The thought of writing Mia makes me nervous for some reason, although whenever I give her a try, I really enjoy spending time with her. Also, if you're familiar with my stories, you know I don't like leaving Clarisse and Joseph for too long. I'm not entirely sure where this came from - maybe an attempt to figure out Nicholas's appeal? (I'm not sure I forgive him as readily as Mia seems to.)

As always, it's for love, not money. I do thank you for stopping by to read. And many thanks to Little Obsessions for reading and giving some much appreciated feedback.

Mia flopped into a chair on the balcony outside of her suite. She sighed and looked at the diamond on her ring finger. She turned it this way, then that, studying how it sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

Andrew. He was perfect. Seriously, he was absolutely flawless. Intelligent, charming, compassionate. He was a complete gentleman. He was handsome, although looks really shouldn't matter. But hey, no harm in listing that along with everything else. It just went to show he was the total package.

His manners were impeccable. She suspected that well-mannered was what had won her grandmother over. Not a terribly romantic reason for getting married, but after years of princess lessons, Mia did admit to having a new appreciation for that quality.

All pros. No cons. He was ideal, and everything she should want.

She sighed again and reached up to wind a long lock of hair through her fingers.

Then there was Nicholas, who was entirely wrong for her. Well, not exactly wrong. After all, if he weren't an arrogant jerk being manipulated by that nasty, power-hungry uncle of his who was trying to usurp the throne, he wouldn't be so bad.

He was… She pursed her lips and tried to conjure up a list for Nicholas while she absently worked to extricate the hair that had knotted up around her engagement ring.

Some pros. Pros for Lord Nicholas. Hmm.

Well, he was…good-looking.

And didn't he know it!

Okay, something less shallow. He was a good cook. Then again, next to her anyone was a good cook. But in all fairness, he really was. And it was all the more intriguing in someone like him because he didn't need to cook. He simply enjoyed it.

So she had handsome (which she had already decided shouldn't matter) and good cook (which was a hobby, not a quality).

She finally pulled her hand free from her hair. As she plucked some ill-fated strands out of the prongs of the setting, the diamond winked at her.

Wait, why was she even making a list for him? A Nicholas List was totally a moot point.

Then again, she told herself lamely, it was a decent thing to do, trying to find the good in people.

Something else. He was… He, um… Oh! He got her into trouble all the time.

That was DEFINITELY not a plus. Yet she felt a strange flippy feeling in her stomach at that one.

Why, Mia? Why? she berated herself. It should be so simple to love Andrew for everything he was, and to detest Nicholas for everything he was. She was just two little I Dos away from securing the Renaldi rule with a man who was, quite frankly, a dreamboat. Who, in her position, wouldn't take that step? Who wouldn't make such a sacrifice – and was it a sacrifice really? – to act in the best interests of the people of Genovia? And she got to live the life of a royal in the process! She looked around at the gleaming palace and the expertly manicured gardens sprawling out in front of her. Who wouldn't envy her for all this? It was beautiful. It was elegant. It was perfection on the grandest scale. It was…

Boring.

Her eyes widened and she sat up, tossing a look over her shoulder, afraid someone might have heard her traitorous thought. Around here, it was possible. So many staff members whose goal it was to anticipate her every whim and need. They were so good at it, she was convinced they must sometimes be reading her mind.

To her relief, she was alone. Or she seemed to be alone. She was never actually alone. She settled back into her chair, feeling decidedly unsettled. She returned to her train of thought, which had been nice and safe until its spectacular derailment.

Let's see. Where was she? Ah, that's right: comparing her fiancé with her sexy political arch nemesis.

Right. Nice and safe.

Okay, time to be completely honest. And the truth was, she needed Andrew. She had come a long way, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't completely erase her knack for trouble. Whether it was putting her foot in her mouth or misplacing it while she was walking, she was just so good at doing the wrong thing. Andrew had a way of neutralizing the effects of her unfortunate talent, even making it seem charming.

Nicholas, on the other hand, appeared to take great joy in playing it up or even outright exploiting it.

Andrew's sparkling smile had Prince Consort practically written across it.

Nicholas's smile was wicked, delicious, playful.

Andrew was a better fit for this place than she was.

With Nicholas, she felt like she was in the right place even when she was in the wrong place. And since he'd come along, she'd certainly found all the wrong places. A closet. She shuddered. A fountain? She closed her eyes in shame.

And then – completely against her will – she smiled.

Her grandmother's voice pulled her from her reverie. She opened her eyes and leaned forward. There she was. With Joe, of course. She could hear them, but not what they were saying. Not that it was necessary. She watched them emerge from the garden, so caught up in their conversation that they had no idea someone was intruding from afar. They clearly had eyes for only each other, which Mia found encouraging, but their faces were very serious, which Mia found oddly disappointing.

They were an alluring pair. The Queen, polished and poised and lovely in a pink skirt suit. The Head of Security, dark and sophisticated and enigmatic and always looking like he was prepared to shoot someone.

She thought of the official portrait of her grandfather hanging in the gallery and tried to transplant the image to the figure now walking next to her grandma. She bet they had looked perfect together – utterly royal and impossibly elegant. He probably never had to chase after her scarves or hold her elbow to keep her from tripping, although he likely would have been up to the task.

Best friends, Clarisse had said. Fond of each other. The description was lacking, in Mia's opinion, but not just for what was said. She couldn't shake the feeling that her grandmother had made a significant omission when painting a picture of her life with her husband. Then again, maybe it had been her imagination. Maybe it really wasn't so bad, this whole arranged marriage thing. Who wouldn't want to be able to say she was married to her best friend?

Suddenly, Joe's somber frown evaporated, and in its place was a wide grin. One she rarely saw him bestow on someone other than Clarisse. He smiled a lot with Mia, but not this smile. This smile, she was convinced, was of a very particular vintage.

It was a little wicked. It was rather delicious. It was highly appealing in its playfulness.

And it worked on the Queen. Whatever scandalous words went along with it had caused Clarisse to halt her step and turn her head sharply toward her companion, her expression shocked and her brow furrowed with rebuke. But her eyes caught Joe's smile, and the corners of her mouth turned up and undermined her attempt at being proper. She gave his arm a light smack and she heard Joe's husky laugh. They started on their way again, the space between them a bit narrower.

Mia almost felt badly for having invaded their privacy. But the truth was, she needed to see moments like that.

She took great comfort in knowing that maybe – just maybe – she wasn't so unlike her grandmother after all.

The End