Meg Cabot - Forever Princess

Abruptly, Hugo lifted his head, and looked down at her with eyes that had gone an even deeper green than the emerald around Finnula’s neck. She was panting from lack of breath, her chest rising and falling quickly, color bright over her high cheekbones. She saw the question in his glance, and understood it all too well. He didn’t know that she had already made her decision, that it had been irrevocably made for her the second she’d seen him without that beard, and her heart—or something very like her heart, anyway—had been lost for good.

Well, maybe her decision had been made the second that bolt had slid into place. What did it matter? They were strangers in a strange—well, strange enough—place. No one would ever know of it. Now was no time for his oddly misplaced sense of chivalry.

“Notnow,”she growled, knowing full well why he’d stopped kissing her, and what his questioning look implied. “God’s teeth, man, it’s too late—” Whatever Hugo had been planning to say, her impatient cry silenced him upon the subject forever. Tilting her body back in his arms, Hugo rained kisses upon her cheeks and the soft skin beneath her ears, his mouth tracing a fiery path down the column of her throat to the neckline of her gown. Finnula, still anxious for the taste of his lips on hers, drew his head toward hers again, then gasped as his fingers closed over first one firm breast, and then the other.

The sensation of his mouth devouring hers, his hands on her straining breasts, was threatening to overwhelm Finnula. It was everything she’d suspected it would be…only so much more. The room seemed to sway around her, as if she’d drunk too much ale, and Hugo remained the only stationary, solid mass within her line of vision. She clung to him, wanting something…she was only just beginning to understand what that something was.

Then, when his knee slipped between her weakening legs, and she felt his hard thigh against the place where her legs joined together, the resulting spasm that shot through her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Suddenly, she understood.Everything.

Sunday, May 7, 10 a.m., Michael’s loft

I HAVE MY SNOWFLAKE NECKLACE BACK.

It turns out when I dropped it in that hotel room that horrible night so long ago, Michael found it where it fell.

And he’s kept it ever since.

Because (he says) he’s never stopped loving me and thinking of me and hoping…

…just like I was hoping, that tiny ember I was keeping alive inside.

It turns out Michael was keeping one alive inside, too. He knew things had gone horribly wrong between us, but he thought time apart—for both of us to come into our own—might help.

He never thought another man would come along and split us permanently asunder. (Okay, he didn’t put it quite like that, but it sounds more dramatic than saying he never thought I’d start going out with J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV.)

And that’s when hedid ask Boris to keep an eye on me (notspy on me. Just keep him informed).

Michael thought (because of what Boris reported back to him) that J.P. and I were madly in love. And I guess for a time, we might have looked that way. To an outsider (especially to Boris, who doesn’t understand actual live human beings, including—and perhaps especially—his girlfriend).

But still, Michael wouldn’t give up hope. That’s why he kept the necklace—just in case.

It wasn’t until Michael saw me at the Columbia event that day and I acted so shy that he says he began to dare to dream that maybe Boris was wrong.

But then when J.P. gave me the ring for my birthday, he knew drastic measures were called for.That’s why he’d left my party—to get busy making arrangements to send my dad the CardioArm (and also, as he put it, “Because I knew I had to leave before I wiped the floor with that guy’s face”).

It’s all just so romantic! I can’t wait to tell Tina.

Someday. Not now, though. For now, I’m keeping it a secret, just for Michael and me to share—at least for a little while.

He told me if I want, he’ll get me a diamond snowflake necklace as a replacement for the old silver one I have on now. But I said no way.

I love this one, just the way it is.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I don’t want to go into too much detail about what happened between us here in his loft last night, because it’s private—too private even for this journal. Because what if it were to fall into the wrong hands?

But I do want to say something important, and that is this:

If Dad thinks I’m spending this summer in Genovia, he’s totally nuts.

Oh my God,DAD ! I forgot to check and see how the election is going!

Sunday, May 7, 1:30 p.m., limo on the way to

Central Park

Okay, so Dad WON THE ELECTION!

Yeah, I’m still not sure how that happened. I accused Michael, on top of all the many other wonderful things he’s done for me lately, of rigging the Genovian voting machines.

But he swears that, although he is a computer genius, he is not capable of rigging voting machines in a small European country many thousands of miles from where he lives.

Besides, in Genovia they use Scantron.

It actually turned out Dad won by a significant majority. The problem was that they’re unaccustomed to voting there, so it took them a long time to count them all. Voter turnout was quite a bit higher than expected.

And then René couldn’t believe he didn’t win, and demanded a recount.

Poor René. It’s okay, though. Dad’s promised a place for him on the cabinet. Probably something to do with tourism. Which I think is very decent of Dad.

I found all this out from Dad on the phone. It wasn’t a transatlantic call, though. He was phoning from Grandmère’s. Dad’s back here for my graduation ceremony. Which is in half an hour.

It’s too bad he doesn’t fly commercially because he could really rack up the frequent flyer miles with all the time he’s put in, jetting between New York City and Genovia this past week. I’ve already spoken to him about his carbon footprint.

Anyway, everyone acted totally cool when I showed up at the loft wearing my prom clothes with Michael in tow. Like, nobody said anything to embarrass me, like, “Oh, hey, Mia, how was it at the all-night bowling alley?” or “Mia, didn’t you leave the house last night with adifferent guy?”

Mom seemed pretty pleased to see Michael, actually. She knows how much I’ve always loved him, and she can tell how happy Michael makes me, which, in turn, makesher happy.

And she never made it much of a secret that she couldn’t stand J.P. At least she doesn’t have to worry aboutMichael being a chameleon.He has an opinion about everything.

And he’s not shy about expressing it, either,especially when it’s opposite of my own, since that gets us arguing, which gets us…well, in the mood for kissing. That’s major histocompatibility complex for you.

Sadly, I’m not sure Rocky actually remembers Michael at all. Which makes sense, since the last time he saw him was almost two years ago, and Rocky’s barely three.

But Rocky seems to really like him. He right away showed Michael his drums, and how adept he is at pulling out tufts of Fat Louie’s fur if Fat Louie doesn’t run away fast enough.

Anyway, we’re all headed uptown to the graduation ceremony now, where we’re going to meet Dad and Grandmère. I’ve got on the dress everyone chose for me to wear today (another one of Sebastiano’s creations, exactly like the one I wore last night, only pure white) under my graduation gown. I’m trying to ignore the 80,000 text and phone messages I’ve gotten from Tina and Lana, most of which, I’m pretty sure, have to do with where I disappeared to last night. Well, okay, Lana’s are probably all about her Westpointer.