Like I said, trying to wrap this thing up quickly. Feel free to leave some encouragement in the review box :)

love, winter.

January 26, 1 pm

I knew it was time to go all in with the wedding planning. First thing to do was tell my wedding conspirators that I didn't invite them over solely to take in the beauty of the Swiss Alps.

I told them that Michael and I are getting married. I admit, I may not really be into big celebrations and fanfares and parades and confetti when it comes to my private life, but I did sort of expect them to beam up and, I don't know, congratulate me or whatever.

They just stood there and kept looking at each other, probably arguing who would speak up first.

René finally manned up.

"Well, Mia, I don't know why you have to interrupt our morning to tell us something we all know anyway," he said, pointing to Tinder on his phone. "I am in talks for a date."

"And I am sleeping," added Harry.

"No, I mean, Michael and I are getting married THIS WEEKEND," I repeated. "And I need your help."

"Princess, you and Michael are not getting hitched this weekend," Lars responded very calmly. "Believe me, getting all security done for the wedding will force me into early retirement, as it will take at least five months to get everything ready. I have had plans made years ago, so I know what I am saying."

"Exactly!" Harry nodded. "And you will need music, and cake, and…"

"A dress!" screamed René and pointed at Sebastiano.

"AND CLARISSE!" added Sebastiano. "Clarisse will kill you, if you marry without her. Or during the Baby Lamb Pageant."

I have known Sebastiano now for, what, 8 years? I have never until today heard him say one sentence correctly. And when he finally gets it right? He basically threatens me with early demise in the hands of my own grandmother. Am I mean for wishing he would remain grammatically-challenged?

"No, you don't understand," I insisted. "It is not the huge royal wedding. Michael and I just want to get married for, well, us. Just us, and we need your help."

They again exchanged glances, like they figured I had finally gone nuts.

"Help with what?" René asked.

"Like," I started, "Lars, we need the wedding license without anyone knowing we have it. We need music and someone to marry us. And I need a dress."

"Princess," Lars said as though I was the one with a restraining order, "what you are asking me to do is illegal."

"I am not really that good with music," Harry admitted.

"The only pair I ever married got divorced in less than a year," René said. Harry nodded surprisingly enthusiastically, given he was one half of the aforementioned pair.

"I have wait my whole li," started Sebastiano, and I already knew it wouldn't end well, "to create a wed dress for you. And you ask me to make you a dress a day bef a wed and say that the wed will not be on the TV?"

"I don't want a big dress," I protested. "Just a white dress."

"You want me to mak you a wed dress that is not a wed dress?" Sebastiano shouted. "A wed dress is a wed dress! There is no JUST A WHITE DRESS here! Wed dress is big!"

"Fine. Then make me a big wedding dress."

I seriously thought this would make him happy. Really. That I gave him the permission to make a huge wedding dress with lace and veil and a half a mile of the train. And, I mean, what is the big deal? He created every dress in which Lady Gaga got married on the screen. And obviously she gets married like in every third video she makes. So he totally knows how to create a stunning gown. But no. He totally lost it. And I mean LOST IT.

"She want me to make her a wed dress," he said (I think. His erratic English gets even worse when he is upset) like I wasn't even right there in front of him, like he was lost in some fashion world of his where sun is glitter, clouds are leather and landscape is made of lace and colorful buttons. Body paint probably stands in for rivers and oceans. I don't really know what butterflies are, but whatever. I totally don't fit there. Michael can say whatever he wants, but I am not glamorous. "A wed dress two days bef? That's imposs! All my dreams, stomped on like this! And no one would see it! I might as well dress a manneq in a mus!"

And then my phone beeped. Michael sent me a text to get to our room ASAP. So I left calming Sebastiano down for later and ran to our room.

God, I hope he didn't injure anything else!

January 26, 1:30 pm, at the reception desk of the hotel across the street

Michael's fine.

Apparently it was only a pulled muscle or something.

He called up Edward (the guy I am sponsoring with his money/Michael is sponsoring) who then brought the team doctor with him, and after the examination Michael was told his arm was fine.

