Forever Princess

Everyone just looked at her. I thought Lilly was going to bust a piercing, her eyebrows were so furrowed as she tried to hold in what was apparently a huge horse laugh.

“Wow,” Michael said. “That’s great.”

I honestly didn’t know if he was being serious or if he was making fun of J.P., basically repeating the same thing he’d just said, or what. All I knew was, I had to get the heck out of there, or the tension was going to kill me. And who wants to stroke out on their eighteenth birthday?

“Well,” I said, handing Tina my plate. “Princess duty calls. I have to go mingle. See you guys later—”

But before I could get even one step away, J.P. grabbed hold of one of my hands and pulled me back and said, “Actually, Mia, if it’s all right with you, I have sort of an announcement I’d like to make, and I can’t think of a better time than right now. Will you go with me up to the microphone? Madonna’s about to take a break.”

That was when I started feeling sick to my stomach. Because what sort of announcement could J.P. be going to make? In front of the Clintons? And Madonna and her band? And my dad?

Oh, and Michael.

But before I could say anything, J.P. started gently tugging—okay, dragging—me up to the stage they’d set up over the yacht’s built-in pool.

And the next thing I knew, Madonna was moving graciously out of the way and J.P. had hold of the microphone and was asking for everyone’s attention—and getting it. Three hundred faces were turning our way as my heart thumped inside my chest.

It’s true I’ve given speeches in front of way more people than that. But that was different. Then I’d been the one in charge of the microphone. This time, someone else was.

And I had no idea what he was about to say.

But I had sort of an idea.

And I wanted to die.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” J.P. began, his deep voice booming out across the ship’s deck…and, for all I knew, the entire South Street Seaport. The paparazzi, down below, could probably hear him. “I’m so proud to be here tonight to celebrate this special occasion with such an extraordinary young woman…a young woman who means so much to all of us…to her country, to her friends, to her family…But the truth is, Princess Mia means more to me, perhaps, than she does to any of you—”

Oh, God. No. Not here. Not now! I mean, it was totally sweet of J.P. to be expressing how much he cared about me in this way, in front of everyone—God knew Michael had never had the guts to do such a thing.

But then, I don’t think Michael had ever felt that he’d needed to.

“…And that’s why I want to take the opportunity to show her just how much she means to me by asking her here, in front of all her friends and loved ones—”

It was when I saw him reach a hand into one of the pockets of his tuxedo pants that I really started to think that I might need actual CPR in a minute.

And sure enough, from his pocket J.P. pulled a black velvet box…a much smaller one than Princess Amelie’s tiara had fit in.

The one J.P. was holding was ring-sized.

As soon as everyone in the crowd saw the box—and then J.P. sink down to one knee—they went totally bananas. People started cheering and clapping so loudly, I could hardly hear what J.P. said next…and I was standing right next to him. I’m sure no one else heard him, even though he was speaking into a microphone.

“Mia,” J.P. went on, looking up into my eyes with a confident smile on his face, as he opened the box to reveal an extremely large pear-shaped diamond on a platinum band, “will you…”

The screaming and cheering from the crowd got even louder. Everything went all swoopy in front of my eyes. The Manhattan skyline before us, the party lights on the boat, the faces before us, J.P.’s face below me.

I really did think for a second that I was going to pass out. Tina was right: I should have eaten more.

But one thing my vision was still steady enough to take in with perfect clarity:

And that was Michael Moscovitz. Leaving.

Yes, leaving the party. The boat. Whatever. The point was, he was exiting. One minute, I saw his face, perfectly expressionless, but there, down below me.

And the next, I was looking at the back of his head. I saw his broad shoulders, and then his back as he made his way toward the gangplank.

He was going.

Without even waiting to see what I’d say in response to J.P.’s question.

Or even what, exactly, that question was. Which, it turned out, wasn’t at all what everyone seemed to think it was.

“…go to the prom with me?” J.P. finished, his smile still wide and full of trust in me.

But I could barely drag my gaze to look in his direction. Because I couldn’t stop staring after Michael.

It’s just that…I don’t know. Looking out into the crowd like that, after my vision had gone all kind of wonky from surprise, and seeing Michael turn his back and just walk away, like he couldn’t have cared less what happened….

It was like something went cold inside me. Something I didn’t even realize was still living inside me.

Which, it turned out, was this little tiny ember of hope.

Hope that maybe, somehow, someday Michael and I might get back together.

I know! I’m a fool. An idiot! After all this time, why would I keep on hoping? Especially when I have such a fantastic boyfriend, who, by the way, was still kneeling in front of me, holding a RING! (Which excuse me, but what’s up with that? Who gives a girl a RING as he’s asking her to the prom? Well, except for Boris. But excuse me, he’s BORIS.)