So this wasn't too long of a wait, was it? I wanted to update and it wasn't gonna happen any other time this weekend, so I thought now might be the best time--even though I've gotta get up in about four hours for some ridiculous quizbowl meet. Anyway, thank you all very much for the reviews. They're totally appreciated and will continue to be, especially in increasing numbers.

My panicked footsteps took me out into the hallway; it seemed as though every part of my body was moving somehow…my head swiveling, eyes flicking back and forth, feet pounding a rapid staccato on the marble floors. Worst of all was my heart, hammering a bleak rhythm against my satin gown, like the gun salute at a military funeral. A perfect ending to my rather militant relationship with Michael.

Oh, please, I thought, my inner monologue choking up though my cheeks remained dry. It can't be the end. How can so much effort be put into absolutely nothing? Have I just been opening my heart to a black hole?

After all that's happened…after everything we said! He can't just let Grandmere's opinion send him running. I can understand if she had said, "Ladies and gentlemen, for this evening's entertainment, I present to you…Linkin Park."

But honestly! Michael already knows how Grandmere feels about him. Besides, that's really not what matters here. Surely, he knows that. If I relied on Grandmere for consorts, I'd totally be the beard of some distant cousin by now. Yeeeesh.

All I know is I'm not about to let him go now. "Michael!" I called, a slight hint of desperation slipping into my tone. "Michael, where are you?"

He can't have been gone too long, can he? Not enough time has passed for him to angrily toss his clothes into the suitcase, grab Olivia, and head out the back door. Definitely not enough time for him to consider that he might be doing the wrong thing. That maybe I was telling the truth when I told him nothing would get in the way this time.

I blinked rapidly, surprised to find tears gathering in the corners of my eyelids. I need him. God, do I need him.

And if he takes Olivia…well, that's it then. I can't do this. It's not even about the heir issue any more. They're my family. Every time Grandmere bullies me into attending another fundraiser or struggling into another ball gown, she hammers it into my brain that family always comes first.

Of course, Clarisse and I aren't exactly on the same page about which relatives come first. But if it came down to it…if I had to choose…well, there was no choice.

"Moscovitz," I whispered to myself, trying out the sound of it. "Mia Moscovitz. Mr. and Mrs. Michael Moscovitz. Michael, Mia, and their daughter Olivia. Of course I'll be at the PTO meeting! I wouldn't miss it for the world. Ah, you might think it gets boring spending night after night in that dingy little apartment with the stuffing coming out of the couch and leaks everywhere you look…but that's how we like it."

"Oh, is it?" said a voice in my ear.

I jumped, not even bothering to turn around. "How long have you been there for?"

He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting a scruffy chin on my shoulder. "Long enough…Mrs. Moscovitz."

"Hallucinations," I explained weakly, pulling my shoes back on. "I had a few mushroom caps. Always told Grandmere that delivery guy was a shady character."

Michael let go of me. I turned to see him standing stiffly with his hands stuffed into his tuxedo pockets. "Don't mention her right now."

"Michael, look—" I clung to his blazer, hoping he couldn't hear every ounce of the desperate urgency that seemed to be oozing into my voice. "Grandmere's always been a bitch. That hasn't changed. So why should we change? I still love you. And I—well, if you're up to it, I'm willing to give it a shot—even if you're not, I still want to. I'll go anywhere. Just please…don't go."

His crinkly grin faltered into confusion. "Go where?"

I gestured vaguely down the hallway, lamely adding, "Away from me."

It took him a moment to reply. "Why would I do that?"

"I just thought when you walked out—"

Michael—bipolar as always—burst into laughter and pulled me even closer to his chest. "They were all staring at me, you dork, so I stepped out. I'm not leaving this place without you. Face it, babe, you've contracted me and now you gotta live with the pain."

"It's not all pain," I joked.

"Hmmm," he mused. "I guess that means I care about you, doesn't it?"

"Could be inferred."

"And that I wanna start that after party right about now."

"But the party's still going. So it kind of defeats the purpose, y'know."

He squinted towards the ballroom in mock bewilderment. "A party? Without me? Clearly fooling themselves, the lot of them. It's pathetic in a way."

There's something about a reunion, even if it's based on hysterical delusions, that heightens the hilarity of your significant other's jokes to epic levels.

Michael smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Am I wrong in taking this as a clear invitation into your…skirt thingy?"

"Not entirely," I replied coyly. But just as I was leaning in to kiss him again, the pitter-patter of footsteps caused us to jerk apart.

"There you are!" said my father. He was balancing Olivia on his hip and looking frazzled. "You've got to get back there, Mia. Everyone seems to think you're abdicating and your grandmother's not doing a thing to stop these ridiculous rumors."

"Abdicating?" I choked. "What makes them think that?"

"Probably because you ran off to find him right after your grandmother made it clear that he wasn't acceptable."

