“Carnations?” I squeaked. “Those are what you get at a gas station when you forget your mom’s birthday.”
“Not your father, child. His father.” meg cabot royal wedding
“Don’t call me ‘Princess’ in that sarcastic tone,” I warned. “Carnations
“You cannot wear that ,” Grandmère said, sweeping into my New York City loft like a lavender-scented hurricane. She was holding a veil that looked less like bridal wear and more like a parachute for a small army. “You cannot wear that ,” Grandmère said, sweeping
“I can’t walk down the aisle in this. I’ll fall. I’ll break my nose. Our wedding video will go viral for all the wrong reasons.”
I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy marrying the love of my life—tiara optional, peonies mandatory, and happily ever after guaranteed.
“What voice?”