The HIM who caused such quaking in Aria's knees and palpitations in Aria's heart was the brother of Mr. Winters, Kip Winters. Kip Winters was a Special Agent with the FBI, who had been summoned to the area by his brother, in the hopes of apprehending the Almost-Mailbox-Thief. Aria had been nineteen and the time, and easily seduced by the dashing, genteel Kip. After two weeks of moonlight walks and philosophical discussions of where they hoped to be in five years, Kip had proposed, and Aria had immediately accepted.

Those adolescent dreams were shattered by the Silent Treatment of Mr. Waldon Edwards, and the disappointment of Mrs. Ester Rosenburg, who chastised Aria that a Special Agent from the FBI would never make enough money to support a family, and his career would either kill him, or turn him to a life of a crime. Aria had grudgingly agreed to refuse Kip, but, within the most secret corners of her heart, she had never stopped loving him.

On the evening Aria told Kip that she just wasn't ready for marriage, and she needed time to find herself before she could be defined by her bond with someone else, Marcus was perched expectantly upon her window-seat when she returned with wayward strands of hair escaping form her pigtails and heart-breaking tears smudging her makeup. Marcus, despite his instinctive desire to comfort her, gritted his teeth and roared that she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

"ARIA, WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING! KIP WINTERS ADORES YOU. HE LOVES YOU, OKAY? YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO FIND ANOTHER GUY LIKE THAT… EVER! All you've ever done is break your back kissing your father's ass and your sister's ass and the ass of everyone at Kelly Lynch, and the ONE opportunity you had to put yourself first for a change, you've completely SCREWED IT! Kip Winters would have treated you like a queen… like a diva… like the goddess I have always known you were. WE COULD HAVE BEEN DIVAS, Aria!"

His deafening tirade had been silenced by the "OUCH!" and "DAMNIT!" of Kip Winters painstakingly ascending the trellis beneath Aria's window. Single rose clenched between his teeth, Kip lurched over the windowsill. Marcus quipped that he was either hoping to Tango, or receive the RIGHT answer to his lovelorn plea of, "Marry me, Aria." Marcus stormed off, leaving Aria to correct the greatest error she'd ever made. Kip tentatively kneeled; Kip courageously proposed; Kip was brutally shot down.

Marcus had never forgiven her for letting Kip Winters slip through her fingers. With his ocean-blue eyes, ebony wisps of hair falling over his forehead, sun-bronzed skin, melodic laughter and admirable confidence, no woman was completely immune to his charms.

There had been a would-be Romeo two years later, Carl Matthews, a graduate of the country's most prestigious law school, who had become a partner in one of the country's most prestigious law firms. Carl had showered Aria with flowers, chocolates, promises of expeditions around the world via yacht, multi-billion dollar Summer Homes in exotic locales, etc., but Aria steadfastly refused him. Mrs. Ester Rosenburg had been as devastated over the loss of Carl Matthews as Aria's spouse as she was that Aria would soon be leaving for Boston.

On the evening Raina turned down Carl Matthews, Marcus howled in disbelief from his position on the window-seat, "OH MY GOD! You did it again, didn't you? You turned down another one of the Universe's Most Eligible Bachelors! Aria, this isn't a bloody Jane Austen novel! A woman can't afford to be breaking hearts left and right. Men don't grow on trees, you know! You don't get to snub a zillion Mr. Wonderfuls before choosing the one you deem most worthy! Allow me to reiterate myself… Kip. Winters. Is. Your. Perfect. Man. I'm at a loss as to how to make myself any clearer on the subject."

Off Aria's miserable sighing and pouting, Marcus soothingly stroked her hair, and refrained from further commentary on the perfection of Kip Winters.

Aria's move to Boston was delayed by the over-the-phone yowling of Marita. Marita was constantly suffering from imaginary illnesses, which never ceased to demand Aria's immediate dropping of whatever she was doing, in order to go to Umbridge Court to comfort her. So it was decided that Aria would nurse Marita back to health, and occasionally visit the Creeds at the Mini Mansion, until after Christmas, when Mrs. Ester Rosenburg would take her to Boston. Aria was terrified that this decision would force her to come face-to-face with Kip Winters again, but she assured herself that seeing Kip Winters would be nothing compared to waking up and discovering that a moose had been put in her room.

Aria and Marcus had not been separated since their introduction nearly two decades ago. Marcus had even secured himself in her luggage every summer that she was sent abroad for Finishing School. After the first three years of being found by the Head Mistress of the Fabulous Female Finishing School of France, Madam Rousseau, the attic was reserved for Marcus in advance. Astonishingly enough, multiple summers of Finishing School failed to transform Marcus into a proper lady, or teach him the most basic of manners.

