all the angles.’
‘Vlog?’ Mum raised her eyebrows.
Here we go.
‘I thought we discussed this, Flick,’ Mum said sternly. ‘I was very clear about my opinion.’
‘Yes, you were. And I’ve taken your thoughts into consideration.’
The corner of Mum’s mouth twitched again. ‘And?’
‘And I’ve decided they’re void.’
‘Flick,’ Mum began in her best warning tone.
‘Mum, look, all my friends agree that I would gain millions of followers like that –’ I clicked my fingers for effect – ‘if I started vlogging. All the other heiresses are doing it. At my age most of them have handbag and perfume ranges, thanks to their online profiles. I’m fourteen years old now; you have to let me do my own thing. You know, like in The Little Mermaid.’
‘The Disney film?’ Mum looked baffled. ‘What’s that got to do with vlogging?’
‘Duh. Her dad is all clingy and so she leaves him to go and live with the hot prince. You know, Mum, you could learn a lot from King Triton’s mistakes.’
‘Hi, Christine.’
I sighed dramatically as Cal came over, his laptop nestled under his arm. Why was he always butting in?
‘Hello, Callum,’ Mum said brightly. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, I was just on my way to see Chef. I hear he’s got a new strawberry mousse on the menu.’
‘He does, it’s outstanding.’ Mum turned to me. ‘Have you tried the new mousse?’
‘I don’t care about mousse!’ I cried. ‘What about my selfie stick?’
‘Trust me, this mousse is to die for.’ Mum turned back to Cal, completely ignoring my distress. ‘I hear you came top of the class again in your English paper?’
Cal blushed. ‘Dad told you, huh? It was only one essay, it’s not a big deal.’
‘He’s very proud of you, and so he should be. You always were very hard-working.’
I couldn’t help but notice Mum direct a wistful glance towards me as she said that.
Which was very unfair considering I would be just as hard-working if SOMEONE didn’t go around lending random princes my selfie stick and thus keeping me from uploading said hard work.
‘Still hoping to be a journalist some day?’
‘That’s the big plan.’
‘I can introduce you to Nicholas Huntley, if you’d like,’ Mum continued. Cal’s eyes widened.
‘Why would you want to meet him?’ I crossed my arms, annoyed that the conversation was moving away from the problem in hand. ‘Isn’t he just the guy who married that actress, Helena Montaine?’
Hotel Royale was one of Helena Montaine’s favourite places to dine, so she was often here for big meetings with famous directors or with her new husband, Nicholas Huntley, and her daughter and step-daughter, the It Girls Marianne Montaine and Anna Huntley. It was always a big deal when they were in the building, as there would be hordes of paparazzi outside waiting to get a photo. Famous people stay at the hotel all the time, but Mum was particularly friendly with Helena and her husband. I often saw her enjoying a drink with them in the cocktail bar, talking about really boring topics that no one cares about, like the news and stuff.
‘Nicholas Huntley happens to be the greatest journalist of all time,’ Cal said pompously. ‘And he’s written some of the most important books about war weaponry there have ever been. His book on tanks won the Baillie Gifford Prize.’
I yawned as he finished his sentence. There is seriously no one in the world as boring as Cal Weston. Except maybe this Nicholas Huntley person and his tank books.
‘Tell me, Callum,’ Mum said, abruptly standing up and straightening her white tailored jacket. ‘Do you spend your evenings vlogging?’
‘Uh.’ Cal looked confused. ‘No. It’s not really my thing.’
‘You see, Flick?’ Mum looked back down at me. ‘Cal doesn’t vlog.’
‘That’s because he has nothing interesting to say,’ I protested, as Cal rolled his eyes. ‘It’s me the people want to know about.’
‘We’ll talk about this later. You’ll have to do without the selfie stick for one night. And so will Fritz.’
‘But Mu–’
‘End of discussion, Flick,’ Mum said firmly. ‘Now, I’ve got another meeting to get to. Good to see you, Callum. Keep up the hard work.’
She patted Cal on the shoulder and walked back across the reception hall and through the revolving doors to her car waiting outside.
‘You’re starting a vlog?’ Cal sniggered. ‘About what?’
‘About my life,’ I huffed. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Why would anyone want to know about your life?’
‘Excuse me, I featured on the Daily Post ’s “50 Heirs to Watch” list. So there.’
‘Yeah, you came in at number forty-nine,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Real impressive.’
I glared at his back, then stomped loudly towards the lift with Fritz, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Audrey and Matthew, and prodded the button for Floor 15. Leaning against the back mirror of the lift, I cuddled Fritz as the blinking light passed the other floor numbers.
The whole thing was completely ridiculous and totally unfair. Just because Prince Gustav Xavier III is a prince, it doesn’t mean he can go around stealing stuff. And, what’s more, HE’S NOT EVEN A REAL PRINCE! The monarchy in his country hasn’t properly existed since FOREVER, but he still swans about the place using the ‘prince’ title, going to the best parties and stealing other people’s selfie sticks.
That was when the idea hit me. He wasn’t actually using the selfie stick right now because he was at afternoon tea with his aunt! Mum had said it had been left out for him for when he got back. So I could sneak into his suite, grab the selfie stick, take it back to my room for Fritz’s photo shoot and then if Prince Gustav needed it later, he could come and ask and I might be inclined to lend it to him. I congratulated myself out loud to Fritz on such an excellent plan. He barked in agreement.
All I had to do was break into Mum’s office in the flat and get hold of her master key, which opens every room in the hotel. And that was a doddle. I’d had a key cut for her office without her knowing when I was nine. I would be in and out of Prince Gustav’s room in a matter of seconds without anyone noticing. Easy.
Obviously
