“Oh. Well, then I have no idea. The only woman I’ve ever known him to mention more than once is your mother. And that, of course, is because she’s your mother. If it weren’t for you, of course, he’d never have seen her again, once she turned down his proposal. Which, of course, was the stupidest mistake SHE ever made. Saying no to a prince?Pfuit! Of course, it was a good thing in the end. Your mother would never have fit in at the palace. Pass the Sweet ’n Low, please, Amelia.”

God. That is so weird. Who could it have been, then? I mean, who could my dad have cared about that he let walk away? Who—

Friday, September 10, the steps outside of the Four Seasons

I can’t believe this. How stupid I’ve been, I mean.

Dad tried to tell me. EVERYONE tried to tell me. But I was just so STUPID—

But I can fix this. I KNOW I can. I just have to get to him before he gets on the plane, and I’ll tell him—

Well, I don’t know what I’ll tell him. But I’ll figure it out when I see him. If I can just smell his neck one more time, I know—I KNOW—everything will be all right.

And that I’ll know what to tell him when I see him.

IF I can get to him before he gets on the plane. Because it’s the middle of the afternoon and my dad’s got the limo over at the UN, which means Lars and I have to take a cab, only we can’t find one because they’ve all seemed to have disappeared, which is ALWAYS what happens when you really need one, which is why shows likeSex and the City can be so bogus sometimes, because those girls ALWAYS get a cab, and the fact is, there are just way more people who need cabs than there are cabs and

WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY TO HIM????

God, I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. How stupid and blind and dumb and ignorant and judgmental and WHAT DOES IT MATTER???? Seriously, what does any of it MATTER, when I love him, and I’ll never love anyone else, and it’s not like he cheated on me and WHY AREN’T THERE ANY CABS????

I tore out of Grandmère’s suite without even saying good-bye. I just yelled, “We’re leaving!” to Lars and bolted. He ran after me, looking confused. It wasn’t until we ran into the lobby that I finally got Lilly on her cell, and was like, “WHAT AIRLINE?”

And Lilly was like, “What are you talking about?”

“WHAT AIRLINE IS MICHAEL FLYING ON?” I screamed.

“Continental,” she said, sounding confused. “Wait—Mia, where are you? We have Assembly—you have to give your speech! Your speech for student council president!”

“I can’t,” I yelled. “This is more important. Lilly, I have to see him—”

I was crying again. But I didn’t even care. I’ve been crying so much, it’s basically my natural state now. Which means maybe I’m not a nihilist after all. Because nihilists don’t cry. “Lilly. I just want to tell him—I just want to—” Except, of course, I still don’t even KNOW what I want to tell him. “Just tell me what time his plane is leaving—please?”

Something in my voice must have convinced her I was sincere.

“Six o’clock,” Lilly said, her tone softening. “But he probably already left for the airport. You have to check in, like, three hours early for international flights. Something I realize someone who only flies by royal Genovian jet wouldn’t know.”

So he was already at the airport.

But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I hung up and ran outside and told Lars to flag down a cab.

Then I called my dad on his emergency number.

“Mia?” he whispered when he picked up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “Was it Mom?”

“Nothing’s wrong? Mia, this is my emergency line—I’m in the middle of the General Assembly—the committee for disarmament and international security is speaking right now. I know you’re going through a hard time right now dealing with the loss of your boyfriend, but unless you’re actually bleeding, I’m hanging up.”

“Dad, don’t! I need to know,” I said urgently. “The person you said you loved—the person you let go without a fight. Was it Mom?”

“What are you talking about?”

“WAS IT MOM? Was Mom the person you loved and regret letting go without a fight? It was, wasn’t it? Because she said she never wanted to get married, and you HAD to get married in order to provide an heir to the throne. You didn’t know you’d end up getting cancer and I’d be your only kid. And you didn’t know you’d never meet anyone you loved as much as her. So you let her go without a fight, didn’t you? It was her. It’salways been HER.”

There was silence for a moment on my dad’s end of the phone. Then he said, “Don’t tell her,” very quietly.

“I won’t, Dad,” I said. Because of my tears I could barely see Lars out on the curb with the Four Seasons doorman, both of them frantically waving their arms at cabs that were all currently filled with passengers. “I promise. Just tell me one more thing.”

“Mia, I really have to go—”

“Did you ever used to smell her neck?”

“What?”

“Mom’s neck. Dad, I have to know…. Did you ever used to smell it? Did it smell really good to you?”

