A/N: Goooooood morning! It is very cloudy and overcast where I am at the moment, and I am so very pleased. It's great. Small disclaimer: Because of the way I pre-write everything, sometimes I lose track of what is in which chapter. So, this chapter and the next are nearly 100% fluff. BUT it's really freaking cute so I'm not willing to cut it, but I feel bad that there's been almost no plot in the last several chapters (this is also why I'd never be able to write an original novel, fun fact). SO my solution is outtakes! You'll be getting Maxon outtakes on Wednesday this week and next week! The first one will be when America was out in the woods during the rebel attack, and I'm not telling you what the next one would be because spoilers ;) Thanks for reading!

"I was a little hasty when I suggested a garden picnic," Maxon admits as he dunks a piece of scone into his tea. It's just the two of us, eating together in my room, so he can be as messy as he wants. Maxon said we could do anything I wanted; I picked breakfast in bed first. I told him pajamas were required, so he hid flannel pants and a t-shirt under his suit and changed when he got to my room.

"I noticed." I gesture to the clouds gathering in the distance. I wish it would rain, but I know it won't; it almost never rains in Angeles.

"Well, yes, the weather. But we're tightening down security for the time being, so nothing outside today."

I pout as I drain my cup of tea and set it on my nightstand. Maxon does the same and throws my comforter over both of us, so we are huddled together in darkness. Not so dark that I can't see my ring glittering on my finger as I trace lines across his face, but dark enough that I don't see his hand creeping over to pull me closer to him.

"Hey!" I laugh as Maxon twines his legs around mine and pulls me to lay on top of him. "That was rude."

"Not if I apologize," he says, kissing me softly and wrapping his arm around my waist. . He tastes like tea and strawberry jam, which is unusual. I don't usually get to kiss him right after breakfast.

"I guess I can let it slide," I tease, pillowing my chin on my arms, just over his heart. "So what are our options?" I ask.

"There's the movie theater, or the library," he starts. "We should probably steer clear of the office wing, otherwise I might get roped into meetings-"

"We should definitely avoid that," I affirm.

"You might not want to do this, but I could show you some more of my pictures," Maxon says awkwardly. "I had a few more developed recently."

"Yes. That. I want to do that. I really, really, want that."

"Oh," Maxon says, a little startled.

"You know I love your photos. I still need to pick out which ones I want for my collage," I point out.

"How could I forget?" he says with a smile. "Do you want to go now?"

"No." I clutch myself closer to him. "We're just going to hide here forever and no one will ever find us."

"Of course," Maxon says solemnly. "Maybe, just to be certain, we should move to a different room."

"No," I maintain. "We just have to stay under the covers and no one will ever know we're here."

"Alright." Maxon reaches up to kiss my forehead and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Can we go back to the secret room?"

"Which one?" he jokes.

"All of them, if there are more." I stick my tongue out at him. "But I want to see more books."

"That's fine. What first?"

I bite my lip, trying to decide. "Let's do the secret room, then watch a movie, then go back to your room for pictures and lunch?"

"Perfect. We should probably get started, then."

"Ugh. Promise me something?"

"Anything, darling."

"We don't have to-" I stop, my cheeks flushing. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," Maxon says with a grin. "If it's making you blush like that, I have to know."

"I was going to say we don't have to get out of bed after we get married, but that's not what I meant."

Maxon freezes for a moment, then laughs my favorite laugh, but he laughs so hard that I have to roll off of him. I want to be annoyed, but I just start laughing with him.

"I didn't mean it like that!" I protest through my giggles.

"Oh, my dear," Maxon says, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, "I certainly do."

I scoff and throw a pillow at him, but that doesn't stop him. "Alright, alright. Go get dressed."

Maxon tosses the pillow back at me, but obeys, going into my bathroom to change. I go to my seldom-used dresser in my closet; today is definitely a pants day. I'm sitting at my vanity table, brushing on the slightest bits of makeup in case we run into anyone accidentally, when Maxon comes out of the bathroom, but sans tie and jacket. His first few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. I spend a little too long staring at him in the mirror.

He notices, and smirks, then comes over and kisses my temple.

"We're a casual prince today, are we?" I tease.

"Considering I spent the morning in pajamas, most definitely, love," he says, bending over behind me. He kisses a spot just under my ear and my breath hitches, smudging mascara on my eyebrow.

"First rule of being near someone putting makeup on," I say sternly, gently pulling his hair to get his face away from me. "Don't startle me when I have a brush in my hand."

