From New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot comes the hilarious story of a lovable blabbermouth who can't seem to stay out of trouble. . . .
What's an American girl with a big mouth but an equally big heart to do?

Lizzie Nichols has a problem, and it isn't that she doesn't have the slightest idea what she's going to do with her life or that she's blowing what should be her down payment on a cute little Manhattan apartment on a trip to London to visit her long-distance boyfriend, Andrew. But what's the point of planning for the future when she's done it again? See, Lizzie can't keep her mouth shut. And it's not just that she can't keep her own secrets, she can't keep anything to herself.

This time when she opens her big mouth, her good intentions get Andrew in major hot water. So now Lizzie's stuck in London with no boyfriend and no place to stay until the departure date on her nonrefundable airline ticket.

Fortunately, there's Shari, Lizzie's best friend and college roommate, who's spending her summer in southern France, catering weddings with her boyfriend, Chaz, in a sixteenth-century château. One call and Lizzie's on a train to Souillae. Who cares if she's never traveled alone in her life and only speaks rudimentary French? One glimpse of gorgeous Château Mirac -- not to mention the gorgeous Luke, the son of Château Mirac's owner -- and she's smitten.

But while most caterers can be trusted to keep a secret, Lizzie's the exception. And no sooner has the first cork been popped than Luke hates her, the bride is in tears, and it looks like Château Mirac is in danger of becoming a lipo-recovery spa. As if things aren't bad enough, her ex-boyfriend Andrew shows up looking for "closure" (or at least a loan), threatening to ruin everything, including Lizzie's chance at finding real love. . . .

Unless she can figure out a way to use that big mouth of hers to save the day.

I can't believe this. I can't believe I don't remember what he looks like! How can I not remember what he looks like? I mean, his tongue has been in my mouth. How could I forget what someone whose tongue has been in my mouth looks like? It's not like there've been that many guys who've had their tongues in my mouth. Only, like, three.

And one of those was in high school. And the other one turned out to be gay.

God, that is so depressing. Okay, I'm not going to think about that right now.

It isn't like it's been THAT long since I last saw him. It was just three months ago! You would think I'd remember what someone I've been dating for THREE MONTHS looks like.

Even if, you know, for most of those three months we've been in separate countries.

Still. I have his photo. Well, okay, you can't really see his face in it. Actually, you can't see his face at all, since it's a photo of his — oh God — naked ass.

Why would anyone send someone something like that? I didn't ask for a photo of his naked ass. Was it supposed to be erotic? Because it so wasn't.

Maybe that's just me, though. Shari's right, I've got to stop being so inhibited.

It was just so shocking to find it in my in-box, a big photo of my boyfriend's naked ass.

And okay, I know they were just goofing around, he and his friends. And I know Shari says it's a cultural thing, and that the British are much less sensitive about nudity than most Americans, and that we should strive as a culture to be more open and carefree, like they are.

Also that he probably thought, like most men do, that his ass is his best feature.

But still.

Okay, I'm not going to think about that right now. Stop thinking about my boyfriend's ass. Instead, I'm going to look for him. He has to be here somewhere, he swore he'd be here to pick me up —

Oh my God, that can't be him, can it? No, of course it's not. Why would he be wearing a jacket like that? Why would ANYONE be wearing a jacket like that? Unless they're being ironic. Or Michael Jackson, of course. He is the only man I could think of who would wear red leather with epaulets. Who isn't a professional break-dancer.

That CAN'T be him. Oh, please God, don't let that be him . . .

Oh no, he's looking this way ... he's looking this way! Look down, look down, don't make eye contact with the guy in the red leather jacket with the epaulets. I'm sure he's a very nice man; it's a shame about his having to shop for coats from the 1980s at the Salvation Army.

But I don't want him to know I was looking at him, he might think I like him or something.

And it's not that I'm prejudiced against homeless people, I'm not, I know all about how many of us are really only a few paychecks away from being homeless ourselves. Some of us, in fact, are less than a paycheck away from being homeless. Some of us, in fact, are so broke that we still live with our parents.

But I'm not going to think about all that right now.

The thing is, I just don't want Andrew to get here and find me talking to some homeless guy in a red leather break-dancing jacket. I mean, that is so not the first impression I want to give. Not that, you know, it will be his FIRST impression of me, since we've been dating for three months and all. But it will be the first impression he'll have of the New Me, the me he hasn't met yet . . .

Okay. Okay, it's safe, he's not looking anymore.

Oh God, this is awful, I can't believe this is how they welcome people to their country.

Meg Cabot is the author of the best-selling, critically acclaimed Princess Diaries books, which were made into the wildly popular Disney movies of the same name. Her other books for teens include the Mediator series, the 1-800-Where- R-You books, All-American Girl, Ready or Not, Teen Idol, and Avalon High, as well as Nicola and the Viscount and Victoria and the Rogue. She also writes books for adults, including The Boy Next Door, Boy Meets Girl, Every Boy's Got One, and Size 12 Is Not Fat. She is still waiting for her real parents, the king and queen, to restore her to her rightful throne. She lives in Key West and New York City with her husband and a one-eyed cat named Henrietta.