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marriages and ladies-in-waiting and suddenly had an idea. There was no better way to capture the essence of Princess Ann than spend time with a real princess.
    *   *   *
    Amelia took the elevator to the sixth floor and walked down the hallway. She was still floating from Sheldon’s praise and from reading the script. She felt like Princess Ann was slipping under her skin, the way she raised her eyebrows when she talked, her shy smile, the way she wore her hair.
    Amelia knocked on the door and waited.
    Sophie flung open the door. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She wore a white crepe dress and flat gold sandals. Her hair was knotted in a low bun and she wore a gold belt around her waist. “I’ve been shopping all day and I’m exhausted.”
    Amelia entered Sophie’s suite and saw bags scattered over the marble floor. Silk dresses and cotton blouses covered the gold velvet bedspread. There was a stack of shoeboxes on the glass coffee table and a pink ostrich Hermès bag on the Regency desk.
    “Where did you get all this?” Amelia fingered a silver evening gown and a floral sundress and a pink angora sweater. There was a pile of silk scarves and several pair of sunglasses.
    “The Via Condotti has Prada and Gucci and Armani boutiques.” Sophie wrapped a red silk scarf around her neck and stood in front of the full-length mirror. “I’ve always had a dressmaker who comes to the palace. Do you know what it’s like to walk into a shop and try on anything you like?”
    “What about when you were at boarding school?” Amelia asked.
    “My father sent me with six suitcases of clothes.” Sophie tried on round white sunglasses. “He didn’t want me becoming Eurotrash in halter tops and miniskirts. Lentz is very conservative; all my dresses had high collars and lots of buttons.”
    “This must have cost a fortune.” Amelia gazed at the ostrich-skin bag and soft Prada pumps.
    “I pawned a tiara.” Sophie shrugged.
    “You pawned a tiara!” Amelia spluttered.
    “It was only a small tiara, nothing my father would miss. I didn’t have any money, my lady-in-waiting takes care of my expenses.”
    “I keep thinking you’re making this up,” Amelia mused, walking to the window. The red rooftops were bathed in the afternoon sun. Amelia could hear cars honking and the low rumble of buses. She peered down at the street and saw uniformed crossing guards and bicycle messengers with brown leather satchels.
    “Monarchy is about tradition.” Sophie took off the sunglasses and sat on a blue silk sofa. She crossed her long legs and tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “Do you know why Catholics revere the Pope? It’s because no matter what terrible things happen in their lives—losing a job or finding out their husband is unfaithful or having a sick child—they can always go to the Pope for comfort. The Pope never changes; he never has his own problems or appears on the balcony of the Vatican in board shorts and flip-flops.”
    “I never thought about it like that.” Amelia nodded.
    “For six weeks I get to wear whatever I want and do what I please and no one will know.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s go out, there’s somewhere I want to show you.”
    “You’re supposed to keep your foot up.” Amelia hesitated, glancing at Sophie’s ankle that was still wrapped in a bandage.
    “I’ll be careful,” Sophie persisted. “I only have twenty days left, I don’t want to waste them.”
    “If we’re seen together the paparazzi might follow us.” Amelia shook her head.
    “Not if you wear this.” Sophie handed Amelia a large floppy hat and a pair of oversized sunglasses.
    “On one condition.” Amelia slipped on the sunglasses. “You teach me how to be a princess.”
    Sophie’s face broke into a wide smile and she tied a white scarf around her hair. “I’d be delighted.”
    *   *   *
    “The Villa Borghese was built in 1605 for Pope Paul V’s nephew, Cardinal Scipione Borghese, it was