"Sorry, Ames," he says, sounding anything but. "What should I do with these?" he asks, holding up his pajamas.

"Put them in the back of the bottom drawer of my dresser," I offer. "I'm the only one that ever digs through it." Maxon disappears into my closet for a moment, then comes back and lounges on my bed while I clean up the mistakes and finish up.

I peer out the door to make sure no one is coming before beckoning Maxon out the door, and we rush to get down the hall before someone sees us coming out of my room. We slow down once we get out of the wing of bedrooms and Maxon laces his fingers through mine.

I glance up at him. "We're a very casual prince today," I comment. We usually only hold hands like this when we're in the gardens away from everyone

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and double checks that we're alone. "Well, you're still wearing your ring," he whispers.

"Oh, shoot!" I move to take it off. "I'm so sorry, I forgot. Can you keep it in your pocket?"

"No, leave it," he says surely. "We're not likely to run into anyone, and this will hide it even if we do. You've never been able to wear it for more than an hour or two."

I shrug and put my hand back in his. "If you're sure we can get away with it. I'll wear it as much as I can." I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek and Maxon grins, pulling me through twisting halls up to the secret library.

I was totally lost the last time we came up here. Granted, we were running through halls I'd never seen before, and I've become much more familiar with the palace since then, but I can easily follow where we are going and what I would need to do to get back to my room, the Women's Room, or anywhere else, really.

"What are you thinking about?" Maxon asks me, distracting me from my thoughts.

"Nothing, really," I shrug. "Mainly just about how lost I was the first time we came up here, but I know exactly where we are now."

He smiles. "I told you you'd feel at home here."

"I do," I marvel. Carolina isn't home anymore; I belong in the palace, with Prince Maxon Schreave.

"Are you okay?" Maxon pauses before flipping the switch to reveal the door.

"Yes. I'm just a little freaked out. I'll be fine." I'm still a little wide-eyed. I just need another minute to get my bearings back.

Maxons stops and turns to face me. "Are you sure?" he asks, concern written all over his face. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head before he gets too close. "I told you; sometimes I get overwhelmed. Just… I realized that when I think of "home", I think of here now. I don't… I don't belong in Carolina anymore, and I'm not sure what to do with that information."

Maxon comes just a hair closer to take my hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "You belong with me, America," he says surely and softly. "Whether it's in Carolina, Angeles, or halfway across the world, we belong with each other."

He gently tugs me towards the door and puts the code in. He doesn't hide it from me this time, but I doubt it's a conscious decision. I don't pay enough attention to remember it.

I've shaken off the fog around me when Maxon helps me up the ledge into the room and reminds me of the last time we were here. "Do you want to trip again?"

The volume of my laugh catches me off guard, which makes me laugh again, which nearly does cause me to trip. "In case you didn't know, I love you."

Just like every other time I've said it, Maxon's smile glows. "Really? Thanks, that's good to know."

I roll my eyes and step into the room, fully awestruck.

The windowless room is covered with shelves full of what appear to be ancient books. Two of the shelves contain books that have curious red slashes on the bindings, and I see a massive atlas against one wall, opened to a page that holds the shape of some country I can't name. In the middle is a table with a handful of books on it, looking as if they've been handled recently and left out for quick recovery. And finally, embedded in one wall is a wide screen that looks like a TV.

"What do the red slashes mean?" I ask in wonder.

"Those are banned books. As far as we know, they may be the only copies that still exist in all of Illéa."

I turn to him, asking with my eyes what I didn't dare say aloud.

"Yes, you can look at them," he says in a way that implies I am putting him out, but he clearly was hoping I'd ask.

I lift one of the books carefully, terrified I might accidentally destroy a one-of-a-kind treasure. I flip through the pages but end up setting it back down almost immediately. I am simply too awestruck.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing at the TV-like device.

"A computer," Maxon answers, pushing himself off of the wall where he was leaning and coming to wrap his arms around me from behind. "Have you never seen one?"

I shake my head, and Maxon doesn't seem too surprised. "Not many people have them anymore. This one is specifically for the information held in this room. That's how I found out about Halloween; I typed it in with the keyboard there, and it told me which books had the word in them."

I step out of Maxon's embrace to get a closer look at some of the shelves. One of them holds a row of several leather brown journals. "Are these-"

"Illéa's diaries?" Maxon interrupts, following me over. "Yes. Halloween was in this one, I believe." His fingers dance over the spines, selecting one about a quarter of the way through and flipping through the pages. "See?" He holds it out to me, and I take it gingerly from his hands.