Following such a friendship as theirs', Aria was immeasurably devastated by the prospect of not being with him whenever she wanted, of not returning to her room to find him relaxing on her window-seat. It was with welling eyes and a fractured heart that she bid Marcus farewell for the final time. He merely blinked at her, coyly perking that if she didn't bring him a souvenir, he would either slaughter her before she had the opportunity to turn down ANOTHER proposal, or there would be a moose in her bedroom when she returned to the Mini Mansion.

When she arrived at Umbridge Court, Aria was immediately pounced upon by the tank-top-and-miniskirt-that-barely-covered-her-thong-clad Marita. With her bulging eyes and toothpick-thin arms and legs, Marita looked like a preying-mantis-turned-prostitute. Marita bitched at Aria for not coming sooner, and Aria calmly defended herself that Marita had told her over the phone three days before that she was feeling well enough to be by herself for a few days. She neglected to mention having to spend an entire day regaining her composure following her farewell to Marcus. Marita had never grasped the concept of Raina's co-dependency on her male friend. Men were there to pamper you, Marita had chided her on too many occasions to count, not to fill some friendship void that would be done more justice by a woman.

Besides, Marita concluded, who was lowly, servile, Peasant-esque Aria to question her reasons for feeling slighted when there was dinner at the Ponces' to jabber about? Aria was then informed that dinner at the Ponces' had been as boring as Marita had expected it to be, as everyone who usually RSVPed had shown up, and being squished into the backseat of the Matthews' Minivan was undoubtedly the cause of her illness.

Aria indulged her that minivans were responsible for a great many evils, while patiently puttering about the kitchen, concocting the chicken noodle soup Marita had preached would cure all that ailed her. When months-worth of Cosmo Quizzes and several bowls of soup had been finished, Marita was feeling energized enough to venture next door for a quick chat with the Matthews Family. The Matthews Family owned The Grand Hotel, which was actually a Bed and Breakfast, but Carl had christened it a "grand ole hotel," in one of his more mischievous moments, and the humorous name had stuck.

Aria found the eldest Matthews Girls (Heather, 20 and Lonnie, 19) to be as delightfully bubbly as she had remembered. Their respective experiences at an All-Female College had transformed them into eloquent, talented, and confident young ladies. Heather was studying Ballet, and Lonnie was studying Opera. Although the family couldn't afford BMWs, Mr. Matthews was not covered with tattoos, Mrs. Matthews was not a heroin addict, and the youngest Matthews children weren't pyromaniacs, so Aria acknowledged that they were very decent people. Her only complaint to herself was that she, Elianna, and Marita would never be as close as Heather and Lonnie.

When compared to the beauty of the golden-haired, grey-eyed Heather and the red-haired, chocolate-eyed Lonnie, Aria was astonished that Marita had managed to attract any man's attention. Carl was no Brad Pitt, with his pudgy middle, unmanageable, dingy-blond hair, and squinty eyes, but he was generally polite and honest and dependable. Aria had her suspicions that the only reason Marita married him was he because he had been interested in her first.

Aria was furious that the only role she was considered worthy to play at Umbridge Court was the confidante of everyone else. Carl wailed to her that Marita was putting his sanity to the test with her constant bitching and moaning about imaginary illnesses, and Marita simpered that Carl would glower at her as she gasped her final breath, and the last ounce of life left her body, without so much as lifting a finger to ease her suffering. Aria resented Carl's habitual practice of excusing himself to play golf (were she any less of a saint, Aria might have needled him about being more intimate with his golf club than with his wife), instead of tending to Marita himself, but she pacified herself that she shouldn't expect favors from a man she had refused. And, at the very least, Carl Matthews was more preferable than a moose.

Heather and Lonnie groaned to Aria incessantly that their mother was always ranting about the performance of Marita's nanny and maids. Servants being at Wal-Mart, when they should be taking care of children and making beds, was appalling to Mrs. Matthews. These accusations were countered by Marita's gossiping that Mrs. Matthews's servants were always at Target, when they should be at the Grand Hotel doing everything in their power to make sure that the guests were comfortable.

Aria didn't give a rat's ass about the activities of any of the servants. She was more focused on the fact that she was rarely asked to exhibit her talent of playing the piano, since the Matthews were too preoccupied with cooing over Heather's leaps and Lonnie's solos. Aria's fifteen minutes of fame were provided during spontaneous get-togethers of the neighborhood youth. What began as pizza and beer evolved into sessions of bumping and grinding on the dance floor.

Three weeks had passed, with Aria being the first to learn all the gossip and only being requested to show off her Mad Piano Skillz at parties, when the Creeds stopped by for lunch.

