Someday being very, very far away, and not even remotely on my brain, especially given the wonderful example of wedded bliss I’ve witnessed with my parents recently.But no matter what Christie says, I am definitely not David’s princess, at least not like Shallow Princess was for Heath in A Knight’s Tale. Not even close.I switch off my computer without answering Christie’s e-mail. I know she means well, but I just can’t deal right now. I’ll think of something brilliant to say while I’m at school-something that’ll get her off my case about David but that won’t hurt her feelings. Since we’re six hours ahead of Virginia, I’ll be home long before Christie gets to check her in-box, so she’ll assume I answered right away and won’t be offended.And Jules’s e-mail just needs to be ignored. For now, at least. Despite her ass-kicking threats, I know she’s kidding. Well, I hope.Geez, I wish they hadn’t all popped “Schwerinborg” into Google when I moved here. Or at least that they hadn’t found out all about the royal family, and about Georg.I toss my backpack over my shoulder, give the apartment one last look to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything I need for school, then lock the door behind me, since of course Dad was up bright and early this morning to go work for Prince Manfred.