There, like an apparition, an image from an unknown past shows Gregory Illéa with a tight expression on his face, his suit crisp and his stance tall. It is bizarre how much of the king and Maxon I can see in the way he stands. Beside him, a woman is giving the camera a half-hearted smile. There is something to her face that hints she was once very lovely, but the luster has gone out of her eyes. She seems tired.

Surrounding the couple are three figures. The first is a teenage girl, beautiful and vibrant, grinning widely and wearing a crown and a frilly gown. She reminds me of May at the Halloween Ball, but this girl is clearly dressed as a princess instead of a bride. And then there are two boys, one slightly taller than the other and both dressed as characters I don't recognize. They look like they are on the verge of mischief. Below the image is an entry, amazingly enough, written in Gregory Illéa's own hand.

The children celebrated Halloween this year with a party. I suppose it's one way to forget what's going on around them, but to me it feels frivolous. We're one of the few families remaining who have enough money to do something frivolous, but this child's play seems wasteful.

"Do you think that's why we don't celebrate anymore?" I ask. "Because it's wasteful?"

"Could be. If the date's any indication, this was right after the American State of China started fighting back, just before the Fourth World War. At that point, most people had nothing- picture an entire nation of Sevens with a handful of Twos."

"Wow." I try to imagine the landscape of our country like that, blown apart by war, then fighting to pull itself back together. It is amazing.

"You can come back whenever you like," Maxon tells me. "Well," he amends, "it might be smart to wait until the Selection is over, at least. But after that, no one will stop you."

I nod, overwhelmed by the history surrounding me.

"Is there anything you want to read now? We can spend a little time here, if you like."

"I- I don't even know where to start."

Maxon laughs affectionately. "This is a good one," he says pulling a small, red paperback book off the shelf of banned books. It has a burning book on the cover, but the flames are black and white, and block-ish, so it doesn't look very realistic. "They called it dystopian fiction, when it was written. It was written a long time ago, set in what would have been the future for them, but it's a little outdated now. It's interesting, though."

I take the book from him and see the words "FAHRENHEIT 451" emblazoned on the front, with "RAY BRADBURY" across the bottom in smaller letters.

"Why was it banned?" I ask, turning the book over, surprised to see a summary of the book typed across the book.

"I'm not sure," Maxon says. "Gregory Illéa personally chose a few books to ban. This was one of them. I can't imagine it matters very much; it's just a story. I haven't read all of his diaries; he might mention it in one of them somewhere."

I look down at the book again. "I can wait," I decide, and hand it back to Maxon, who shrugs and tucks it back between the other books that haven't seen the light of day in a very long time.

"To the theater?" Maxon says, holding his hand out to me. I take it, still reeling from everything that I've seen in the last ten minutes.

~PtG~

"I'm never letting you pick the movie again," I say as Maxon unplugs the popcorn machine and turns off the projector.

He laughs. "That's fair," he admits. "I almost didn't make it through the whole thing."

To be perfectly honest, we didn't really make it through the whole thing. Maxon begged to watch an action movie, and I was too busy thinking about the room full of secrets that I didn't argue. I really should have; it was so bad that it was nearly a comedy, but not quite, so it was just bad. Whether or not we ended up kissing through the last half is nobody's business but ours.

"You owe me," I say, swinging our hands between us as we leave the theater. I don't think I've ever spent this much consecutive time alone with Maxon and it's making me a little giddy. Maxon laughs at me, but I know he feels the same way.

"What would you like?" he asks, and I'm fairly certain he would give me the moon right now, if I wanted it.

"Hmm." I pretend to take his offer seriously and consider what ridiculous thing I could possibly ask for. I decide to go with something simple. "Marry me?"

Maxon smiles so brightly I nearly have to squint. "I'll think about it," he teases, bringing my left hand to his lips, kissing my fingers just below my ring.

"Nope," I say, pulling out of his grasp. "No more kisses unless you promise."

"Well, that seems like coercion," he says seriously. "I suppose. I promise."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," he agrees with a laugh, hooking our pinkies together and kissing me softly.

"I guess we're even then," I say, leaning my forehead against his.

"I'll have to agree to marry you more often," Maxon smirks, pulling me in for another gentle kiss. This is my favorite kind of kissing- not because we're making up for a fight, or because we missed each other, but just because we like each other.

I laugh again. "Imagine what will happen once you actually tell other people you want to marry me."

Maxon suddenly stiffens. "Love, you know-"

"I know," I reassure him. "I'm just teasing. I know you can't yet. I'm just impatient."

