjourning to the ballroom," Markus said. "Would you do me the honor of the first dance?"

  Ingrid looked at me. The duke and duchess looked at me. Vivian and Victor looked at me. I couldn't take it. This was just way too awkward. I was making an idiot of myself. There was no way Carina would turn him down in front of all these people, would she?

  "Um ... I mean, of course," I told him, standing up. I heard Ingrid sigh beside me, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't imagine, after everything she had told me about Carina keeping up appearances, that she would turn Markus down flat in front of everyone. Princesses didn't do that kind of thing.

  Markus looked at me uncertainly for a moment, then smiled and offered his arm. As he led me into the ballroom, I looked everywhere but at him. I did my best to send him the iciest vibes I could. Maybe I would dance with him, but I wasn't going to enjoy it.

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  ***

  Chapter 18

  Outside the back door of the club where Toadmuffin was performing, at least twenty girls were begging this huge guy with devil horns tattooed on his big bald head to let them in. Crazy Dave and I walked right through the crowd, and Mr. Huge opened the door for us. I smiled at the whining girls as the door closed behind us. Too bad for them.

  "Ribbit told me to bring you straight to the dressing room," Crazy Dave told me. "Follow me."

  The walls of the club were vibrating with the bass from the music that was pumping out front. Crazy Dave led me down a skinny staircase that was all but pitch-black. A sour, acrid smell filled the air, and I covered my mouth with one hand while feeling along the wall with the other to keep from plummeting in the darkness. My hand ran across something slimy and I jerked it away.

  "There you go," Crazy Dave said, gesturing to a door that was covered in garish stickers screaming band names like Hazy Daze, the Bong Babes, and Woofie and the Chew Toys. There was a smashed beer bottle on the floor in front of it and some kind of still-growing puddle near

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  my feet. Crazy Dave turned toward the stairs again.

  "You're not really going to leave me here alone, are you?" I asked.

  He snickered. "Just knock."

  I took a deep breath, winced at the smell again, and stepped over the puddle. When I reached the door, I could hear laughter, guitar strumming, and conversation coming from inside. I smiled slowly. This was it. I was about to meet my rock star.

  I knocked on the door.

  "It's open!" someone shouted.

  Touching the dirty doorknob with only my fingertips, I turned it and walked in. The room was filled with so much bluish smoke I could barely see through it. A guy with pink hair sat on the couch, asleep with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Two more guys looked up from their guitars. When they saw me standing there, they just stared.

  "Who the hell're you?" one of them said.

  All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. No one addressed me like that! But then I realized I wasn't me tonight. People probably talked to Julia like that all the time.

  "I'm looking for Ribbit," I said. "He's expecting me."

  Then I heard a toilet flush and a door across the room opened. Suddenly I was looking into Ribbit's amazing green eyes and nothing else mattered. Not the smoke, not the smell, not the weird stain on my fingertips from the wall. Ribbit took one look at me and smiled.

  "Julia?" he said.

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  Not even my real name. The love of my life didn't even know me by my real name.

  It doesn't matter, I told myself. You're here! "Yeah," I said. "It's me."

  "Too cool!" he said, grinning as he looked me up and down.

  He crossed the room in two huge steps and wrapped me up in his arms. He was wearing a well-worn black T-shirt and his curly brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. He smelled of sweat and smoke and something sugary--everything a rock star should smell like. And suddenly I felt like I was coming home. This was the life I was meant to lead--too-cool girlfriend of a famous rock star, not pampered princess of Vineland.

  When he pulled back, he looked into my eyes and smiled again. "Come on," he said. "Our set's about to start." He looked over his shoulder at his band mates and hitched up the side of his baggy jeans. "Dudes, somebody's gotta wake up Frodo."

  "I'm on it," one of them said.

  Then Ribbit took my hand and led me back up the stairs. "It's so cool that you're here!" he shouted over the music as we walked down a narrow hallway. "My international e-mail girl!"

  He pulled me through a doorway, and suddenly I realized I was on the outskirts of the stage. I could see a sliver of the audience waiting down below--drinking from bottles, banging their heads
to the music. A couple of shirtless guys sprayed beer all over each other and growled toward the ceiling, then smacked their heads together. A few of

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  the girls next to them shielded themselves from the spray.

