“So I got this for Lilly for Valentine’s Day,” Boris said, digging something out of his violin case. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

And there, in his hand, was a small velvet box containing—

A genuine simulated ruby-encrusted heart pendant from Kay Jewelers, just like the one Tina had always wanted!

I have to say, the way it sparkled, as it caught the light from the single naked bulb hanging overhead, took my breath away.

“Boris,” I said, my heart weeping for him. Because, of course, I fully know what Lilly is getting him for Valentine’s Day: nothing. “It’s the most gorgeous necklace ever. She’ll LOVE it.”

“I hope so,” Boris said, looking embarrassed. “I mean, I know she doesn’t usually wear things like that. But I thought maybe that’s because no one has ever given her anything like this.”

I swear, this almost made me burst out crying.

WHO KNEW BORIS PELKOWSKI WAS SUCH A ROMANTIC?????

Wednesday, February 12, 4 p.m., limo on the way home from the Plaza

Today when I got to the Plaza, Grandmère was getting ready to go out, and when she saw me, she was like, “Oh, Amelia! I don’t have time today. Go home.”

Seriously. Nice way to be greeted by your grandmother, right?

“But what about princess lessons?” I wanted to know. I mean, we’re right in the middle of learning how to put on a sari, in the event I am ever gifted with one and have to wear it to a state dinner.

“No time,” Grandmère said, as she was drawing on her eyebrows. “Dr. Steve’s going to be on Larry King tonight, and I promised I’d go to the studio with him for moral support. He’s nervous, poor dear.”

“You’re going WITH him?” I demanded.

“Well, yes, of course,” Grandmère said. “Not everyone is used to having cameras and bright lights on them and giving interviews to journalists at the drop of a hat like we are, Amelia.”

I liked how she said we—because I will NEVER get used to having cameras and bright lights on me, and I hate giving interviews. But still.

“Grandmère,” I said. I knew this was going to be touchy. Still, I felt a moral obligation to ask. “Aren’t you taking things with this Steve guy—”

“DR. Steve.”

“With this DR. Steve guy a little fast? I mean, you only just met him.” VIRGIN HAIR. That’s all I could think about. In 1977, when they finally knocked down Rasputin’s house, they found box after box of HAIR he’d hidden in the walls.

“Amelia.” Grandmère stopped rushing around for a minute to glare at me. “Dr. Steve is a genius. When a genius asks you for your help, of course you oblige him. As I’ve often told you, by spending time in the company of truly gifted people, you yourself will only grow and improve as a person, merely from the acquaintance.”

Well, this totally explains why I hang out with Michael so much (I mean, besides the pheromones). But Dr. Steve, a genius? I don’t know. I’m starting to get worried. What if this guy really IS a Rasputin-type character? I wish my dad were in town so I could ask him what he thinks about all this. Because what if Dr. Steve is some type of svengali—you know, one of those charismatic schemers who hypnotizes women into doing his bidding with his charm alone, like that David Koresh dude from that cult in Waco, or all those fundamentalist Mormon guys who get their thirteen-year-old stepdaughters to marry them?