Once Upon a Time by Roxanne Valdez
Disclaimer: Mia and Michael belong to the lovely author Meg Cabot.
Michael surrounds me. The baggy T-shirt I am wearing smells like his laundry detergent. His pillow smells like his shampoo. The spot on his bed where he was just laying is warm. And I am bombarded with images, symbols, reminders of Michael: this is his guitar over here, his computer over there, those are his books, his things...
My feet are tired from wearing heels all night, but just lying here in Michael's bed is strikingly calm compared to the night I've had. The loud music, the loud voices being screamed into my ear, the constant wall of people, people, and more people... I don't think I like it.
But then Michael took me back here, to his apartment. And I kicked off my shoes and plopped down onto his bed, and he plopped down right next to me. He kissed me, but it wasn't rushed or timed or thought out like all the other kisses we shared earlier this night. It was slow and soft and I felt like I could lie there kissing him forever.
Then I looked him in the eyes and asked him if he could tell me a bedtime story. He laughed at first, but said, "Sure."
I closed my eyes, and he began, "Once upon a time in a far, far away land, there was a princess named Mia who loved a stunningly handsome man named Michael, and he loved her too, very much. So they started dating, and every day they fell more and more in love."
He continued, "So one day, Michael took Mia back to his apartment where she lied down in his bed because she was exhausted from a party she had attended earlier. Michael, seeing her in his bed, thought that what he saw couldn't possibly be any more right. He loved her, and he never wanted to be without her. So Michael got down on one knee by the side of his bed."
Then I felt him get off the bed, so I opened my eyes. And I saw him get down on one knee, just like in his story, by the side of his bed, and in his hand was a ring. I felt me heart quicken and my breath catch in my throat. This is it, I thought to myself. This is it.
And it was it.
"He asked his princess if she would marry him," he said.
Michael looked up at me, and I pulled myself up into sitting position. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. And I hoped my face didn't look blotchy, and I hoped that my eyes weren't red and squinty.
Between embarrassingly loud sobs, I managed to say, "And Mia said yes."
Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes!
I love Michael Moscovitz, and Michael surrounds me because I am his. Michael surrounds me. The baggy T-shirt I am wearing smells like his laundry detergent. His pillow smells like his shampoo. The spot on his bed where he was just laying is warm. And I am bombarded with images, symbols, reminders of Michael: this is his guitar over here, his computer over there, those are his books, his things... And I am going to be his wife.