Who Made You a Princess? (27 page)

Of all the questions he could have asked me, this was one I hadn’t expected. A lump formed in my throat and I felt the hot
tears welling in my eyes. “Of course you are, Rashid. You’re gorgeous and rich and sweet and a complete gentleman, and you
kiss like nobody’s business. Someday, some girl is going to be lucky enough to fall for you, and she’ll be everything you
deserve.” I wiped the stupid tear away. “I’m really sorry I’m not that girl. I wish I could have been, because it would make
everyone happy. But I’m not.”

“You are sure of this?”

I nodded and touched his hand. “I’m sure.”

With a sigh, he looked down at my hand with its stubby nails Lissa had tried to repair for me last night. “My father will
blame me,” he said. “He will say I did not try hard enough.”

“You tell your dad to call me. I’ll set him straight. You’re everything a girl could want in a handsome prince. It’s not your
fault I fell for a surfer boy long before I ever met you.”

“Ah. The one I met at Due that night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“At least my father will understand that. He will not like it, but he will understand it. And I have something to confess,
as well.”

“What’s that?”

“I, too, believe there may be someone else. It is too soon to know, but if you mean what you say, then I am free to find out.”

Vanessa? DeLayne? Some other girl? Whoever she was, I hoped she lived up to him. “Um. Back to your dad. Do you think he’ll
go through with pulling his stake out of my dad’s company?”

“Oh, yes. The Sheikh has a deal, and he will make sure every last point of the contract is followed.” From the sound of it,
Rashid had had a little experience along that line. I guess I wasn’t the only one with a father who put business ahead of
family.

“I guess I’d better prepare myself for changes, then.” I slouched in the studded leather library chair. “Like going to public
school and being disowned.”

His eyebrows rose. “Disowned?”

With a nod, I rehashed what my father had told me.

“But this is terrible,” he said. “How can he punish you in this way?”

“I don’t think he’s punishing me, not really. The consequences are what they are, and he wants me to know that. I mean, most
people just give back the ring when they decide not to get married. With you and me, the consequences are…bigger. It’s not
either of our faults that our dads made a deal with strings attached. We still have to live with it.”

He gazed at me, and I thought I saw a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. “I could not live with it.”

“I don’t know if I can, either. But I’m going to try. I’ll show him. I’ll get into Harvard without his money or his help.
There’s a reason for all those scholarships.”

He smiled. “You would have made a fine princess, you know.”

I had to smile, too. “Maybe. Just not the right one for you.” This seemed to be as good a moment as any. “Rashid, I need to
give you back your necklace.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the velvet box Ms. Curzon had been keeping for me.

Then I hesitated and cracked it open to take one last look. The diamonds glittered happily at me under the library lights.
“Take it before I run out of here with it.” I closed the box and handed it to him.

“You are welcome to keep it.”

“Are you kidding? I know about the Star of the Desert. No way am I hanging onto a family heirloom. It goes to your bride,
whoever she turns out to be.”

He slipped the box into an inner pocket in his jacket. “The woman who most deserves to wear the Star will not accept it. I
am very sorry for that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rashid. Be glad we were friends. Be glad we still can be. On the day you get married, you can expect a nice
box from Bloomingdale’s or Tiffany, even if I have to save up for ten years to give it to you.”

With a laugh, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. For one last time, I paused to appreciate the feel of his lips and
the scent of his mad expensive cologne.

“I will make a special point of looking for it, Shani.” He pulled me to my feet. “Good-bye.”

I hugged him, just because I could and no one was looking. “Good-bye, Rashid. See you in American Diplomacy.”

And I watched the handsome prince turn and walk away from me.

Cue the violins.

From the
Wall Street Journal,
October 29, 2009

PetroNova Stock Slashed In Half

In an unprecedented tumble, stock in petroleum exploration firm PetroNova (LSE:PTNV) fell by almost fifty percent on the news
that the Sheikh of Yasir, its primary source of capital, was pulling his backing out of the company.

While CEO Roger Hanna was not available for comment due to a family emergency, CFO Sarah Leonard told the press, “The Sheikh’s
contributions to Petro-Nova in terms of capital, exploration freedom in Yasir, and his wise decisions on our Board of Directors
have been instrumental in the success of this company. However, he is anxious to explore other ventures in the area of environmental
reform, and we understand his decision not to proceed with a third round of venture capital.”

Leonard went on, “I want to reassure our stockholders that PetroNova is a completely viable investment.”

The market would appear to disagree. With its value down by half, the Board will be forced to reorganize, and it is likely
Hanna will be ousted from his position at the helm.

From the
Chicago Tribune,
November 18, 2009

Layoff Cripples Local Firm

PetroNova, one of the most successful independent oil exploration firms in the world, stands poised on the brink of disaster—or
a new era. But from the point of view of the 2,000 employees who were affected by a reduction in force this week, it’s definitely
the former.

The anchor firm in the Bering Business Park, the five-year-old company had just reached the billion-dollar value milestone
last year. But with the departure of its primary stakeholder, the Sheikh of Yasir, last month, the Cinderella story came to
an end.

