"You're unusually quiet tonight," Niles said as C.C. climbed into bed beside him. "Your tongue swollen from holding it this morning?" He knew that C.C.'s shopping expedition with his mother hadn't gone particularly well.

"No, I was just thinking…"

"Now, CaCa, you know shouldn't do such strenuous exercise right before bedtime. You'll have a hard time falling asleep."

C.C. raised herself up on one elbow and looked at her husband. "You know, my little Scrubbing Bubble, if I wanted laughs, I would've been in here when you were taking off your clothes."

"All right, already, truce."

C.C. laid back down and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I've always heard that women tend to marry their fathers, but I wonder if men marry their mothers, too?" she wondered out loud.

"Mmph?" Niles mumbled, half asleep.

"You know that expression, how girls marry their fathers, well, I was wondering if…"

Niles' eyes opened and blinked several times. "You woke me up to discuss incest?"

"Pay attention, Niles. I'm asking you if I'm at all like your mother? And if I am, then why on earth did you marry me?"

Niles fumbled around on the night stand and picked up his calendar watch. He squinted at the date. "Is it that 'time of the month' already? Are you suffering from PMS?"

C.C. snatched the watch out of his hand angrily and set it on her nightstand. "The date has nothing to do with anything. And, for your information, I haven't been PMS since before Prudi was born. I'm breastfeeding, you don't get periods while you're breastfeeding."

"Oh, dear Lord," Niles moaned, covering his head with his pillow. "Must we talk about feminine hygiene at this hour?"

"You're the one that brought it up. Anyway, I'm asking you if you married me as some sort of substitute for your mother."

He uncovered his head and sighed. "Of course not, that's absurd. I married you because I love you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Because…oh, for heaven's sake, this is one of those loaded questions like 'do these slacks make my butt look big.' I'm not getting into this right now."

C.C. stacked two pillows behind her and leaned back. "It's just that your mother…I'm trying to think of a nice way to put this…she's so…arrogant. I mean, my family is, too, to some extent, but they have money, college degrees, important jobs. Your father was a butler. How uppity can you get over that?"

"It's a matter of class, of position, of social standing. You must understand that the class divisions in England are rather more defined than they are in America. My father, and my grandfather, for that matter, were both royal courtiers. That carries some substantial cachet in their social circle."

"Being a butler is impressive?"

"At Buckingham Palace, the butler is the top-ranking service employee. They not only manage the household, they travel with their boss and become their confidante. My parents not only lived in a grace-and-favor apartment at Buck House, my mother was also kept up to date on all the latest royal gossip, which she loved. Father was away a lot, traveling with the Duke, which gave mother plenty of free time to attend tea with various Ladies of the Chamber and share stories."

"She didn't mind being alone all the time? She'd trade companionship for the opportunity to have biscuits with the Queen Mum?"

"Mother is a royalist to her core," Niles sighed. "She didn't even bat an eye when father was caught romping with the Duchess of Carlisle. Had it been someone of lower rank, well, that would've been a different story… As long as they could maintain their position, she kept the traditional stiff upper lip."

"In a way," C.C. mused, "your folks aren't all that different from mine. B.B. and Daddy lead separate lives, but she didn't seem to mind, as long as she still had a spot on the Social Register."

"Mmph," Niles mumbled as he started to drift off to sleep again.

"…and," C.C. continued thinking out loud, "I used to be just like her. Putting you down for 20 years because you worked as a servant. But look at us now. I can't wait to get home from work to be with you. We have a beautiful daughter. When we're all together, it doesn't matter whether you're a plumber or a senator. It's just 'us', our family, and…" she paused for a moment and then sat up straight, as if she'd had a revelation. "And I'm happy, dammit. For probably the first time in my life. I'm not coming home to an empty penthouse and a dog that growls at me. I come home to two people who are actually happy to see me." A broad smile spread across her face.

"Niles, that's it. Things are going to be different. We're not going to raise Prudi to be status-conscious. We'll want her to have the best of everything, of course, but we'll teach her to treat the lesser people with respect, too!"

Niles barely concealed a smile at C.C.'s oxymoronic statement. Well, she was trying, anyway, he thought to himself. "I'm most impressed by your epiphany, my dear," he yawned. "I'd certainly express more excitement if it wasn't one o'clock in the bloody morning." He craned his neck, and C.C. reached down, meeting his lips in a kiss. "Good night, Blondie."

"Good night, my love."

C.C. had to admit to herself the next evening, while the server cleared the dishes and began bringing the after-dinner cordials, that dinner had gone surprisingly well. Malcolm was extra jolly and charming (a few gin and tonics didn't hurt, she thought wryly), and even Phyllida had loosened up a bit. She'd had two glasses of wine and had pounced on Stewart when she found out what had transpired on a recent business trip to England.

"You actually had dinner with the Prince of Wales at Highgrove?"

"Yes," Stewart chuckled, "it was strictly a strange string of coincidences. The firm I'd been meeting with had invited me on a fox hunt, and Mrs. Parker-Bowles happened to be one of the other guests. We got to talking, had lunch the next day, and then she invited me to a week-end dinner party up at Highgrove."

"How delightful it must have been!" Phyllida gushed.

"Indeed," Stewart was enjoying the attention. "It was a small gathering, and after dinner we all played charades. It was a real 'let your hair down' type of gathering." He chuckled. "Did you know that Prince Charles refers to Camilla's husband as 'Andrew Park-Your-Balls'?"

