Phillippa here!

I'm a little late, aren't I? Sorry, but. . .I have no excuse. (sigh) I'm jus Y, and there really isn't any escaping it. I resume.

I like this chapter, even though I have a horrible feeling that some of you may not. . .and most of you may not, for a different reason.

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If the Shoe Fits. . .
(A little mix-up from the beguiling world of fairy tales)

The Dangers of Kissing Your Fiancé

Woody's kiss was warm and familiar and, for a moment, Fiona could not remember where she was. It was just Fiona and Woody, Woody and Fiona. And the chandelier, glittering above them. As Woody held her body close to his, she thought again, no one should be warm in January. Somehow, she was not as bothered as she had been.

The kiss ceased and Fiona laid her tired head on his shoulder. She could feel Woody's happiness, shining as bright as the chandelier. She could even feel his breath, warm against her cheek. She snuggled in closer to him. What am I doing?

Fiona, in one fluid movement, was off the couch and against the bookcase - as far from Woody as possible. She could not think of anything to say, but her eyes were focused on the doorknob. Woody stood up, and Fiona noticed that his face was back to blank. The strange feeling in her stomach got worse. Woody moved so he was directly blocking her path to the door. "You're not - " Woody's voice was for some reason, hoarse and weary. "You're not Cinderella."

Fiona felt her whole body stiffen. "Hello! Said that!" she cried, rubbing the side of her face. "You didn't listen to me! I told you over and over and over again."

"I'm - sorry." Woody's face was definitely showing almost sorry, so Fiona, for whatever reason, decided to forgive him.

"It's okay. I guess I must look a lot like her, huh?"

"Exactly," Woody murmured.

"Apart from the fact that she is beautiful, of course, and I'm not, I'm just plain," said Fiona, sounding just pathetic. Now he has to say that I am beautiful, because it sounds exactly like I am asking for a compliment. Oh, you've done it now, Fiona, baby.

"Who said you aren't beautiful?" Woody asked, carefully stepping closer to Fiona, who could not go anywhere since she was backed up against the bookcase.

For some reason, Fiona could not think of one person who had ever told her she was not beautiful. "Everybody did. All the boys did."

"Then they must have been blind, Fiona." This was the first time he had called her by her real name and it sent a small tremor through her as she thought, I don't care if he calls me by my real name. Why would I? All I care about is if he is going to let me go home or not.

"I don't think so, Your Highness. They didn't act like they were blind . . . none of them had a cane. . ." This statement startled a laugh from Woody and it felt like every one of Fiona's nerves sizzled.

"Well put," Woody said, with the shadow of an almost smile on his face. He was close enough to reach out and touch her. Two steps away from being close enough to kiss her. "I wouldn't say you were plain, Fiona."

An insane thought came into Fiona's mind. Even if he met me on the street, he would not call me plain. He really thinks I am beautiful. How odd. Odder still how Fiona was suddenly noticing things about Woody she never had before. He had a freckle right next to the corner of his lips, and he had one curl that came down beside his eye. His eyes were so blue that his dirty blonde hair looked silly. As if it too should be as vibrant, instead of rather lackluster, like it could not decide whether it wanted to be brown or blonde.

As Fiona inspected Woody's face, he reached out a cautious hand and began to run it along Fiona's long hair, which had decided the day she was born to be a shocking white blonde instead of a soft golden blonde, which was fashionable those days. Part of her said, hold me, please hold me, and make me warm again. The other part of her was so quiet she could not even hear what it said. She let her body fall into Woody's and released her mind. She was free.

"Miss Johannes, would you prefer a yellow dress or a red dress today?" Diana asked, bustling about her dressing room.

"Um," said Fiona, biting her lip. She still was not sure which colors and styles look best on her, and when she had asked Woody about it, he had replied, "All of them, of course."

"I say red," said Molly, from the window. "'Tis Valentine's Day, an' all." Diana looked at Fiona, who nodded, letting her lip loose and smiling.

"The one with the pink trim, I think," Fiona told Diana with a wink at Molly. "I want to be festive, after all." When Diana had disappeared into Fiona's inconceivably large closet; which Fiona still had not seen all of yet; Molly left the window and sat down on Fiona's bed next to her.

"You wanna have the prince notice you is all," Molly said, calmly.

"What ever do you mean?" Fiona asked, just as calmly, with a patient smile, which said, silly girl.

"You wearin' that new red an' pink dress 'cuz it so purty an' all."

"Perhaps," Fiona said, with an honest-to-goodness grin. "Perhaps."

Diana came back, carrying the stunning pink and red dress. Fiona loved it, loved the softness of it and how it fit her exactly, with no corset. She slipped into it easily as Penny ooh-ed and ah-ed over it. (She had been in the closet, sorting all of Fiona's dresses, before.)

Fiona found her way to Woody's sitting room without the help of the annoying lady-in-waiting with the first name that started with an M (Martha? Mercedes? Marianne?) and entered. It was empty of people, again. She sunk into the cream couch and pulled a book from underneath it. The Pixie Chronicles was very interesting so far, though Fiona was not sure it was very true. Mermaids in love with humans? Witches? Spells? Sleeping 100 years and being awakened by a kiss? Yeah, right.

"Hello, my dear." Fiona recognized the voice immediately and felt a shiver of pleasure at its warmth.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she replied, trying her best to sound cold and distant. She turned a page and did not look up at him at all.

"I think we're past the formalities, Fiona," Woody whispered into her ear, leaning against the couch and letting a hand drop on her waiting shoulder.