My shock quickly turned to anger, especially since my dad seemed to have no problem with talking about Michael like he wasn't even there. "Uh, I told her that she couldn't stop me from being with whom ever I want to be. Meaning I'm going to carry on with being a princess, just with Michael at my side. Or are you against this too?"

He seemed to wither under my glare. "Honestly, Mia, I've got nothing to say on the matter. I'll just warn you that your grandmother tends to know what's best when it comes to publicity matters."

Michael had kept his silence until then, but he spoke up. "With all due respect, I'm not going to embarrass your family. I don't really have any intention of getting my face in the paper."

My father gave a short, humorless laugh. "Good luck, son," he said, patting Michael on the shoulder.

It wasn't until my dad was halfway down the hall that Michael spoke again. "Does that mean I'm in?"

"I thought you didn't have to worry about being 'in.' You're not here to be with my family, are you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," I giggled, as I was wont to do around him, "that I'm the one concerned with family. Our family."

"Our family," he echoed, leaning towards me once more.

- - -

My dad expected me to go calm the nerves of the partygoers, but seriously. Wouldn't my continued presence at the castle be enough?

I'm assuming Michael will be here with us. Me and Olivia, that is. What would happen if our relationship were to end again? As of now, technically, we are just boyfriend and girlfriend. Even under the contract of matrimony, anything can happen.

I just pray it doesn't.

So instead of "welcoming the new members of the family," I committed the far more humane act of taking them out for hot chocolate on the boardwalk.

"Ahh!" cried Olivia, burning her tongue on the first sip.

I knelt down beside her, dropping Michael's hand for an instant. "You've gotta remember to let it cool, otherwise the 'hot' part isn't so kind."

Her lower lip trembled. "It's gross."

"How about some cold chocolate then?"

She watched skeptically as I approached a nearby vendor and returned with a milkshake. "It is summer, after all."

Olivia gratefully slurped the drink up, choosing to giggle at us now. "Who drinks hot chocolate in July anyway? You're both sooooo weird."

Michael growled, his eyes narrowed, and swooped down to gather her up in his arms. "Daddy!" she shrieked, pounding against his back as he swung her over his shoulder. "Daddy! Let me down!"

"Who ever heard of a princess hopping off a carriage before the ride was complete? Preposterous! Silly girl, you've got much to learn."

"Daddy, I'm not kidding!" she laughed, kicking at his chest now as her flip-flops clattered to the ground.

He didn't drop her until a nearby security guard approached to see what the problem was. "Maybe I was wrong about not getting my face in the papers," he chuckled, grabbing my hand again as we continued our stroll.

- - -

Even though I'd told Michael again and again to not fret about the royal aspect of my life, he continued to work on dazzling my family. I guess it's pretty difficult to forget what I am when you're shacking up in my castle.

"The tie's not necessary," I laughed, watching as Michael attempted once again to get the knot straight.

"It's what I have to do," said Michael solemnly. "Dammit! Are all Genovian ties this tricky?"

"Oh, can you do an American tie?"

He shrugged. "The clip-ons, sure."

"Just get one of those, then. Michael, I'm telling you. You're wasting your time trying to impress my grandmother. I invited you here and she can't interfere."

He paid me no mind, though, and after a minute more of watching his shoddy primping attempts, I gave in and knotted his tie myself. And I didn't even learn that in princess lessons! I guess Grandmere expected any husband of mine to have acquired that knowledge himself.

Grandmere was still giving us the silent treatment at dinner. I, for one, was more than happy to let her continue, but others wouldn't let it alone. Who are others, you might ask?

Oh, none other than my boyfriend, the cause of her horrible mood.

"So, um, they say the Sox have got the World Series in the bag for the eighth straight year. But hey, I'm not complaining."

"Has anyone read Scar Tissue? It's by Anthony Kiedis…from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yeah, he's awesome."

"Those windows really do a great job of catching the last rays of sunlight as the day winds down. It's a lovely touch."

Seeing that he was seriously straining here, I put a hand on his knee. "More spinach, Michael?"

He looked down at his plate in confusion. "I didn't eat any in the first place."

Olivia stuck out her tongue.

"Or how about some—" But I was cut off.

"Is there something wrong with the spinach, boy? It's cultivated specially by farmers I picked myself over twenty years ago. Perhaps your pallet isn't prepared to handle a gourmet meal. I believe the phone book can direct you to a good McDougal's down the road."

"McDonald's?" asked Olivia, but no one answered.

"Look, Clarisse," said Michael, speaking in a slow, careful tone. "Refine your pallet to the fact that I'm going to be marrying your granddaughter. We might have a McDougal's built in our room."

"Married?" chorused the rest of the table, including me.

It seemed to occur to Michael then that you generally propose to your fiancée before you tell her family. "Um, yes," he said, smoothing down the front of his suit. "Yes, that is what we are doing."

My grandmother began to fan herself rapidly, rasping for a Sidecar.

"Here," whispered Michael, placing something in my lap. I glanced down at the velvet box, still far too overwhelmed to make a real fuss.

"Married?"

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