"Oh, how wicked!" Phyllida punched Stewart in the shoulder while covering her mouth in mock horror with her other hand.

"Sis," Noel was calling for C.C.'s attention, "have you given any thought to a preschool for Prudi? I could make some inquiries, if you like."

"Well, Noel, I had hoped to wait at least until she was on solid foods before I chose a school," C.C. responded sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Noel replied. "You apparently don't know how cutthroat it is to get children into an appropriate preschool, so they can get into a suitable grade school, so they can eventually be accepted into an Ivy League university."

"You are joking, aren't you?"

Noel sipped his cappuccino and shrugged. "I get cornered by anxious parents at university functions all the time. Do I have any pull at this or that preschool? Can I help get them on the right track for Princeton? It's an academic jungle out there."

"And I thought toilet training would be the biggest hurdle," C.C. sighed.

"I don't know about the West Coast," Noel confided, "but I can check with some of my colleagues and find some names for you. Back at home, it's all about Lucky Ducky and Woodchuck Hollow. You should see the waiting lists to get into those…"

"Well, before we ship our daughter off to boarding school, perhaps we could discuss her christening first?" Niles interjected. He turned to C.C. "Did you check with Fran? Is everything all set?"

"Yes, yes…the same non-denominational person that's going to 'marry' us tomorrow is also going to christen Prudi right afterward. Grace is wearing an off-white cocktail dress with lace trim, Noel. Would you please remember to bring her an appropriate corsage?"

"All taken care of, Sis," he smiled. "One Cattelya Orchid Corsage already chilling in my mini-fridge."

"Leave it to the professor to be logical and plan ahead," C.C. said, nudging him playfully. She was pleased that her brother and little Gracie were going to be her daughter's godparents.

"So, Shtewart," Phyllida began, lifting her glass and slurring her words slightly, "what do you think of our children having a schotgun wedding?"

"I think that as long as they're happy…I'm enjoying the hell out of this party!" He clinked glasses with her and everyone laughed.

C.C. was more than exhausted when she finally, gratefully, climbed into bed that night. She reluctantly set her alarm. All she wanted at that moment was to lie down and fall asleep forever. But she had to be up by 9AM to get her hair done and then get dressed and be at the hall. Lord only knew how long it would take for Nanny Fine to get the twins dressed and ready. C.C. had reluctantly agreed to let Jonah and Eve be ring bearer and flower girl, respectively. Niles was already snoring when C.C. turned off her table lamp.

"There isn't enough concealer in the world to cover up these dark circles," C.C. said the next morning as Niles drove her to the hair salon.

"You look beautiful," he replied.

"Oh, tell it to the Marines. I'm a tired, bloated mess. I feel exhausted and cranky. Why did I ever agree to this nonsense?"

"You're just overtired, we got to be awfully late last night," he tried to soothe her.

He dropped her off at the salon and promised to pick her up an hour later. C.C. sank into a chair and handed the stylist a photo of her gown and hat. "My hair has to go with that, if that makes any sense," she mumbled.

As the stylist teased, curled and pinned, C.C. watched in the mirror with limited interest. Suddenly, though, she sat straight up and held out a hand in a "stop" motion. "I don't want it all up in the back…leave some hanging down."

"But you would look so much better with…"

"I said, not all of it up," C.C. said with emphasis. The stylist shrugged and continued working. "I have a scar back there," C.C. said quietly, "where my hair won't grow. I don't want it to be noticeable."

"Oh, I see where you mean, right here. Did you have surgery?"

"Well, sort of…"

"My sister had a mole removed on her head, and her hair won't grow in that spot…" the stylist continued in a conversational tone.

"I was shot in the head. I was on a plane that was hijacked, and I got shot. They removed the bullet, but it left a scar." She didn't know why she felt obligated to share that information. Maybe she was overtired or stressed, or maybe she felt like her scar was a symbol of personal triumph that she didn't want shrugged off or overlooked.

The stylist paused at C.C.'s words, her curling iron suspended in mid-air. "Hijacked? I think I read about that in the newspaper. You were…you fell down the stairs…?"

"Yes."

The stylist impulsively threw her arms around C.C. "You are so brave. I am honored to do your hair."

As she continued working, C.C. relaxed a bit and chatted about the wedding, and told her a little about the rehearsal dinner. Finally, the stylist spun her around in the chair and handed her a mirror. "Well….?"

"Perfect," C.C. responded. Her hair had been poofed up in the back a bit, but had curly tendrils hanging all around her head. Her long bangs were gently raised and swept to one side.

Niles was there on time and deposited her at the hall, where her dress and shoes were waiting for her in the dressing room. Fran clucked around her like a mother hen, straightening seams and touching up makeup. In the distance, C.C. heard the DJ playing one of the songs she'd pre-requested:

Keep your chin up when you're feelin' lonely

Don't let them get you down

Ain't no use in your sitting all alone

Hangin' around for someone to call

Ooh they won't come knocking at all

Don't run and hide

Even if it hurts you inside

So I said

Give as good as you get

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

You'd better do it

'Cause it makes you feel good

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

You're never gonna help yourself

There was a knock at the dressing room door. Grace opened it and Max poked his head in. "Are you ready? It's time."

C.C. took a long, last look in the mirror. "I'm ready."