“Like freesia,” Dad said faintly. “How did you know that? I never told anyone that.”

Mom’s neck smells nothing like freesia. Mom’s neck smells of Dove soap and turpentine. Oh, and coffee, because she drinks so much of it.

Except to Dad. Dad can’t smell any of that. Because for him, Mom was the One.

Just like Michael is my One.

“Dad,” I said. “I gotta go. Bye.”

I hung up just as Lars yelled, “Princess! Here!”

A cab! At last! I’m saved!

Friday, September 10, cab on the way to John F. Kennedy International Airport

I don’t believe this. It doesn’t seem possible. But there’s no mistake: We’re in Ephrain Kleinschmidt’s taxicab.

Yes. The same Ephrain Kleinschmidt in whose taxicab I wept so many bitter tears the other night.

Ephrain took one look at me in the rearview mirror and went, “YOU!”

Then he tried to hand me his Kleenex again.

“No Kleenex!” I yelled. “JFK!!! Take us to JFK, as fast as you can!”

“JFK?” Ephrain balked. “I’m about to go off duty!”

That’s when Lars showed him his sidearm. Well, really, he was just reaching for his wallet, saying there was an extra twenty in it if Ephrain got us to the airport in under twenty minutes.

But I’m pretty sure the Glock spoke more than the twenty.

Ephrain didn’t hesitate. He put the pedal to the metal. Well, at least until we got to the first traffic light.

This is excruciating. We’re never going to make it.

Except that we HAVE to. I can’t let Michael go—not without a fight. I can’t end up like my dad, with no one special in my life, dating supermodel after supermodel, because I allowed the person I really loved to slip through my fingers!

And sure, it’s possible that when I get to the airport, Michael will be like, “Get away.” Because, let’s face it—I screwed up. Not that I didn’t have a right to be hurt by what Michael did.

But I guess I should maybe have been a little bit more understanding and a little less judgmental.

Everyone TRIED to tell me. Mom. Tina. Lilly. Dad.

But I wouldn’t listen.

Why didn’t I listen?

And WHY did I kiss J.P.???? WHY WHY WHY?????

All I can do is try to explain. That it didn’t mean anything—that J.P.’s just a friend. That I’m a horrible, terrible person, and that I deserve to be punished.

Only not by Michael’s never speaking to me again. ANYTHING but that.

And even if Michael is like, “Get away,” at least maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Because I’ll have tried. I’ll havetried to make things right.

And maybe just knowing I tried will be enough.

Lars was just like, “Princess. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

That’s because we’re currently stuck behind a stalled tractor-trailer on the bridge.

“Don’t say that, Lars. We’re going to make it. We HAVE to make it.”

“Maybe you should call him. To let him know we’re on our way. So he doesn’t go through security right away.”

“I can’t CALL him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll never pick up if he sees it’s me. After what he saw me do outside Chemistry?”

Lars raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “Right. I forgot about that. But what if he’s already gone through security?” Lars wanted to know. “You won’t be able to get through without a ticket.”

“Then I’ll buy a ticket.”

“To JAPAN? Princess, I don’t think—”

“I won’t actually GO to Japan,” I assured him. “I’ll just go to the gate to find him.”

“You know I can’t let you go alone.”

“I’ll buy a ticket for you, too.” Fortunately I have my emergency-only royal Genovian black American Express card on me. I’ve never actually used it before. But this IS what my dad gave it to me for: emergencies.

And this is an emergency, all right.

“I think you should just call him,” Lars said. “He might pick up. You never know.”

I looked Lars dead in the eye. “Would you?” I asked. “If it were you?”

“Er,” he said. “Well, no. Probably not.”

“Hey.” Ephrain Kleinschmidt glared at us in the rearview mirror. Ephrain had gotten out from behind the tractor-trailer and was making serious time along the highway now. “I’m not turning around. We’re almost there.”

“I’m not calling him, Lars,” I said. “Not unless I have to. I mean, Arwen wouldn’tcall Aragorn.”

“Who?”

“Princess Arwen. She wouldn’tcall Aragorn.Something like this requires a BIG GESTURE, Lars. I’m no Arwen. I haven’t saved any hobbits from peril or outraced any Ringwraiths. I already have a lot of strikes against me—I acted like a snotty jerk, I kissed another guy, AND I haven’t made any particularly valuable contributions to society…not like Michael will, when his robotic surgical arm revolutionizes heart surgery as we know it. I’m just a princess.”