Hi, you guys.

So much has happened since I last published TWO YEARS AGO.

I got married last month.

And then today, while watching Letters to Juliet, I had the sudden inspiration to write this. In half an hour.

I hope you enjoy.

xx, DisneyPrincess55

"Oh, please! Please let me read it." Tintin tries to tug the notebook from my hands, but I only grip it tighter. As soon as his grip loosens, I try to dart away, but he grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer to him. In an effort to deter him, I throw the notebook as far across the room as possible. He picks me up, despite my squealing and thrashing, and throws me onto the sofa. He then makes a run for the notebook.

Somehow, I find my feet, leaping up and onto his back, tackling him to the floor. I reach the notebook before he does. I tuck it behind my back and pin myself against the wall. By the time he reaches me, we are both in hysterics. He leans in to kiss me, but I dart away again, running up the stairs to stow the notebook in a place he will never find…at least, not until I'm ready for him to find and read it.

Every adventure…everything we have experienced together…I had to write them down. I had to ensure that someday, someone would know of them. Of us. It seems selfish…trying to preserve one's legacy. But our children, and our children's children… will be able to read them and know of our story. And that, in and of itself, is reason enough to write it all down.

I fiddle with my wedding rings as I wait, portfolio on my lap. The office secretary looks at me and shakes her head. Francisco de Luna, editor of the La Luna literary journal, is never late…except for today. Today. The day I am to present my stories to him, cross my fingers, and hope he fancies them enough to publish them.

Francis de Luna is only fifteen minutes late, and despite the secretary's insistence, I stay until he arrives. I assume he will only give me his fifteen remaining minutes, skim over my stories, and reject them…but he reads them all the way through, asking for my commentary on certain parts as he reads through.

An hour and a half later, he looks up at me, his gaze intense.

"How does it end?"

I swallow. "I beg your pardon?"

"How does it end? Between the girl, and the boy? What becomes of them, of their love?"

"I, uh—"

"It's just…the opening line. I cannot get it out of my head. It says, 'There once was a girl, a girl so afraid of the world she hid herself away behind the pages of a book, dreaming of a life of adventure. So lonely she relied on characters to keep herself company. There once was a boy, so lonely himself that he travelled far and wide, busying himself with the adventures he so loved and craved. They didn't know how badly they needed each other until they met.' How could you write such a line and not tell your readers the ending?"

A smile spreads across my face.

"Mr. de Luna," I say, holding up my left hand, "This is the ending."

His grin mirrors mine as he pushes my portfolio back. "I want to publish this story," he says, "But not until it is truly finished, Mrs. Roberts."

My sweet husband looks up at me. "Nollie," he says, and there are tears in his eyes. He puts the journal down, a crumpled mess of printed pages, and embraces me.

"What?" I wipe the tears from his eyelashes, "Is something wrong? Is it horrible?"

"No. No, nothing is wrong. You have just captured the past two years so eloquently, so perfectly…I just cannot believe this." He tucks me closer to him and whispers in my ear, "I adore you. Truly."

"And I love you," I whisper back.