Meg Cabot - Forever Princess читать онлайн

“Well, this is Claire French,” the cheerful voice said. “And I’ve just finished reading your book,Ransom My Heart , and I’m calling to offer you a publishing contract.”

I swear I did not think I could have heard her right. It sounded like she said she was calling to offer me a publishing contract.

But that could not possibly be what she had said. Because people don’t call and offer me book deals. Especially first thing in the morning. Ever.

“What?” I said intelligently.

“I’m calling to offer you a publishing contract,” she said. “We’d like to offer you a book deal. But we’ll need to know your real name. Whatis your real name, if you don’t mind telling me?”

“Um,” I said. “Mia Thermopolis.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, hi, Mia.” She then went on to say some things about money, and contracts, and due dates, and some other things I didn’t understand because I was in too much of a daze.

“Um,” I finally said. “Can I have your number? I think I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Sure!” she said. And gave me her extension. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

Then I hung up.

I lay back in my bed and looked at Fat Louie, who was staring at me, happily purring from my pillows.

Then I screamed as loud as I could, freaking out Mom, Rocky, and, of course, Fat Louie, who darted off the bed (all the pigeons on my fire escape took off, too).

I cannot believe it:

I got an offer on my book.

And okay…it’s not for a ton of money. If I were an actual person who had to make a living doing this, I would not be able to survive—at least in New York City—for more than a couple of months on what they offered. If you really want to be a writer, clearly, you have to writeand do some other job, too, in order to pay your rent, etc. At least when you’re first starting out.

But since I’m going to be donating the money to Greenpeace anyway…who cares?

Someone wants to buy my book!!!!!

Friday, May 5, 11 a.m., the loft

I feel like I’m floating….

Seriously, I’m so happy! This has been the best day of my life. At least so far.

I really mean that. Nothing is going to ruin it. NOTHING. And NO ONE.

I won’t let them.

The first thing I did, after I told Mom and Mr. G about my book deal, was call Tina. I was all, “Tina—Guess what? I got an offer on my book.”

And she was like, “WHAT???? OH MY GOD, MIA, THAT IS FANTASTIC!!!!”

So then we shrieked for, like, seriously, ten minutes. After that I hung up and called J.P. Probably I should have called him first, since he’s my boyfriend. But I’ve known Tina longer.

The thing is, even though J.P. was happy for me, and all, he wasn’t…well. He had some words of warning. Just because he loves me so much, though.

“You shouldn’t accept a first offer, Mia,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked. “You did, from Sean Penn.”

“But that’s different,” he said. “Sean’s an award-winning director. You don’t even know who this editor is.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “I just looked her up on the Internet. She’s published tons of books. She’s totally legit, and so is her publishing house. It’s huge. They publish all the romances. Well, a lot of them.”

“Even so,” J.P. said. “You might get a better offer from someone else. I wouldn’t rush into anything.”

“Rush into anything?” I echoed. “J.P., I’ve had, like, sixty-five rejection letters. She’s the only person who has expressed the remotest interest in my book. It’s a totally fair offer.”

“If you’d just do what I said,” J.P. said, “and try to sell it under your real name, you’d get a ton more interest, and probably a much bigger advance.”

“That’s just it,” I said. “She wanted to publish it without knowing who I was! That means she likes the book on its own merit. That means way more to me than money.”

“Look,” J.P. said. “Just don’t accept the offer yet. Let me talk to Sean. He knows people in publishing. I bet he can get you a better offer.”

“No!” I cried. I couldn’t believe how J.P. was trying to ruin this beautiful moment for me. Although it wasn’t his fault. I knew he was just looking out for my best interests. But he was being a total buzz kill, as they said onTrue Life. “No way, J.P. I’m taking this offer.”

“Mia,” J.P. said. “You don’t know anything about publishing. How do you know what you’re getting yourself into? You don’t even have an agent.”

