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Meg Cabot’s many books for both adults and teens have included numerous #1 New York Times bestsellers, with more than twenty-five million copies sold worldwide. Her Princess Diaries series has been adapted into multiple hit films by Disney. Meg currently lives in Key West, Florida, with her husband and various cats.

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Mia would give all the jewels in Genovia for the perfect present

Every year, Princess Mia spends the holidays in Genovia with Grandmère. This year, she's looking forward to the most perfect Christmas ever: her boyfriend, Michael, and her best friend, Lilly, are coming to Genovia, too.

But even a princess's plans can go awry. Lilly has a lot to learn about palace protocol, and with all the state holiday functions Mia must attend, there's no time to linger under the mistletoe with Michael. Worst of all, Mia hasn't been able to find him the perfect gift.

Can Mia stop her (bah-hum)bugging long enough to see that the perfect present has nothing to do with international express courier -- and everything to do with real love? (Though some shiny silver ribbon never hurts ...)

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Princess Present

HarperCollins Publishers

Tuesday, December 22, Noon,

Royal Genovian Bedchamber

OH, MY GOD, THEY'RE COMING!!!! HERE!!!! THEY'RE COMING HERE!!! THEY'LL BE HERE TOMORROW!!!!

Why am I the only one who CARES???? Grandmère just looked up from her lemon juice and warm water and went, "Prepare the blue and gold wing, please," to Antoine, the majordomo.

AND THAT WAS IT.

She is so tied up with planning her Christmas Eve Ball (royalty from all over the world will be descending on Genovia for it), that she can't think of anything else. Not that anybody else in the family cares about it. Dad even asked why we couldn't just have a quiet family Christmas for a change.

Grandmère looked at him with daggers in her eyes and then said, as she sorted through all the RSVPs she'd gotten in the mail, "Well, if Prince Nikolaos of Greece thinks we're going to put up his polo pony while he's here, he is sadly mistaken."

My dad just sighed and went back to reading The Wall Street Journal.

I am telling you, there is something WRONG with my family.

"Hello? That's it?" I cried. "The future Prince Michael Moscovitz Renaldo is arriving tomorrow for his first visit ever to the country over which he will one day help me rule, and all you can say is ?Prepare the blue and gold wing, Antoine' ?"

That got my dad to look out from behind his newspaper.

"You two are engaged?" There was this total crease in the middle of his forehead. Funny how I've never noticed it before. If I stuck a penny in there, I bet a gum ball would fall out of his mouth. "When did this happen?"

Sadly, I was forced to admit that Michael had not, as yet, proposed.

But it's sure to happen eventually, as a love like the one Michael and I share can never be denied -- no matter what the studios who make all those movies allegedly based on my life might think.

"Oh," my dad said. And lost all interest. The crease completely disappeared. In fact, his whole head disappeared back behind the newspaper.

"Fresh cut flowers will be placed in all the rooms in the blue and gold wing, Amelia," Grandmère said, as she banged on the end of her soft-boiled egg with a silver spoon. "What more do you want? A gala in the young man's honor? As if we don't have enough to worry about with the Christmas Ball. Why must you obsess so over such inconsequential things?"

Inconsequential? INCONSEQUENTIAL? Michael and Lilly's first ever visit to Genovia is INCONSEQUENTIAL? I mean, sure, they're only coming for a week . . . a mere seven days . . . only one hundred and sixty-eight hours. . . .

But I'm trying to stay positive, like Dr. Phil says to.

"A week isn't very long to enjoy all the incredible sights this country has to offer."

That's what Philomena, my dad's latest girlfriend, had to offer to the breakfast convo. Like this wasn't a completely transparent attempt to get in good with my dad. You know, on account of her appreciating his native land so much. Like he was going to throw down his paper and be all, "Philomena, light of my heart, be mine forever!" because she said you couldn't see everything there is to see in his principality in seven days.

Whatever.

Not that I don't wholly support a woman's right to use her god-given assets to get a prince to propose to her, or to make a career out of strutting down a runway in a thong with a pair of wings attached to the straps of her bra.

I just, you know, hope she's socking some of it away in a decent 401(k) or some Roth IRAs.

Grandmère ignored Philomena. This is her custom where my dad's girlfriends are concerned.

"You must be sure to remind Antoine to secure a tuxedo for your young man," is all Grandmère said. "I don't want him turning up at the ball in dungarees. And tell Lilly I expect her to have removed all of those horrid friendship bracelets she wears. Straggly pieces of dirt-collecting yarn is what I call them. I won't have the Contessa Trevanni thinking my granddaughter's best friend is a bag lady."

The whole time she was talking, Rommel, Grand-mère's hairless toy poodle, was totally looking on, so hoping she might drop a crumb or two of the toast she was smearing with soft-boiled egg guts. Because Rommel is on this diet where all he's allowed to eat is specially formulated dog food. This is on account of the royal vet recently diagnosing him with irritable bowel syndrome. Apparently, the IBS is caused by the antidepressants Rommel is taking to combat his OCD, which manifests itself in his licking all of his fur off.

"And the parents of your little friends don't mind them spending Christmas away from home?" Philomena asked, all sweetly.

"No," I explained to her, speaking slowly because she's Danish. And a model. "The Moscovitzes don't celebrate Christmas. They're Jewish."

"And they are coming on the Royal Genovian jet?" Philomena asked, her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised. Because she'd had to fly commercial to get to the palace -- first class, but still -- on account of the jet having been sent to pick up Michael and Lilly.

"Certain people," my dad said from behind the paper, "refused to spend the holidays in Genovia -- on the grounds that she'd miss her baby brother's first Christmas -- unless certain demands were met."

Philomena looked confused, apparently not realizing my dad was talking about me and the temper tantrum that had finally forced him to send the jet for Lilly and Michael.

"But that's terrible," Philomena said in her Danish accent. "Who would rather stay in America for the holidays than come to this beautiful place?"

Really, I don't know how I'm supposed to endure the anti-Americanism that is rampant in this part of the world. Sometimes it just makes my blood boil.But whatever.

THEY'RE COMING!!!! They'll be here in twenty-four hours!!!! I have to get to work if I'm going to have everything ready for them in time.

Excerpted from The Princess Presentby Cabot, Meg Excerpted by permission.
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