"Perhaps," she agreed and let a happy smile bloom on her lips, thinking, If anyone had ever told me that my heart would beat this fast from something Woody said, there is no way I would've believed them. Woody maneuvered around the couch and made room for himself by pushing her over a bit, snuggling into the plushness of it. Fiona gave a sigh of annoyance that she did not quite feel inside of her as he pulled some of the green blanket towards himself. "Just take everything for yourself, why don't you!" Fiona snapped.

"Thanks. I believe I will." Woody pulled Fiona into him and kissed her with a content sigh. "I haven't seen you in forever," he sighed, stroking the side of her face with tender fingertips and then losing his hand in the thickness of Fiona's hair.

"We saw each other . . . yesterday," Fiona murmured, enjoying Woody's touch with her eyes closed.

"Meals don't count," Woody replied, holding her even closer. His hand wandered and ended up at her elbow, rubbing the fabric gently. "Is this a new dress?"

"Perhaps."

"I like it." I knew you would. "Wear it more often." This commanding all ready, and we are not even married.

"Whatever you say, Woody - dear," Fiona sputtered, turning a red much akin to the color of her dress.

"What did you just call me?" asked Woody, in such a tone that Fiona could not decipher if he was angry with her or not. She bit down on her lower lip, as she did when she was nervous. Fiona found herself becoming more and more nervous around Woody every day.

"Woody," Fiona whispered. "Um, because of your . . ." Should I tell him the truth? Should I lie and hope he does not realize it? What do I tell him? "Because of how unexpressive you are."

"I am unexpressive?"

"Yes!" Fiona said, amazed that he did not know that about himself. "You constantly look bored, or blank, and you never smile." Fiona was staring at her lap, not daring to look up at Woody. He lifted her chin gently and made her look him straight in the face.

He was smiling. A wide grin stretched across his face and made her heart flutter wildly in her chest. "I had not found anything to be happy or excited about," Woody explained. "That is why I was not happy or excited."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" I make you happy and excited? Me?

"Yes, it does," Woody answered, a half-smile on his face. "Fiona, I love you. Do you want to marry me?"

"You ninny. I'm all ready going to marry you." Fiona could not stop smiling. There was so much happiness in her; it just seemed to overflow.

"I know. But, do you want to?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes. And I found the most beautiful wedding dress. Diana made it, and it has all this lace and silk, and I actually look good in it -" Fiona knew she was babbling, but she was so happy and so excited, she couldn't control herself.

"You look good all the time."

"Ha. I do not look good when I just wake up. I do not even look close to good. You have not seen me then, otherwise you would not say that."

"That's true," said Woody, smiling down on Fiona as she laid her head on his shoulder. "But I will, and I'm sure I'll still say you are beautiful."

"Yes, but you'll be half-asleep, so you won't be able to tell what I look like anyway. Trust me. I look horrible after a long night of sleeping. My hair is all over and I always have red marks from my hand next to my face, and. . .and . . .and." Woody looked at her in a way that was like the way he looked at her the first day they kissed, only it said, You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful. "Promise me something," Fiona said.

"What?" Woody asked. Fiona was pleasantly surprised. He had evidently listened to all her ramblings, because a small smile was pulling at his lips.

"Promise me that you'll always look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Oh, never mind." And right then, Fiona felt that as sure as the sky was blue, she loved Woody and Woody loved her. She let her gaze wander to the window. The sky was grey with rain clouds.

Woody chose that moment to kiss her again, and it was as if he had said, The sky may be unreliable, but I'll always be here.

And they lived happily together ever after, even though their first child, a girl called Wren, was a strange mix of Fiona's inflexibility and Woody's pomposity and their second child, a boy called Xavier, wanted to be a baker, not a king, and their last child, a daughter they named Emerald, always thought she was neglected . . .

the end.

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Thanks to those lovely (and perhaps insane) people who reviewed!

Aerinha

Dragon

doodlemonkey45

Lulai

Miss Piratess – Ahhhhhhhh! Please don't kill me! Here. . .take my teddy bear! I promise I'll never do it again!

mythicalmemory – Hi Kara! Your review made me laugh. And Cassie – Woody wasn't INTENTIONALLY messing around with poor Fiona's head. At least, that's what he says. . .Thanks for the sharing of the chair. . .ing. (Couldn't help it. Poet. Occupational hazard.)

nursyahirah

Peri Briar – Crazy as in wild, foolish or outrageous? (winks) I love the thesaurus. I agree. Horrible people have feeling and can be good kissers. It never occurred to me that chandeliers are probably impossible to move. Oops. I guess I'll just say – hey, this is a fairy tale! And after all, this is a palace. . .

Quiryn – I do know your opinion. But I chose not to use it. But that's the good thing about writing – you may write your own story about a prince's-butt-kicking, dragon-riding, bandit-fighting girl. Take the idea and run to the horizon!

rainkisser – All fixed up! (and I do love the word fandanza, which is not a word, according to the dictionary I own. Oh well. FANDANZA! FANDANZA! HAHAHAHA!) And you may punch Woody, but Fiona might feel the need to punch YOU, and I wouldn't want that to happen. I think. I also like the Never Given Speech. And sugar. And Mary Poppins. Chim-chim-a-ney, chim-chim-a-ney, chim-chim-cha-ree. . sorry I confused you. It's an odd feeling to confuse other people when you are used to being the one confused. . .

Tiger Lily21 – Ooh! I want to abuse Woody! (smacks him. Woody whimpers pathetically.) Here, take some of my calming tea. It helps a lot. And I bet it is your fault your copy of Just Ella is lying on the floor of your room! Admit it! HAHAHAHA! (coughs hoarsely) Um, anyway, thanks.

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