The Royal Treatment by Lindsey Leavitt Page A

manual with me if I needed to know how Millie liked her meat (medium-well—no pink in the middle!) or her uncles’ names (Hanover, Ulysses, and…Greg? No, Craig).
    After an hour of memorizing Millie’s favorite shoe designers, I’d stored everything I possibly could. Then I looked her up on the chat rooms and was hit with a new wave of details and facts.
    But it didn’t take learning her favorite zoo animal to understand the message: Don’t change anything. In my previous jobs, I’d tried to figure out the princess’s hidden wishes, and then fulfilled them. Millie, however, didn’t want me to stand up to her sister or land her a boyfriend. On the contrary: she wanted me to be as Millie as possible, right down to her beverage choice.
    I got out my Royal Rouge compact, smiling at my reflection. Fatigue and pages of memorization was so much better than being clueless. This job would be more what I’d initially pictured subbing to be—a long event with important people. Like in Roman Holiday , where Audrey Hepburn plays a princess so tired from standing in a reception line that she takes off her shoe under her dress and nearly falls. Funny, but not catastrophic.
    I stood and stretched, calling Meredith’s name but stopping mid-word when I saw that her door was slightly open. The temptation to eavesdrop was too great. I crossed the room in silence, standing just close enough to hear her muffled voice.
    “—sub will be gone in a few minutes. I have another drop-off in an hour, so…I don’t know. I might have some time.”
    She giggled. Her voice lowered and I couldn’t hear anything else. Then, after more laughter, her voice rose. “You know I do. I’m just trying to make this work. Ah, you’re cute when you’re needy. Sure…okay…talk soon.”
    I bolted over to the couch and grabbed my manual, forcing a look of boredom onto my face. So Meredith was talking to her prince again! I knew it was a possibility but…how did she swing it? That must be why she was less edgy. I definitely supported anything that promoted Meredith Zen.
    Meredith opened her door and cleared her throat. “Did you say something?”
    “What?” I looked up from my manual. “Oh, yeah, I’m about done here.”
    “Great.” She punched a button on her remote, and the bubble hummed. “Sorry, I had a confidential phone call.”
    I hid a smile. “No worries.”
    “Are you all read up? Rouged up?” she asked.
    “Put on my Rouge a few minutes ago. I should be Milliefied in a bit.”
    “Go ahead, I know you probably have loads of questions.”
    “Actually, I think I’m good.”
    Meredith touched my forehead. “Really? Are you feeling all right? Is that you in there?”
    “Funny.”
    “Well, darling, out you go, then.”
    “But you just started the bubble.”
    “We didn’t have far to travel. And if you get a chance, do stop by and see the Mona Lisa . She used to work for the agency; hence the secret smile.”
    I stepped out into the night, onto a shining wet street facing a large glass pyramid surrounded by a breathtakingly prodigious fortress. I’d seen this place in enough movies to know where I was. The Louvre. Millie’s “art exhibit thingy” was at the Louvre in Paris.
    Meredith wasn’t kidding. I hadn’t traveled far from Façade’s headquarters, but, man. I was a world away from Sproutville.

Chapter
7
    I paused outside the translucent structure, watching myself transform.
    Millie was short and scrawny, but her fingers had the long elegance of a violin player’s. My little black dress became a powder-blue period piece, tight around my chest and waist, flowing down in yards and yards of fabric. No, tight isn’t the word. Restrictive. Stifling. With each breath I took, I could feel the bodice cut into my ribs.
    Agh, I had a corset on! Who wears corsets, even for a costume? Not to mention the lace. Oh wow, was there lace. I patted my hair—a wig arranged in a white powdered updo. No tiara on top, though. I still