Author: Kristan Higgins

“Well, you’re nuts. They’d make beautiful children. Max! Get out here! Your daughter wants to see you!”

“Then she can come in here! Posey! Are your legs broken?”

“No, Dad, I’m coming.” She went into the office, where her father was scowling at the computer.

“Do you know how to upload something?” Max asked. “I wish to God computers had never been invented!”

“Sure, I can help.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a grudging smile, then patted his knee. “You’re not too big to sit on your old man’s lap, are you?” he said.

“I’m almost thirty-four, Dad,” she said.

“Fine. Stab in me in the heart, why don’t you,” he grumbled, so Posey sat, gave his cheek a smooch, and got to work. “What do you want to upload?”

“A picture of Gretchen,” he said. “Seems like we should make more fuss over her, since she’s a celebrity and all.”

“Ah.” Posey could imagine whose idea that was. She clicked through the folder to find the photo Max wanted. “So, how are renovation plans coming along?”

“Oh…she has a lot of ideas, your cousin.”

“I hope you’ll only change what you want, Dad,” Posey said. “I mean, you’re still adjusting to the new addition.” A few years ago, there’d been a small fire at the Osterhagen home (candles left untended during some geriatric amour, which Henry and Posey still could not mention without wheezing hilarity). The result was that her parents ended up renovating, which caused great upheaval. They still went to the wall where the cellar door used to be, still seemed stymied as to where it went, six years after the fact. So an entirely new restaurant…it just didn’t seem like them.

“That’s the one she wanted,” Max said, pointing, so Posey uploaded the photo to Guten Tag’s home page, and there she was, Gretchen and her impressive Teutonic cleavage.

“Hi, Mutti. Hi, Papa!” Speak of the devil.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Max said. “Posey’s just helping me with the website.”

“Oh. Hi, Posey, you look so cute today!” Gretchen flashed her blinding teeth. “Like you’re about eleven years old, sitting there on Papa’s lap. Adorable!”

“Why, thank you, Gretchen.”

Gret smiled, then gave Posey a searching look. “Hey, how’s the search for your birth parents going?”

Max bolted up from the chair, dumping Posey onto the floor, and there was a huge crash from the kitchen. A nanosecond later, Stacia loomed in the doorway, tragic confusion written all over her face. “What’s this? You’re looking for your birth parents?”

“No,” Posey said, hauling herself off the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gret.”

“The book on how to find your birth parents? It was on the shelf in the kitchen.”

“Oh, right,” Posey said. “That book belongs to James. I keep meaning to give it back to him.”

Gretchen looked wide-eyed at Max and Stacia, then at Posey, as if desperate to keep a terrible secret. “Oh. Right. Um…Mutti, I must’ve been mistaken. I’m sure it was James’s book. Of course it is.”

“It is, Mom.” Posey glared at her cousin. “I’m not looking for anyone.”

“If you want that information,” Stacia began, her voice stentorian, “we wouldn’t resent you. It’s completely understandable.”

“I’m not looking, Mom.”

“You must want to know your roots. It would be fine. We know you love us,” Max said, sounding as if he was reciting from a pamphlet on When Your Adopted Child Wants Answers. “I’m not looking. James left his book at Irreplaceable a while ago, I brought it home and just forgot about it.”

“I’m so sorry I brought it up. Posey, really. So sorry.” Gretchen gave Posey a little wink, and Posey thought, for one deeply satisfying moment, how fun it would be to see her cousin fending off a couple dozen angry raccoons. Ever since the night at the casino, Gretchen had been more and more hostile—and clever. Nothing could be held against her, but it was malicious just the same.

“Well,” Stacia said, still staring suspiciously at Posey, “it’s time to get dressed for the parade. Come on, girls. Posey, where’s that poor Brianna? Is she coming?”

“I’m here, Mrs. O,” poor Brianna replied, rolling her eyes at Posey.

“Good. Your costumes are in the back. Gretchen, darling, wait till you see yours! It just came in yesterday!”

“I HATE YOU. I’M calling Big Brothers tomorrow and having you fired.”

“Shush,” Posey said. “At least no one can see your face. I’m the evil serving wench. Would you rather be dressed like me, young lady?”

“No. I’d kill myself if I was dressed like you.”

Brie had a point. Posey’s costume wasn’t really a costume—it was just her waitressing outfit from the restaurant, the same one she’d worn when waiting tables at Guten Tag when she was seventeen. Ruffled white blouse (well, once-white, now yellowing). Green dwarf-embroidered vest that ended just below the bustline, ruffled skirt, green tights, painted clogs.

“It’ll be fun, Brianna,” she said. “You asked to come, remember? Beats sitting at home.”

“No, it doesn’t! I’m a goose, Posey! I’m dressed like a goose! You left the goose part out!”

“Sue me,” Posey said. “Here, have a marzipan. They’re not bad. Just suck on them long enough to soften the shell. The parade starts in ten minutes, so get in the spirit of things, kid.”

“Hate you,” Brianna grumbled, but she took a candy.