CEO Roger Hanna, a regular in the on-court seats at Bulls games and a frequent and generous contributor to charities citywide,
is a changed man. He appeared haggard during our interview, but remained upbeat. “It was time for a change,” he said. The
spacious corner office was filled with packing boxes, and it was obvious that Hanna had been among the 2,000 employees receiving
pink slips. “I’ll be forming a new company based on our small but active abandonment division. Going back to my roots and
doing what I’ve always wanted to do—cleaning up well sites after companies like PetroNova are finished with exploration and
drilling. I feel I can make important contributions to saving our environment in this new field.”

When asked about his feelings about the Sheikh’s decision, Hanna was tight-lipped. “I can’t speak for His Highness, who is
entitled to do what he wants with his money. I’m just doing the best I can for my family and what’s left of my company.”

With the recent sales of his multimillion-dollar home, the corporate jet, and his antique automobile collection, the former
CEO made sure his employees got their final paychecks. Philanthropic gestures aside, it’s not certain he will be able to secure
funding for his startup. In this economic climate, banks may not look with a favorable eye on the engineer of a collapse such
as the one suffered by PetroNova. It’s also not clear if the skeleton crew of about forty people left on the site will stay
to help him in the new venture.

Chicago will miss the man who was Entrepreneur of the Year in 2005. “One thing is for sure,” said one departing employee who
asked not to be named. “PetroNova will miss him. I’m glad I won’t be working here if Roger’s gone.”

POP! POP-POP-POPPITY-POP
.

Lissa’s dad, Gabe Mansfield, tried not to squint against the barrage of flash from a zillion cameras. While he waited for
us next to the limo door, we scrambled out one after the other—Lissa and Kaz, Gillian and Jeremy, Carly and Brett, and me,
Mac, and Danyel.

“Holy freaking ravioli,” Danyel muttered as he helped Mac out and offered each of us an arm. “This is like Armageddon.”

“Hardly,” Mac retorted through a brilliant smile. “Shani, can I tell you again how fabulous you look?”

“As many times as you want,” I said. “I think we all look so fine we’ll get our own spread again in
People
.”

Because last week I’d picked up a voice mail from my mom. “Don’t tell your father about this,” she said, her words rushed
and quiet. “But before we left Paris the last time, I bought your birthday present. Your father is giving your things to charity,
but he doesn’t know about this. I know you haven’t forgiven me, and I know you’re monitoring your calls, but I’m doing this
anyway. I’m FedExing it to you so you can wear it to the premiere.”

The box had come the next day, and inside it was no less than an
haute couture
gown, designed for me by Karl Lagerfeld himself and made to my exact measurements.

Lissa and Mac had both swooned with admiration. I wasn’t so sure I even wanted to wear it. It seemed too much like putting
a Band-Aid on a sliced artery, you know? But then I thought, she could have sold it at auction to make a down payment on a
house, and she didn’t. So in the end I decided to wear it, like a last hurrah for the way things used to be.

“Check it out, guys,” Carly said, jerking her chin to the left. “
ET
’s interviewing Lissa’s parents.”

“Parents plural?” I blurted. “Where’d her mom come from?”

But no one knew. She certainly hadn’t been in the limo with us, but you know what? From the expression on Gabe’s face, he
didn’t care if she’d been beamed down onto the red carpet by aliens.

“That’s an Armani Couture dress,” Carly whispered. “Doesn’t she look fabu in ice blue?” Then she looked at Lissa. “Lissa?
Amiga
, are you okay?”

Lissa fumbled in her jeweled evening bag, her breathing jerky. “Oh, no. I didn’t bring any—”

Carly handed her a tissue. “We’re all going to need these anyway, from what I’ve seen on the trailers. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean that.” She smiled as she tried to dab tears away, keeping her back to the
Entertainment Tonight
camera crew. “I didn’t think she would come. Dad was convinced she wouldn’t. But she did.”

I stole a peek at Patricia Sutter, who clung firmly to Gabe’s arm and smiled up at him as Lara Spencer fired question after
question. “What happened, do you think?”

Lissa shook her head. “I don’t know.” She glanced at Kaz. “We’re sitting with them, whatever happens.”

“Done.”

“We’re all sitting together,” Gillian said. “Lissa got Gabe’s executive assistant to send us the seating chart. And guess
who’s in the row in front of us?”

“Who?” Jeremy asked.

“Ewan MacGregor and Orlando Bloom!”

We girls went, “Squeeee!” while the boys rolled their eyes.

And then suddenly
The Insider
got into our faces. “And this looks like Gabe Mansfield’s entourage,” Steven Cojocaru said with a huge smile. “Who do we
have here? And I must know what you’re wearing.”

Lissa stuffed the tissue into her bag and morphed into the Hollywood royalty she is. “I’m his daughter, Lissa, and this is
graphic artist Kaz Griffin. Next to him is fashion designer Carly Aragon.”

“Yeah? Who are you wearing, Carly?”

“I’m wearing my own design,” Carly said quietly. “I made it when I interned with Tori Wu in San Francisco this past summer.”

The camera crew swirled around her, and I knew Carly’s phone would be ringing off the hook by Monday as the fashion magazines
descended like a flock of magpies. I knew she planned to apply to FIDM and Parsons, so this would fatten up her clip portfolio
big time.

“And what about you?” Steven said to me. “Are you enjoying the view here on the red carpet? Who are you wearing? What’s your
name?”

“I’m Shani Hanna, and I’m wearing Karl Lagerfeld
couture
, from Paris,” I said as if it totally didn’t matter. “And I’m having a wonderful time here with all my best friends.”