  "I'll be watching the show from up here," I said, suddenly unsure whether I could handle all the perks of being a regular girl.

  "Yeah, of course, babe!" Ribbit said. His hair hung around his perfect face as he smiled at me shyly. "If you let me kiss you."

  My breath caught in my throat. In all the time Markus and I had been "together," he'd only kissed me once. And it had been a short, quick kiss on the lips. I'd always thought he was such a wimp. But now Ribbit's sudden request after knowing me for five seconds caught me off guard.

  "Come on, babe," Ribbit said, lacing his fingers through mine. "It's me! Ribbit!"

  I laughed. Who was being the wimp now? "Okay," I said, my heart pounding.

  Ribbit leaned forward and kissed me on the lips--a long, slow, lingering kiss. His mouth tasted sweet and I felt my eyes flutter closed. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect first kiss if I'd imagined it every day for a year-- which I had.

  When he leaned back, I searched for something perfect to say. After all, we were going to remember this moment forever, right?

  "Thanks, sweet lips!" Ribbit said with a laugh. Then he smacked me right on my butt.

  And then out of nowhere I had this sudden intense urge to slap him back, right across his face. But before I could even move, he ran out onto the stage and the crowd went insane with cheers. The other three band members rushed

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  out and started the first song--"Beat 'Em Down"--and the noise was louder than anything I'd ever experienced.

  Okay, calm yourself, I thought, struggling for breath. He's a rock star. He's got a different way of doing things. At least he's not boring and repressed like Markus.

  Suddenly all the girls who'd been hanging around the door earlier surrounded me, screaming and dancing to the music. I looked up to find Crazy Dave ushering the last of them into the little crowd. Before I could think about it, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

  "Oh! Hey, drivin' buddy," he said with an easy smile.

  "Who are all these girls?" I asked.

  "They're Ribbit's other babes," he replied. My face instantly fell. Ribbit's other babes? But this night was supposed to be special. It was supposed to be the culmination of a year's worth of romantic e-mails. Was I just another chick in the crowd to Ribbit? And had every last girl here kissed him for a right to stand in the wings?

  "Aw, don't worry," Crazy Dave said. He leaned in close to my ear and said, "You're the only one that got to see the dressing room." Then he grinned and winked at me before lumbering off.

  I turned and looked at Ribbit as he bounced around onstage. I got to see the dressing room, I thought. Lucky me.

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  ***

  Chapter 19

  "You're not yourself tonight."

  Tell me about it, I thought, looking up into Markus's eyes briefly. The second my gaze met his, I had to look away. I kept telling myself he was an egotistical, snobbish jerk, but there was a problem. All Markus had done since we'd started this stupid waltz was ask me how my time in L.A. had been. Asked me about my family. (Well, Carina's family.) Asked me detailed questions and listened to the answers. What kind of egotistical, snobbish jerk did that?

  "I suppose I'm a bit tired," I said.

  "Me too," Markus replied with a smile. "My father dragged me all over the city today, looking for an estate worthy of the Ingvaldsson clan."

  Okay, now that was a bit more like he's supposed to sound, I thought. Only there was something in the way he said it. Something mocking.

  "You're buying a home here?" I asked as we spun around the dance floor. I had to concentrate hard not to look at my feet. At least Markus was doing a good job of leading. I'd only stepped on him twice.

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  "My father is," he replied. "And from the size of the places he was looking at, it's going to be more like a small country than a home. Whatever happened to less is more?"

  That definitely didn't sound snobby.

  "I know what you mean," I said. "This dress seemed perfect this afternoon, but carrying all this material around is starting to break my back."

  Markus laughed and I flushed. Oh God. That was such an un-Carina thing to say. And then, to make it worse, I stepped on his foot again.

  "Oops! I'm so sorry!" I said with a gasp.

  "No harm, no foul," Markus replied. He gripped my elbows firmly but somehow still politely. "Maybe we should get off this dance floor. I think we could both use a break."

  Sounds like a plan, I thought. "I agree," I said. He led me off the dance floor toward the wall and I saw Fröken Killroy follow us with her eyes. Sheesh! Couldn't I get one second out from under the microscope?

  "Would you like to go out on the verandah?" Markus asked.

  It sounded like perfection to me. A little air, a little time away from Killjoy's eyes of steel. But then Ingrid twirled by me in Victor's arms and shot me a glare. I was supposed to be hating this guy, not going out on the verandah with him.