"I am, too," he agrees. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please," I say. "Bad movies are bad enough, long bad movies are the worst."

"I made up for it!" Maxon says indignantly.

"Details," I wave his protests away. "What do- oh!"

"What's wrong?" Maxon looks around us, searching for something around us.

"Nothing," I say with the little breath I have left, slowly moving towards the window. "It's raining."

Maxon comes to stand next to me at the window and I lean my head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm around my waist. The drops patter against the glass, blurring the city on the other side. Everything is swathed in misty grey and seems to have slowed down.

"It's so beautiful," I whisper.

"Leave it to you to find beauty in something others would say ruins a day," Maxons says. In the reflection, I can see a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he unthinkingly kisses my head.

"I wish I could touch it."

He sighs. "I know you do, but it's just not-"

I turn back to Maxon, trying to see why he cut himself off. He looks up and down the hall again, and I do the same. Other than a couple of guards, we are alone.

"Come on," he says, grabbing my hand. "Let's hope we're not seen."

I smile, ready for whatever adventure he has in mind. I love when Maxon is like this. We wind our way up the stairs, heading for the fourth floor. We walk down to the middle of the floor, passing one guard on his rounds but no one else. Maxon pulls me into a large parlor and steers me to the wall next to a wide, dormant fireplace. He reaches inside the lip of the fireplace and, sure, finds a hidden latch. He pushes open a panel in the wall, and it leads to yet another secret stairwell.

"More secret books?" I say, arching one eyebrow.

Maxon laughs. "No, they wouldn't last very long up here. Hold my hand," he says, stretching his out to me. I do so, following him up the dimly lit steps until we come to a door. Maxon undoes the simple lock, pulls open the door… and there is a wall of rain.

"The roof?" I ask over the sound. He nods. There are walls surrounding the entrance, leaving an open space about as large as my bedroom to walk on. It doesn't matter that all I can see is walls and sky. At least we're outside.

Positively beside myself, I step forward, reaching into the water. The drops are fat and warm as they collect on my arm and run down to my clothes. Somehow, I feel both more rooted to the ground than ever and like if I just raise high enough on my toes I will float away. I hear Maxon laugh once before shoving me out into the downpour.

I gasp, soaked in seconds. Turning around, I grab his arm and he smiles as he pretends to fight. His hair falls in strands around his eyes as we are both quickly drenched, and he is still grinning as he pulls me over to the edge of the wall.

"Look," he says into my ear.
I turn, noticing our view for the first time. I stare in awe as the city spreads out in front of me. The web of streets, the geometry of buildings, the array of colors - even dimmed in the gray hue of rain, it is breathtaking.

I find myself feeling attached to it all, as if it belongs to me somehow.

"I don't want the rebels to take it, America," he says over the rain, as if he is reading my mind. "I don't know how bad the death toll is, but I can tell that my father is keeping it a secret from me. He's afraid I'll call off the Selection."

"Would you?" I ask, suddenly unsure. Would he send me home to save lives? I feel like I should want him to, but I can't bring myself to actually want that.

"Yes," he says casually. "It wouldn't be a question, really."

"Oh."

"Is that surprising?" he says, looking down at me, eyebrows raised. "The only reason it's not over already is to appease my father- you think I'd let people die for that?"

"No! No, I- never mind. I misunderstood." I blush. Of course he meant he'd end it, not pretend it never happened. That we never happened.

He catches on a moment later and huffs out a laugh. "Silly." I can barely feel his lips against my cheek through the rain when he steals a quick kiss.

He rests his chin on my head for a moment, staring out at the city. "It's nice to say things out loud. I'm always watching what I say. I feel like no one can hear me up here, I guess. Just you."

"I'll always listen, no matter where we are," I whisper, leaning back into him and pulling our hands up to my mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. "This is all going to be ours in a few years," I say softly, voicing my thoughts. "We are going to be king and queen of Illéa." I've never actually said that out loud.

Maxon doesn't respond. He backs away, but holds a hand out to me. "Do you want to dance?"

I start to wonder if the thought of us ruling upsets him, but I know him better than that now. I nod. "But I'm awful."

"We'll go slow."

Maxon pulls me close, placing a hand on my waist. I put my hand in his and he yanks me closer. We sway, barely moving, his hands spreading across my back and mine wrapped around his neck. I settle my head on Maxon's chest, he rests his chin on my head, and we spin to the music of the rain.