Mrs. Creed was built like a rectangle, with scraggly brown hair and rosy cheeks. Aria was immediately impressed by her genuineness. This was a woman incapable of putting up a front. She would make an excellent talk show host, Raina quipped inwardly. General Creed had a portion of his stomach hanging over his belt, salt-and-pepper hair, an overwhelming mustache, green eyes flecked with brown, yellowed-teeth, and the awe-inspiring presence of one who has experienced many hardships during his lifetime.

Aria's comfort was shattered by Mrs. Creed's statement that she knew Aria was acquainted with her brother, and she might be interested to learn that Mr. Winters had married. Aria's stomach plummeted to her toes, as her heart leapt in her throat, until Mrs. Creed expounded that the brother she spoke of was not Aria's beloved Kip, but the unfortunate-when-it-came-to-mailboxes Mr. Winters.

"And speaking of Kip," General Creed continued authoritatively, "he'll be staying with us at the Mini Mansion in two weeks, so you all must join us for dinner to celebrate."

Mrs. Creed turned her accusatory glance toward Aria. "I don't believe you and Kip have met." Aria lamely gulped that she didn't believe they had either, and the visit ended without further awkwardness.

The Matthews Family was due for dinner at the Umbridge Court Estate at any minute, when the delicate pitter-patter of feminine footsteps, instead of the anticipated spluttering of the Matthews' Minivan, caught their attention. Lonnie entered the living room, apologetically blurting that dinner would continue as planned, but she had walked to Umbridge Court to ensure that there was room in the minivan for the harp; as her mother's nerves were raw, and only harp music could soothe her.

The Creeds, Lonnie began, had visited that morning with the joyful news of Captain Kip Winters' return. The Matthew's son Dick had been Kip's partner during his days at the FBI, and Kip's name had reminded Mrs. Matthews of the loss of her oldest son. Mrs. Matthews had forced Dick into undergoing FBI Training, as she had feared that he would never amount to anything if she didn't push him into doing something. Dick had grudgingly relented, but had refused to communicate with any of his family, except for begging for money, after that. He had been shot during his first investigation, and no one had mourned him, until now.

The continuous praising of Kip struck Aria as the cruelest joke the Fates could have ever played on anyone. Throughout the cry-me-a-river tale of Dick the Prick, Aria remained mute, brow furrowed, teeth clenched, sweat pouring down her forehead, as everyone else declared that spending time with Kip Winters as soon as possible was a must.

From the Frustration of Aria to the Bemusement of Marcus:

Dearest Marcus,

In the waning flame of a single candle, I have decided to write you. Staring into the flickering embers, I am reminded of our foray into camping. As I am certain you will recall, Justin Adams, Captain of the Lacrosse Team at Kelly Lynch Preparatory University and Conservatory, regaled us with tales of his thrilling adventures during the Senior Camping Expedition, which we attempted to recreate in my bedroom.

We hauled Father's tent up the stairs (making ridiculous efforts to disguise our activities; not that a man who would purchase a moose would find dragging a tent upstairs the slightest bit out of the ordinary) and positioned it beneath the window. Before bed, we set Mother's best candle sticks inside the tent with us in order to roast marshmallows, and the tent caught fire.

As I recall, you blamed the fire on Elianna and her friends, claiming that they had been using the candles to sterilize needles for piercing each other's ears. Father never even questioned their sanity, or your lies, but merely congratulated them for caring enough about their appearance to engage in ear-piercing.

Other than missing you desperately, I have no complaints. Marita has jabbered periodically about imaginary ailments, but Chicken Soup and cooing over her have soothed all that doesn't really ail her. Carl continues to vent his frustrations over his home life on the golf course. The children are growing like weeds. I have played piano for the masses attending the Matthews Family gatherings at the Grand Hotel. And we have been dining with the Matthews Family whenever they are certain that the Grand Hotel can function without them. Heather and Lonnie, the oldest Matthew Girls, have provided some entertainment with their constant blubbering about their mother's horror over the behavior of Marita's servants, but you will always be my Number One.

All my love,

Aria Edwards

P.S. I have yet to regret refusing Carl Matthews.

P.P.S. Kip Winters is visiting the Creeds. I am the epitome of Calm.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Who knew this story would actually develop a plot at some point beyond the moose and the preening of Mr. Waldon Edwards? I apologize profusely for some of the monotony of this chapter. I suppose boring people are boring even in Modern Times. Note to Marita: SHUT UP! For those of you who are completely confused, Carl's parents didn't own a Bed and Breakfast. They owned an estate called the "Great House," but in a Modernized Version of something you have to give people reasons to be wealthy. All that I'm-rich-due-to-an-inheritance crap just doesn't fly. Mostly, I regret that the style of Persuasion seems to be a-story-without-any-sense-of-flow-yet-it-somehow-manages-to-have-a-psuedo-sequential-order. I wish Jane Austen provided segues too. Thank you for your patience, and keep reading. Review if you'd like. I appreciate all the feedback I can get.