I blinked up at him in the pink-and-blue light from the neon Round the Clock sign in the window behind us. It’s amazing, but even bathed in pink-and-blue neon, with fake intestines hanging out of his shirt, Michael still looked totally—

“You look really nice in that dress,” he said, all in a rush.

I smiled up at him, feeling just like Cinderella all of a sudden. . . .You know, at the end of the Disney movie, when Prince Charming finally finds her and puts the slipper on her foot and her rags change back into the ball gown and all the mice come out and start singing?

That’s how I felt, just for a second.

Then this voice right beside us said, “Are you guys coming, or what?” and we looked over and there was Kenny sticking his head and his one unsevered arm out of the sun roof of the limo.

“Um,” I said, feeling totally and utterly embarrassed. “Yes.”

And I got into the limo like nothing had happened.

And actually, if you think about it, nothing really had.

Except that the whole way back to the Plaza, this little voice inside my brain was going, “Michael said I looked nice. Michael said I looked nice. Michael said I looked nice.”

And you know what? Maybe Michael didn’t write those notes. And maybe he doesn’t think I’m the Josiest girl in school.

But he thought I looked nice in my pink dress. And that’s all that matters to me.

And now I am sitting in Grandmère’s suite at the hotel, surrounded by piles of wedding and baby presents, with Rommel trembling down at the other end of the couch in a pink cashmere sweater. I am supposed to be writing thank-you notes, but of course I am writing in my journal instead.

No one seems to have noticed, though, I guess because Mamaw and Papaw are here. They stopped by to say good-bye on their way to the airport before they fly back to Indiana. Right now, my two grandmothers are making lists of baby names and talking about who to invite to the christening (oh, no. Not again.) while my dad and Papaw are talking about crop rotation, as this is an important topic to both Indiana farmers and Genovian olive growers. Even though, of course, Papaw owns a hardware store and Dad is a prince. But whatever. At least they’re talking.

Hank is here, too, to say good-bye and to try to convince his grandparents they are not doing the wrong thing, leaving him here in New York—though to tell the truth, he isn’t doing such a good job of it, since he hasn’t once gotten off his cell phone since he arrived. Most of these calls seem to be from last night’s bridesmaids.

And I’m thinking that, all in all, things aren’t so bad. I mean, I am getting a baby brother or sister and have also acquired not just a stepfather who is exceptionally good at Algebra, but a foozball table as well.

And my dad proved that there is at least one person on this planet who is not afraid of Grandmère . . .and even Grandmère seems a bit more mellow than usual, in spite of never having made it to Baden-Baden.

Though she still isn’t talking to my dad, except when she absolutely has to.

And yes, it is true that later today I have to meet Kenny back at the Village Cinema for a Japanese anime marathon, since I said I would, and all.

But after that I am going down to Lilly’s, and we are going to work on next week’s show, which is about repressed memories. We are going to try to hypnotize each other and see if we can remember any of our past lives. Lilly is convinced, for instance, that in one of her past lives she was Elizabeth I.

You know what? I, for one, believe her.

Anyway, after that, I am spending the night at Lilly’s, and we are going to rent Dirty Dancing and Rocky Horror-ize it. We plan to yell things in response to the actors’ lines and throw things at the screen.

And there is a very good chance that tomorrow morning, Michael will come to the Moscovitzes’ breakfast table wearing pajama bottoms and a robe, and forget to tie the robe like he did once before.

Which would actually make for a very profound moment, if you ask me.

A very profound moment.