Forever Princess

The carriage driver looked offended.

“I take excellent care of my horse,” she said. “Probably better than you take care of your pets, young lady.”

I felt bad then—plus, Michael gave me a look, like—See, you hurt her feelings. Now you have to get in.

I didn’t want to. I really didn’t!

Not because it was stupid and touristy and I was afraid someone would see me (of course I didn’t care about that, because secretly it’s something I’ve always longed to do). But because—it was a romantic horse-and-buggy ride! With someone who wasn’t my boyfriend!

Worse, with someone who was my ex-boyfriend! And whom I’d sworn I wasn’t going to get close to today.

But Michael looked so sweet standing there with his hand out all expectantly, and his eyes so kind, like, Come on. It’s just a cheesy carriage ride. What could happen?

And at the time, all I could think was that he was right. I mean, what harm could one buggy ride around the park do?

Also, I looked all around, and I didn’t see any paparazzi.

And the red velvet bench in the back of the carriage looked roomy enough. We could definitely both fit on it and not touch or anything. Like, I could easily sit there and not run the risk of smelling him.

And really, in the end, how romantic could a cheesy touristy buggy ride be to a jaded New Yorker like myself? Despite J.P.’s portrayal of me in A Prince Among Men as a kook who is constantly in need of rescuing (which is completely inaccurate), I’m actually very tough. I’m going to be a published author!

So, rolling my eyes and pretending to be all I’m so over this, I laughingly let Michael help me into the carriage and sat down on the lumpy bench. Meanwhile, Lars climbed up beside the lady in the top hat, and she started the horse, and we got going with a lurch….

And it turned out I was wrong.

The bench was not that big.

And I’m not that jaded of a New Yorker.

Even now, I can’t really say how it happened. And it seemed to happen pretty much right away, too. One minute Michael and I were sitting calmly beside each other on that bench, Not Kissing, and the next…we were in each other’s arms. Kissing. Like two people who had never kissed before.

Or, rather, like two people who used to kiss a lot, and really liked it, and then had been deprived of kissing each other for a very long time. And then, suddenly, were reintroduced to kissing, and remembered they liked it. Quite a bit.

And so they started doing it again. A lot. Like a couple of kiss-starved maniacs, who had been in a kissing desert for approximately twenty-one months.

We basically made out from, like, Seventy-second Street, all through the park, and up to Fifty-seventh. That’s, like, twenty blocks, give or take a few.

YES. WE KISSED FOR TWENTY BLOCKS. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. IN AN OLD-TIMEY HORSE CARRIAGE!

Anyone could have seen us. AND TAKEN PICTURES!!!!

I have no idea what came over me. One minute I was enjoying the clip-clop of the horse hooves and the beautiful scenery of the lush green leaves of the park. And the next…

And yes, I will admit it did seem like Michael was sitting AWFULLY close to me on that benchy thing at first.

And, okay, I did sort of notice his arm went around me when the carriage first lurched forward. But that was only natural. I thought it was sweet. It was the kind of thing a friend—a guy friend—might do for a girl friend.

But then Michael didn’t take his arm away.

And then I got another whiff of him.

And it was all over. I knew it was all over, but I turned my head to tell him—in a polite way, of course, the way a princess would—not to bother, that I’m with J.P. now and that it’s hopeless, I won’t do anything to hurt or betray J.P. because he was there for me when I was at my most despairing, and Michael should just give it up, if that was what he intended. Which it probably wasn’t. But just in case.

But somehow those words never came out of my mouth.

Because when I turned my head to tell Michael all that, I saw that he was looking at me, and I couldn’t help looking back, and something in his eyes—I don’t know. It was like there was a question there. I don’t know what the question was.

Okay. I guess I do.

In any case, I’m pretty sure I answered it when he brought his lips down over mine.

And, like I said, we kept on kissing, passionately, for twenty-something blocks instead. Or whatever. Math’s not my best subject.

Actually, as long as I’m confessing everything, I should admit there was more than kissing. There was a little—discreet—below-the-neck action as well. I really hope Lars did what Michael asked and didn’t turn around.

Anyway, when the carriage stopped, I finally came to my senses. I guess it was the fact there was no more clip-clopping sound. Or maybe it was just the final lurch that practically threw us both off the bench.

That’s when I was like, “Oh my God!” and stared up at Michael, all horrified, realizing what I’d just done.

Which was make out with a boy who wasn’t my boyfriend. For a really long time.

I guess the most horrifying part was how much I’d liked it. Which was a lot. A whole lot. That major histocompatibility complex thing? It does NOT mess around.

And I could tell Michael had felt the same way.

“Mia,” he said, looking down at me with his dark eyes filled with something I was almost afraid to put a name to, and his chest going all up and down like he’d just been running. His hands were in my hair. He was cradling my head. “You have to know. You have to know I lo—”