Olivia dropped to the ground, crawling under the coffee table to retrieve the boot’s mate. ‘Wow,’ she said, helping the Countess pack her fancy footwear. ‘And I thought organising a school dance was tough! I can’t imagine planning a royal wedding!’
‘I know, and they are having the wedding in only a few weeks! Weeks! ’
Ivy jolted at this. ‘Why so soon?’
The Countess thrust another pair of shoes into Horatio’s arms and slung a belt over his shoulder. ‘Apparently the Queen wants to get Alex and Tessa married as soon as possible to prove she really does support the two of them. The Transylvanian nobility seem to have gotten it in their heads that this isn’t a real relationship.’ The Countess clucked her tongue. ‘And the Queen is eager to put those rumours to rest. So, the second Alex told her about the engagement, the Queen called me.’ Then as if in confidence, she said to the girls, ‘The Queen knows we’re a bit more open-minded, what with all that business with Charles . . .’
Ivy was so not the type to get excited about anyone putting on a big, white meringue dress – that was more her sister’s department – but even she had to admit she felt a rush of happiness for Tessa, the servant girl who’d been so kind to them in Transylvania. Tessa and the prince had been secretly in love for years and now she was being accepted into the Transylvanian royal family. Ivy. She could almost hear Olivia constructing her version of the fairy-tale romance now.
Ivy watched as Olivia sat on a suitcase to help Horatio lock it. Maybe there were good points to living in Transylvania. Despite the strict hierarchies, the Queen was going to a lot of trouble to prove that she accepted and supported her son’s love. Would finishing school really be all that bad?
When the Count stepped back into the room, he appeared to have caught his breath. The suitcases were packed and the room was starting to look much more orderly. ‘My dearest, we need to hurry if we’re to catch our last-minute flight.’ He turned to the twins. ‘Are you two excited?’
‘About what?’ Ivy asked. ‘I mean, I’m happy for Tessa and all. You’ll have to promise to take pictures!’
‘Naturally the two of you have also been invited to the wedding,’ said their grandfather.
‘We have?’ Olivia went gooey-eyed.
The Count pulled out two cream-coloured invitations, printed on thick stationery. Written in scrolling black calligraphy, the invitation read:
Together with their families
Prince Alexander of Transylvania
Miss Tessa Lupescu
Request the pleasure of your company as they
exchange wedding vows
In a summer ceremony
At the Chateau du Transylvania
‘The Queen had these couriered over this morning,’ explained the Count. ‘We wanted you to get the full effect.’
Ivy watched her sister twirling around, and pressing her invitation tight to her chest. ‘You’re thinking about dresses, aren’t you?’ she asked Olivia.
‘There are just so many possibilities!’ Olivia said, performing an impromptu waltz.
Ivy rolled her eyes and her grandfather leaned in. ‘You know,’ he whispered. ‘There will be plenty of wedding cake for midnight feasts . . .’
‘Red velvet cake?’ Ivy gave the Count a sly sidelong glance.
‘I wouldn’t doubt it.’ They both licked their lips.
The Countess snapped shut the ruby-jewelled clasp on her large shoulder bag. ‘I’m ready!’ She held out her arms. ‘Girls, we have your flights booked and we will see you again soon. It’s going to be – what do you call it, Olivia? – “fun and fabulous”!’ The girls giggled at their grandmother’s hip lingo.
Horatio ushered the Count and Countess out of the doorway, where a more human-sized driver stood next to a shiny black Rolls Royce. Why isn’t Horatio taking them? Ivy wondered.
Hiking up her long skirt and bustling to the car, the Countess called back, ‘Don’t forget to help Ivy and Olivia with their packing, Horatio. Ivy will have more luggage than she can handle!’
Car doors slammed and the Rolls Royce rumbled to life, edging its way out of the circular drive and into Ivy’s cul-de-sac. Phew! Did any of that really happen? It was such a whirlwind, Ivy wasn’t sure.
Linking arms, Ivy and Olivia turned and followed Horatio back up the path and indoors.
‘Excuse me,’ said Olivia, nudging Ivy, ‘but I thought I was the clothes horse. Why would you have more luggage than you could handle?’
Ivy bit her lip. She thought about inventing a story – something about needing new clothes? – but she stopped herself. She couldn’t take this any longer. Brendan was right. She couldn’t lie to her twin sister. ‘How about we go up to our room? There’s something I need to tell you.’
Horatio closed the front door behind them and Ivy followed her sister upstairs. Ivy knew the butler had to have overheard. Would Horatio be upset if she broke a vampire law? At the top of the staircase Ivy paused, peering over the railing. Instead of looking disappointed in her, Horatio just gave Ivy a solemn nod. Right, Ivy thought, twin-sister code does trump vampire code. I can do this.
‘Now explain one more time.’ Olivia sat cross-legged on Ivy’s carpet.
‘Olivia!’ Ivy had already explained Wallachia Academy and why she needed to go three separate times. On the last one she had even gone so far as to include her grandparents’ description of the Gothic castle!
‘Sorry, I just can’t believe it.’ Olivia rested her elbows on her knees and tucked her fists under her chin. ‘You’re going to finishing school . . . in Transylvania . . . without me?’ Olivia shook her head slowly. ‘But, you know, that’s not the worst thing. The worst thing is that you kept it a secret all this time. A secret! What other stuff has been going on behind my back?’ Olivia’s sharp green eyes bored into her sister.
Ivy groaned. She couldn’t have felt worse if she were forced to eat bunny food for the rest of her life. ‘That’s it – I’m not going!’ She tossed up her hands. Hadn’t her grandparents ever heard of home-schooling? That was what she needed – Wallachia Academy-style.
Olivia’s face was buried in her hands and her shoulders began to shake. Was she crying? Ivy’s chest throbbed. She pulled Olivia’s hands away from her face, expecting to see black streaks of mascara and splotchy make-up running down her cheeks, but – wait! – Olivia was . . . laughing!