  "I don't know ...," I said uncertainly.

  "Come on, Carina," Markus said, his blue eyes sparkling. "We're old friends. I doubt even Fröken Killroy would think it was inappropriate."

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  Wow. It had never even occurred to me that it might be inappropriate. Was that the kind of world Carina lived in? One where you couldn't even talk to a guy alone in a public place?

  "Shall we?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and offering me his arm again.

  My heart skipped a beat when he looked at me like that. All fun and familiar and teasing and direct. He had been doing that all night, actually. Not only was it getting harder for me to find anything wrong with him, it was getting hard for me not to like this guy.

  "We shall," I replied with a small laugh, hooking my arm through his.

  The verandah overlooked a beautiful section of Beverly Hills--all winding drives and stucco roofs and orange tree groves. We could see the cars flying by on the highways below and the moon shimmering low in the sky. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the moment of silence, away from the watchful gazes that had crowded the ballroom.

  "It's a beautiful city, isn't it?" Markus asked, leaning his elbows on the railing.

  "Parts of it are," I said.

  "What parts of it aren't?" Markus asked.

  "The part that I..." I was about to say, "I live in," but I caught myself in time.

  "The part that I visited this afternoon," I told him. "It was very run down. All graffitied and dirty, with houses in ... disrepair."

  "Every city has those parts," Markus said, gazing at

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  me. "All we can do is try to find a way to make them better."

  I smiled. It was so simple for him. "Is that what you're going to do when you take your ministry position?" I asked.

  "If I take it," he replied. He looked off across the city again, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  "What do you mean, if?" I asked, curious.

  He pushed himself up and looked at me like he was gauging whether or not he could trust me. I looked back at him, surprised. He and Carina had known each other their whole lives. Didn't he trust her?

  "You can tell me," I said. "You look like you ... need to talk."

  Markus let out a sigh and gazed at the ground, knocking the tile with his toe a couple of times. "It's that obvious, huh?" he asked. When he looked up again, his face was full of fear, like he was about to bungee jump for the first time. "I don't want to be a minister of anything," he said quickly. "I want to go to architecture school."

  "Really?" I blurted. Then I pressed my lips together, embarrassed over my shock. But I couldn't help it. Here I'd thought I was talking to a guy who was living off the family name and loving it. I was surprised he had any real interests of hi
s own.

  Markus laughed. "You really aren't yourself tonight," he said.

  I smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment," I replied.

  He watched me for a moment and I felt myself start to blush under his gaze. Inside, the music continued to rise and fall, and women in colorful gowns twirled and laughed

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  and flirted. Somewhere in there Fröken Killroy was probably timing us with a stopwatch.

  "Hey," Markus said suddenly. "You wanna get out of here?"

  "So much," I said automatically. "But won't we get in trouble?"

  "They'll never even notice we're gone," Markus said.

  I highly doubted that, but I wanted to believe him, so I tried to. Besides, he had this mischievous look in his eye I couldn't ignore. It made my pulse race.

  "Where do you want to go?" I asked.

  "Someplace my father would kill me for going," Markus replied. "I heard about this eatery--this real tourist type of place--Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles?"

  My nearly empty stomach grumbled.

  "Oh! I love that--"

  Damn!

  "I mean, it sounds fun," I said with a grin. Markus reached out his hand to me. There my heart went again, skipping away. "Let's go."

  Half an hour later Markus and I were sitting in the front seat of the gorgeous green convertible he'd rented for his trip, munching on fried chicken and using about a thousand napkins. I held my hands as far away from Carina's dress as possible.

  "Wow. Hungry?" Markus asked as I dumped another leg bone into the bag we were using for garbage.

  "I barely ate a thing at dinner," I replied.

  "Good. It left you more room for the best chicken ever," Markus replied matter-of-factly.

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  "Absolutely," I replied. I sucked the grease off my fingertips one by one.

  "Princess Carina!" Markus said, feigning shock. "What would the queen say?"

  Even though he was kidding, my heart stopped. Since leaving the embassy, I'd let my guard down more than a few times. It was almost too easy out here in my own city, showing Markus around. But I had to keep up the charade. Markus still thought I was someone else.

  The fun we were having together ... he was having it with someone else.