“Oh my God, Grandmère,” I yelled. “What happened to you? Did you get a groin injury, too?”

“For God’s sakes, stop yelling, Amelia,” she said, looking pained. “What are you talking about, groin injury? Haven’t I ever told you princesses don’t talk about groins?”

“Um, sorry,” I said, looking around. But there was no sign of Dr. Steve. Was it possible—were Grandmère and I alone? Well, I mean, except for Rommel, who was curled up next to Grandmère’s non-broken foot. “But what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Grandmère said. “Pull up a chair and sit down. Today I want to go over what to do in the event that you are ever trapped in conversation by an autograph seeker. Obviously you don’t want to alienate the person, because as a royal it doesn’t pay to make enemies—even people who are only going to sell your signature on eBay. But it can become frustrating when someone, enamored of your celebrity, won’t shut up. So the excuse to leave that I’ve always found most helpful is the following: I beg your pardon, but I believe I see the Comte de Rosti over there. I simply must go say hello, I haven’t seen him since last season in Biarritz—”

“Grandmère,” I interrupted. Even though princesses don’t interrupt. “Are you going to tell me what happened to your foot, or not?” Then I suddenly remembered something. And my blood went cold. “Oh my God, Grandmère! Dr. Steve was right! He predicted that you were going to sustain a grievous bodily injury!”

Which meant he might be right about his OTHER predictions as well—like that I’m going to end up with a LEO after all!!!! Oh, no!

But then Grandmère said, in a scathing tone, “Dr. Steve! Never mention that name to me again!”

“But, Grandmère!” I actually felt kind of sick. Because if Grandmère actually HAD sustained a grievous bodily injury, then what were the chances that Dr. Steve’s prediction about me was going to come true as well????? “He said—”

“I sustained this injury FLEEING from that man’s odious advances!” Grandmère cried. “Imagine my horror when, after inviting him up for coffee and petits fours following his performance on that nice Mr. Letterman’s television show, that so-called doctor suddenly began insisting he had feelings for me! Romantic feelings! I told him he had to be mistaken—that he was confusing his gratitude for all that I had done for him with love. But he wouldn’t believe me! He kept clinging to my hand and talking about how happy we two were going to be when we were married and living in Genovia!”

I had to try really hard to keep a straight face.

“Well, Grandmère,” I said. “I mean, you two have been spending an awful lot of time together this week. You can understand if the guy thought maybe there was more to it than simple friendship—”

“Amelia!” Grandmère looked horrified. “Are you joking? I’m a princess, and he’s…he’s…a commoner! Of all the impertinence! I have never in my life heard of anything so ridiculous! Of course I told him so at once, but the impudent cuss thought I was playing hard to get! He actually tried to kiss me, Amelia!” Grandmère had to take a sip of her Sidecar to fortify herself before she could go on.