It totally doesn't mean that have trust issues if I say that I do not believe Michael's words one bit. It's just that I know Michael, and I know that he loves sex. I mean, I do too, but I would also love to marry him without Grandmere screaming at me to fix my posture. And I think that two no-sex days are absolutely worth it. Michael should know how it feels when you are on Grandmere's black list. But apparently millions on his bank account and free Swedish sheep cheese shortened his memory.

So I told Michael that it doesn't matter that his arm is fine.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he was in complete disbelief.

"I am saying, Michael, that is doesn't matter that your arm is fine. It doesn't prove – or change – anything. I don't want us to be in slings on our wedding photos. I will not endanger my wedding, okay?"

"So everything can be fine for years, but the moment I pull a muscle a little, you think everything will be shot to hell from now on?"

"Well, that's the thing with luck. You never know when it has its time of the month. So don't provoke it!"

"Well, Mia, just for the record, I think you are crazy," Michael said and pulled a t-shirt over his head. You know, just to show me that his arm worked just fine now. And how huge his arms actually are. All to remind me of all the stomach perfection I will be missing on. But whatever. I am not a sex maniac. "And may I suggest you seek another bed in the hotel? Because I have to say, it will be a lot easier to miss you when you are not sleeping in the same bed."

And so I got evicted from my hotel room. By my fiancé. Because I want to be in one piece on my wedding photos.

But I don't really care. All great martyrs suffer. Lilly taught me that once.

I just went upstairs to the room in which my cousins and Lars were staying.

My luck totally needs a Midol (or two) as Sebastiano opened the door. He looked at me like I was polyester on a Milan Fashion show and then just shut the door to my face.

So I descended the stairs again (if anything, all this exercise will make my butt look great in the wedding photos) and went to the reception and asked if they have any vacant rooms.

The lady sent me to this hotel across the street.

Her colleague here has just informed me that indeed there are rooms here. I asked for the price, and let's just say that if I don't find a way to convince Michael that this no sex rule is a good one, my bank account will lose 120 of those 133.67 euros it has on. (The money I get for hosting My Man Can goes directly to a foundation that distributes tampons to rural parts of India and Africa; also, I no longer have a credit card without a limit, as Dad and Michael both agree it is not really a smart thing to do.)

January 26, 2 pm, my OWN room

This eviction thing is actually a blessing in disguise. I now get to experience life as it is for people who are not royal and are not about to marry one of the youngest self-made millionaires in the world. Like, I am in a room with one smallish bed, an average-size bathroom (that does not include a shower curtain and whose flushing system is the weirdest I have ever seen. Like, there is a handle you have to pull down. Which is fine, as the palace too has ancient flushing system, but this one? Either it doesn't flush at all, or the water doesn't stop running or like TEN MINUTES! But at least the complimentary shampoo smells nice!), and complimentary tea. Sure I almost pulled a muscle opening the door, but its weight proves to me that I am safe here. And the window totally doesn't open enough for me to throw myself through it. Not now that I have hips, at least.

And there's TV. With TWO music channels.

I think now I'll print out the list of all the bakeries nearby and then go order croquembouche for the wedding.

Did I mention? I get 30 minutes of the free internet every day!

January 26, 2:10 pm, my OWN room

I can totally live without having brought with me any extra items of clothing.

But that I left the charger for my wireless headphones?

I don't even know why I abandoned the good ol' plug-in headphones. Wait, I know! Because Michael was sooo happy the world was technologically advancing! Of course MICHAEL never forgets his chargers for anything. Of course MICHAEL doesn't lose the 160-dollar worth of headphones every month. And, by extension, I don't either, because I always have MICHAEL around to lend me the charger.

I guess I'll just go listen to the couple honeymooning in the room next to mine (did I mention? These usual rooms seem to have thinner walls).

I think I'll order myself some chocolate cake.

January 26, 2:15 pm, my OWN room

They don't have room service.

The couple next door obviously doesn't mind.

I think I'll shower before I go croquembouche-hunting.