“I have the Royal Genovian lawyers,” I reminded him. “I don’t think I need to remind you that they are like a pack of rabid pit bulls. Remember what they did to that guy who tried to publish that unauthorized biography of me last year?” I didn’t want to add,And what I could have them do to you, for writing a loosely based bio-play on me? Because I didn’t want to be mean, and, of course, I’d never sic the Royal Genovian lawyers on J.P. “I’ll have them look over the contract before I sign it.”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” J.P. said.

“Well, I don’t think I am,” I said. I wanted to cry. I really did. I knew he was only being that way because he loves me, but come on.

I got over it, though. Even though J.P. and I got into our first (albeit very minor) fight over it, I still think I’m doing the right thing. Because I called my dad and told him about it, and after he asked a lot of questions (in a sort of distracted way, because he’s busy campaigning. I was sorry to bug him about something so unimportant when he has so much to do, but—well, this is important to me), he still said it was fine by him, and I could do what I wanted—so long as I didn’t sign anything until I had his pit bull lawyers see it first.

So I said, “THANKS, DAD!”

Then I called Claire French and told her I accepted.

The only problem was, by the time I called back, she fully knew who I was.

She said, “This is going to sound strange, but when you said your name was Mia Thermopolis, I thought it sounded familiar, so—please don’t be offended—I Googled you. You wouldn’t happen to be Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genovia by any chance, would you?”

My heart totally sank.

“Um,” I said.

The thing is, even though I’m a totally habitual liar, I knew there was no point in lying to her about this. She was going to find out eventually. Like when I sent in my author photo or met her for a fancy editor-author lunch or my pit bull lawyers used the Genovian crest notary or whatever.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am. But I didn’t send my book out under my real name because I didn’t want it to be published just because of my celebrity, you know? I wanted to see if people liked it based on its own merits, not because of who wrote it. I hope you can understand that.”

“Oh,” Claire said. “I completely understand! And you don’t need to worry, I had no idea it was you when I read it, or when I made you the offer. The thing is, though…well, the name Daphne Delacroix…it actually sounds very fake, and the last name—Delacroix—is hard for Americans to pronounce correctly. Whereas your real name is much more recognizable and memorable. I assume you’re not doing this for any sort of financial gain—”

“No,” I said, horrified. “I’m donating my author proceeds to Greenpeace!”

“Well, the truth is,” Claire said, “you’d have a lot more author proceeds to donate if you let us publish the book under your real name.”

I clutched the phone to my ear, feeling sort of stunned. “You mean…Mia Thermopolis?”

“I was thinking Mia Thermopolis, princess of Genovia.”

“Well…” My heart was beating kind of fast. I remembered what Grandmère had said, about being sure not to use my real name. She was going to hate this, I thought. She was going to hate it so much if I published a steamy romance novel under my real name!

On the other hand…everyone in school would see it. Everyone in school would see my book and go, “Oh my God. Iknow her! I went to school with her.”

And it wasn’t as if Claire had bought the book knowing it was by me…but readers would. Think of all the money that would go to Greenpeace!

“I think that would be fine,” I said.

“Great!” Claire said. “That’s settled then. I look forward to working with you, Mia.”

It was the most fantastic phone call of all time. It almost made me forget that J.P. and I had sort of had a little fight and that I was going to have a very scary lunch with Michael very soon.

I’m a published author. Well, soon to be.

And no one can take that away from me. NO ONE!

Friday, May 5, 12:15 p.m., the loft

M—Fashion 911, here to the rescue. You need to wear your Chip & Pepper jeans and your pink and black Alice + Olivia sequined top with that purple motorcycle jacket we picked out at Jeffrey and those super cute Prada platforms with the fringy things. Got it? Don’t overdo it on the makeup because I think he likes the natural type (whatever) and not chandelier earrings this time, go for studs, oooooh what about those cute little cherries I got you for your birthday? So appropriate for you HA HA HA!

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