When Posey and Henry were three and nine, the Osterhagens decided to do a float for the Founders’ Day parade. They’d chosen to depict Hansel and Gretel, Henry and Posey holding hands and waving, Henry dropping bread crumbs from time to time. It had been a big hit. From then on, the elder Osterhagens had run with the Brothers Grimm theme. After all, as Jon pointed out, it beat the other thing Germany was rather famous for: the Nazi party. The back room of Guten Tag was full of aging animal costumes—mice, horses, a wolf or two, and, yes, geese. Those roped into duty tossed bulletlike marzipan to the crowd, who had the tendency to flinch and shield themselves.

Getting out of float duty was akin to high treason, though just about every staff member came up with some dire emergency to dodge their duty. Henry always managed to be on call and was forgiven, as he was a brilliant surgeon. Only Jon and Posey really enjoyed it…and now Gretchen. In the past few years, Irreplaceable cosponsored the float; Posey had found an enormous sleigh from a decrepit Santa’s Village in Lake George. The sleigh was mounted on a trailer and pulled by a stately old Farmall tractor driven by Mac. And this year, on the side of the float was something Posey had never seen, a banner that read The Goose Girl by the Brothers Grimm and featuring the Barefoot Fraulein Herself, Gretchen Heidelberg! Brought to you by your friends at Guten Tag and Irreplaceable Artifacts.

There were other floats, as well—the library had one shaped like an open book, the 4-H kids usually had one with a goat or a calf, and the marina always pulled some gorgeous sailboat. Rick Balin would sit on the deck, waving in boozy noblesse oblige, some unfortunate young woman shivering in a bikini next to him. Then there were the school bands, the Little League teams and a handful of veterans. But Guten Tag’s float was something of an icon and always came last.

“Oh, man! This is so fun? Right? Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Osterhagen!” Elise, also dressed as a goose, waddled up to Mac and honked at him. He swallowed and ignored her.

“If I see someone I know, I’m throwing myself in front of the nursery school float, and all those kids will have to watch me die,” Brianna said.

“When you close your beak, no one will see your face. And please. I’ve been doing this since I was three years old. I have no sympathy for you. None. You asked to come, and here you are.”

“Oh, Brie, you look so cute!” Jon leaped lightly onto the float. “Wherefore is my true princess?” he cried.

“He’s hiding in an O.R. somewhere,” Posey said.

“I wish I was in the O.R. I’d break a leg to get out of this,” Brianna muttered.

“You’re late, Jon,” Stacia called.

“I had to get my hair perfect. And didn’t I? Am I not the very picture of a proper Prussian prince?” He glanced at Posey and lowered his voice. “Speaking of gorgeous men, heard from you-know-who?”

“Nope,” Posey murmured. “But it’s fine. I think we have plans for tomorrow.” Still, it would’ve been nice if he’d called. Dang it! She was just not the type to sit around mooning near the phone, yet that was exactly what she’d done last night. Loser.

Jon gave her a knowing look, then mercifully changed the subject. “Where did that banner come from?” he asked.

“Gretchen had it done herself!” Stacia said from the front, where she sat in her role as the queen. “Wasn’t that so sweet of her? Now everyone will know a celebrity chef is working at Guten Tag!”

“Just in case they dodged that fact somehow,” Jon said, winking at Posey and Brianna.

“So, what do we have to do, exactly?” Brie asked.

“Just wave and throw marzipan,” Posey said. “Try not to hit anyone, though. It hurts.”

“Could you be quiet, please?” Gretchen said. “We need to get into character.”

“Is she for real?” Brianna muttered.

“I don’t know the story,” Jon said. “All I was told is that I need to look handsome, so here I am, handsome.”

The float was just about to enter the official parade route, which wound for a mile and a half through town before ending at Memorial Bridge Park for the ceremonies. People from other floats milled around, kids dressed in their band uniforms scampered and warmed up, the Pedersen boys got ready to fire off the cannon that would mark the start of the parade.

Gretchen turned around from her seat on the front of the sleigh, where she sat with Max and Stacia. “The story is, Jon, that I’m the true princess, and Posey—”

“The evil serving wench,” Posey supplied.

“Not quite, and I was getting to that,” Gretchen said coolly. “Posey, my jealous maid, and I are on the way to the neighboring kingdom so I can marry the prince. But she steals my clothes and tries to pass herself off as me. In the meantime, I tend the castle geese, but the king—that’s Papa, of course—the king can tell that I’m the true princess, and I’m reinstated and marry you, Jon.”

“You lucky thing,” Posey murmured.

“What happens to the maid?” Brie asked.

“Oh, I’m put into a barrel lined with nails and dragged through town until I’m dead,” Posey said. “Fun, huh? Gotta make sure I read those fairy tales to my kids someday.”

“Why isn’t Posey the true princess?” Brie asked, her voice loud and defensive, and Posey felt a rush of love. Tough-girl act aside, Brianna was a sweetheart.

“It’s really not my thing,” she said. “I’d rather be the evil wench. More character.”

“So Lady Boobs-a-Plenty got the job,” Brianna said.

It was true. Gretchen’s generous cl**vage spilled out in levels not seen in New Hampshire since prostitution was outlawed. The true princess costume was low, tight and white, complete with sparkles, a staff and crown—Glinda the Good Witch, Vegas-style—and since Posey wasn’t the dress-up type, she didn’t really mind. Not much.

Max turned around and smiled. “Well, you’re still my princess, honey.”