As he makes his grip on me a little tighter, it feels like all the stress and secrecy has been erased and Maxon and I are stripped to the core of our relationship. We are friends who realized they don't want to be without each other. We are the other's opposite in many ways but also so very similar. I can't call our relationship fate, but it does seem bigger than anything I've ever known before.

"I used to daydream about what my queen's name would be," Maxon says softly,his eyes unfocused, staring off into the distance. "I've always known it would be 'King Maxon and Queen Somebody', but I could never think of a name that fit with mine. I never- even if I had come up with something, with an idea of what I wanted in my wife, in my partner, it would never have been as perfect as you are," he says sincerely into my hair.

I flush and raise my face to Maxon's, placing my hand on his cheek. "'King Maxon and Queen America' sounds pretty good, I think."

Maxon gazes down at me, and through the rain, I think I see tears in his eyes. "Better than anything I've ever heard." His lips, wet, meet mine with a brush of heat. I feel both his hands wrap around my back, holding me to him as if he'll fall apart otherwise. While the rain pummels the roof the whole world goes silent. It feels like there isn't enough of him, not enough skin or space or time.

After all these months of trying to reconcile what I want now and what I wanted before, who I am now and who I was before, I realize now- in this moment Maxon created just for us- that it might never make sense. A million random things had to happen for us to both end up here, together, feeling the same things at the same time. If I hadn't heard Lena Legar talking about Aspen saving money in line to enter, I might never have been one of the Selected. If I hadn't gotten so overwhelmed that first night, I might have been sent home the first day. If Aspen hadn't shown up, I might still think I was in love with him. If I hadn't told Maxon that Aspen was here… who knows where we'd be now? All I can do is move forward and trust that we will design our own fate, together, for the rest of our lives.

Maxon breaks the kiss and just looks at me. "You're so pretty when you're a mess."

I laugh quietly. "Thank you. For that and for the rain and for… everything."

He runs his fingers along my cheek and nose and chin. "You're worth it. I don't think you get that. You're worth everything to me."

I feel as if my heart is on the edge of bursting, and I just want it all to end today. I want to wear my ring and kiss Maxon and not have to sneak around. I remind myself that it will. Soon.

Maxon kisses the tip of my nose. "Let's go get dry and eat lunch."

"Sounds good."

I try to wring some of the water from my clothes in the little canopy where the door is, but it is hopeless. It seems I'm going to leave a trail of water back to my room.

"I want grilled cheese and tomato soup," I announce as we go down the stairs, Maxon leading the way.

"I want french toast."

"Well, you just said I'm worth it, so I think I'm going to win this one. Also, you're the prince. They'll make both."

Maxon laughs. "Nicely done."

We reach the panel to lead us back to the parlor, but instead of opening the door, Maxon holds a finger to his lips and frowns. He gestures for me to back up, and deftly opens another panel that leads us into another set of tunnels.

"What's wrong?" I whisper, once we're far enough away from where we entered.

"I heard voices. I think my father's," he explains, focused on leading us through the passages. "We really shouldn't have been up there; it was a little stupid."

I smile. "It turned out alright."

"I don't mind either," Maxon agrees with a matching expression. He finds another secret panel and we step out into another room that I recognize as closer to my room.

"You have to take me on a tour of all these secret passageways," I tell him. "I'm going to get lost someday."

Maxon starts to answer, but we come out of the room to see a maid dusting a vase, which she promptly drops at the sight of us. Maxon's lips twist up in a half-smile as he swiftly catches it and hands it back.

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to startle you," he apologizes smoothly. She curtsies and attempts to apologize herself, but Maxon waives it away. "It was our fault. Wait just one moment, though, please."

"Of course, Your Highness. Lady America," she acknowledges, also offering me a little bob. Maxon goes back into the room we came from and I peek back to see him scribbling something on a piece of paper, from one of the end tables, I assume.

"There," he says, handing the note to the girl. "Take that to the kitchens, please, and have them deliver it to my room in half an hour."

"Of course, Your Highness," she says and scurries away down the hall.

"So did I win?" I ask as we walk towards my room.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," Maxon winks. "I know I promised you the whole day, but why don't you go get changed and meet me back at my room? I don't want to drip all over your carpet," he suggests.

I pout playfully. "Fine. But you owe me again. Especially since our rooms should be right next to each other by now."

"I'm sorry, love," Maxon says, kissing my forehead as we get to my door. He opens it for me, then backs away. "I'll see you soon."

"Fifteen minutes," I promise.

"That would be impressive, indeed," he says as he hurries away from me.

I time myself- I'm at his door in fourteen minutes and 47 seconds exactly.