Despite the no shower curtain thing.

Apparently you have to go get hair dryer at the reception desk.

January 26, 2:20 pm, my OWN room

Is it just me or are there three distinct voices coming from the room next to mine?

This bathroom as crazy acoustics.

January 26, 2:55 pm, my OWN room

I think I broke it. The hair dryer, I mean.

It's not like I sat on it! I was drying my hair, and then … I don't know. Something went pop and this weird smell of something burning came out of the dryer. So I shut it off and unplugged it.

Oh, my god, what if I REALLY broke it? And it won't work again?

God. Where is Michael when you need him? He would totally know how to fix it.

Right. In his room, being childish over this no sex for two days thing.

My bank account totally cannot afford to buy a new hairdryer!

January 26, 3 pm, my OWN room

SOMEBODY IS KNOCKING!

I swear it's that lady at the reception desk! She probably smelt something burning in my room and has come to investigate. The room is probably surveilled. This must be why Lars always sweeps every place in which I am staying, in case it is bugged.

What good does it do me now, knowing how not to drown if I am thrown in the water with my hands tied? Lars totally doesn't teach me anything useful!

Arghhhh, she is knocking again.

Well, if I can enjoy a sex life like a mature adult (speaking of this, I am TOTALLY sure there are three people in the adjacent room. Good for them. They must be Britney fans.), then I guess I can face paying for a new hairdryer.

January 26, 4 pm, my OWN room

It wasn't the lady from the front desk.

When I opened the door Sebastiano threw his arms around my neck.

"We thought you w kidnap!" he cried.

"No, we didn't," Michael sounded amused. He was standing behind Sebastiano, along with Harry, René and Lars. Lars especially looked out of his usual calm demeanor.

"Don't you ever dare to escape the hotel without notifying me!" he said.

"What are you guys even doing here?" I asked. I mean, it wasn't that I didn't want to see them or anything, but it was sort of hard to be excited with a hairdryer that was prone to spontaneous combustion in the room.

"Michael paid the receptionist to tell us where you went," Harry said.

"I thought you w kidnap by Chechen terror!" Sebastiano still clung to me.

"He wanted to apologize about the whole dress incident, so we went to look for you in Michael's room," René explained.

"Of co I will design yo wed dress!" Sebastiano shouted. "I have wan to do it since I met you! and I don't car if no one sees it, I just wan to make you your per dress! The one you wan! Bec I love you!"

"Okay, let's get the preparations on the road," René stepped closer and pulled Sebastiano off me.

My eyes went all big.

"So you will help us with the wedding?" I asked.

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "We love you, you heard him."

"Okay, let's leave the happy couple alone," Lars said, then focused his eyes on me. "I'll be in the lobby," he added. He probably noticed how cute the receptionist was and wanted to inquire whether baking is one of her favorite past times.

I waited until they got to the staircase (have I mentioned? My hotel doesn't have the elevator), then turned to Michael. He was in my room now, holding the hairdryer. I didn't like the grin on his face one bit. I never hid the fact I am incapable of functioning effectively in the real world.

"So this is where you'll be staying till the wedding," he said, looking around. He probably noticed just how small the bed was and how uncomfortable the pillows seemed. And the sheets don't smell of anything. They are just … clean.

"I wouldn't mind coming back," I said, looking at just how well the T-shirt he was wearing fit him.

I wonder why he didn't put his coat on when exiting the hotel. He must have been sooo worried about the whereabouts of his fiancée.

Not.

"Have you changed your mind about the sex ban?" he asked like he was asking me if I remembered to buy the salad while in the supermarket.

And right then the trio in the adjacent room apparently reached the climax of their honeymooning. REALLY LOUDLY. TOGETHER. I swear, focusing on our conversation was excruciating!

Michael totally looked like he was amused by it all.

And he put down the hairdryer. OF COURSE he knew it was broken.

"Well, then I guess we will text regarding the details of the wedding," he smiled, turned around and walked out of the room.

Oh, this thing is so totally on.

To Be Continued.

Broughttoyouby:::winter.