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😒🥱😴

“You must remember when we had the revolution and that cake shop was so badly damaged by the machine-gun bullets. Such unsafe things, machine guns.”

I did remember the revolution, because it had given me three days of blissful holiday from my lessons and the cake shop had been one of my favorite shops. Would there, I inquired hopefully, be another shop disemboweled by machine-gun fire when the king came?

I very much enjoyed the previous 4 books I've read from this series but, with most series based on a particular trope but written by different authors, there's almost always a dud or two. I've found one! At the halfway point and this one is a DU(H)D with a capital DUH!! As in DU(H)LL! 😖 The plot is so thin, it's translucent! I'll come back to this in a few days but it may well end up being a DNF. 😒

“Camping!” snorted Leslie.

“Well, it was camping, dear. I remember once one of the elephants went astray & we had no clean sheets for three days. Your father was most annoyed.”

“I never knew anything as big as an elephant could go astray,” said Jeejee.

“Oh, yes,” said Leslie, “easily mislaid, elephants.”

“Well, anyway, you wouldn’t like it if you were without clean sheets,” said Mother with dignity."

“What’s he a prince of?” asked Leslie.

“Well, I don’t really know,” said Mother. “One of those small states the maharajas have, I expect.”

“It’s a very odd name, Jeejeebuoy,” said Margo. “Are you sure it’s real?”

“Of course it’s real, dear,” said Mother. “There are lots of Jeejeebuoys in India. It’s a very old family, like … um … like…”

“Smith?” suggested Leslie.

“No, Spiro, we’re not going to go to a lot of trouble. He’s coming unexpectedly so he’ll just have to take us as he finds us and if he doesn’t like it … well, it’s just too bad,” said Mother, shelling peas and dropping more on the floor than into the colander. “Gerry, go and ask Margo if she could run up those new curtains for the dining room. The old ones don’t look the same since Les set fire to them.”

The telegram said simply, “Forgot to tell you Prince Jeejeebuoy arriving eleventh short stay. Love. Larry.”

“Really, Larry is the most annoying creature!” Mother exclaimed angrily. “What does he go & invite a prince for? He knows we haven’t got the right rooms for royalty. And he won’t be here to entertain him. What am I supposed to do with a prince? I can’t be bothered with entertaining princes at my age.”

Whatever oxygen had been in my lungs stayed right where it was, captured, just as my gaze was by the things in the room. Blinking slowly, I tried to focus, but then wished I hadn’t. I’d seen some of the contraptions before, but only in one of the forbidden books that Benidic had got from an Elf he’d never named.

Oh dear lord, what had we got ourselves into?

(*tryin' this again*)

Oh dear lord, what had we got ourselves into?/i>

“Magic is a gift, and as such it should be treasured and not used for mischief. With that in mind,”—he lifted his hands, light shining from both palms as orbs floated above him—“from now on, your hands will only be able to create magic that assists others with no gain for either of you. I banish you to the earthly realm to fend for yourselves until you can prove that you are worthy to return.”

Don't judge me! 🤨🤭😜

“This is it,” Simon whispered. “You just got carried away by passion. You were kissed and made love to until you lost yourself and came. It doesn’t have to be oral or anal or Kama Sutra sex. It only has to make you feel good and make you happy you’re with the person who helped you feel that way."

“It was so good,” he said, his breath shaking. “And I’m so glad it was you.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You’re going to hurt someone! That’s just how it is sometimes & it sucks, but what’s the alternative? Never make a real choice? Close yourself off completely? You have to be honest, at least with yourself. I learned that from you. Tell Arthur you’re moving on or tell Mario to move on without you. You’re the writer, Ben. If you could write your perfect ending, what would it be?”

The door shuts behind me. I can hardly catch my breath. What did I expect, a final-act kiss? It’s the kind of thing that makes sense in movies but falls apart when it’s real, when his bedroom floor is covered with moving boxes, when he’s telling me to hang out as long as I want but not begging me to stay. I wonder how many love stories end like this --- with an ambiguously long hug & a million things left unsaid.

“So ... Whose story are we telling? What’s your role in it?”

“I’m the guy who figured it out too late?”

“Okay. Are you the obstacle? Is California the happily ever after? Or . . .” Jacob pauses. “Are you the guy running to the airport to stop him? Are you the protagonist?”

“I . . .” I blink. “How would I even know that?”

“Here’s a hint.” Jacob smiles. “It’s your life. You’re always the protagonist.”