"At the tone please record your message. When you've finished recording you may hang up or press-"

Belgium hung up before the voice mail had a chance to finish. She had already left two voice messages, sent three text messages, and sent one email to Romano. She made sure that her attempts didn't go into too much detail, just incase the idiot was stupid enough to listen to his voicemail on speaker allowing the Spaniard to eavesdrop, or just incase the idiot was stupid enough to read the texts and emails out loud allowing the Spaniard to listen, or just incase the Spaniard liked to read his messages. Unfortunately, the idiot hadn't responded to any of her attempts to make contact.

She really needed to sort things out with him. Make sure that they were both sticking to the same story, and give a small apology for throwing him into this plan before fully explaining it to him. She would have done this yesterday, when he called last night, but she wasn't feeling in the right frame of mind to talk to him, and Netherlands was sort of sitting next to her at the time. She really needs to have the conversation Romano wanted to have yesterday. But this conversation couldn't be done, because the idiot had turned his phone off.

Slightly frustrated the Belgian threw her phone aside, and went to her closet. She needed to pick out a suitable outfit for her fake one-week anniversary date with the idiot. Something to make it look like she and Romano were in the honeymoon state and just so happy to be together. But something that also was comfortable to dance in, and didn't make her fake Italian boyfriend get too tongue-tied.

"Ugh," she mumbled frowning at her clothes. Why did she just consider her fake boyfriend getting tongue-tied? He doesn't have feelings for her.

Okay, maybe she's just over thinking all this. Romano was no different from any other guy. He might get tongue-tied if she dresses pretty, but that doesn't mean that he has feelings for her. Her outfit for this occasion could just needs to be suitable, and not too over the top.

Belgium randomly pulled out a dress from her rack. "Wrong century," she said sighing, and putting the dress back. Why was that dress even in her closet?

Her phone went off before she could come up with a reason. She picked it up from her bed hoping that Romano was finally calling her back. Unfortunately, the caller-id didn't display Romano's name like she wanted.

The Belgian sighed, and put her phone up to her ear anyway. "Hello?"

"Hey, waffle chick," said a very enthusiastic American, "I already asked tomato dude this, but the movie I watched last night is making me a little paranoid. Your relationship with tomato dude isn't some cover story for a mastermind plan to nuke me, right?"

Belgium laughed. Typical America thinking everything is a cover story for people planning to bomb him. "No, of course not. We would never think of plotting something against you."

"Okay, cool. That's really good to know. Sorry, that I bothered you. I thought Romano just might have been a little pissed when I told him that ketchup was the equivalent of a tomato," the American said. After he said this, he hung up.

Well, that was sort of weird. What movie did America watch last night? When did America call Romano? And how did he find out about them dating? Was Romano telling everybody that he finally kissed a girl or something?

"Merde," the Belgian mumbled to herself walking back to her closet. Why was she thinking that she gave the Italian his first kiss again? She wasn't his first kiss. If she were, then she would be a really terrible person. And she wasn't a terrible person.

Before she could think anything else along these lines, her phone went off again.

"Hey, Belgium, I was just informed that if you and Romano were planning something against me, you wouldn't have told me," America said before Belgium had the chance to say hello.

"We're not planning anything against you," the Belgian ensured sighing.

"Hear that! Waffle chick says that they ain't going to bomb me! See I told you that he wasn't offended when I compared ketchup to a tomato!" the America yelled to somebody in the same room as him. "Okay, thanks, Belgium," he said into the phone, before hanging up.

Well, that was weirder then the first time he called. Belgium shook her head. Was nuking America really that easy? Seriously was he really that stupid? Calling somebody to ask if they were secretly planning to nuke you, then calling them back when you realize that if they were planning to nuke you they would have lied, then accepting the first thing they said as a answer. Wow, just wow. How is he so successful as a country?

Unable to come up with a suitable answer to that question, she grabbed two dresses from her closet at random. Preparing for her date was more important at the moment. And if she couldn't pick out a dress herself, then why not give her brother the impression that she was extremely excited for her date, and wanted her brother's manly advice on choosing an outfit?

"Hey, Netherlands," Belgium said as she entered the kitchen. "Oh hello, Germany. My brother didn't tell me that you were visiting." She blushed and wished that she didn't come downstairs in her bathrobe.

"Germany and I were just discussing about your car. He just finished inspecting it," Netherlands informed. "What you got there?" he asked eyeing the two outfits she was holding.

"Oh, I just needed your manly advice on what to wear for my big date tonight," the Belgian said giggling. "But, I would like to hear about my car first."

Germany sighed. "Well, it didn't look good. I've never seen a car destroyed like that before."

"That doesn't sound good," Belgium stated, sounding worried, as she set her clothes down on the counter. "Is my car fixable?"

The German looked down at his fingers. "I could work with it, but I can't guarantee that it will run again."

"Well, that's tragic," the Belgian stated frowning. "How rude of my brother, he didn't offer you a drink yet." She went to the refrigerator.

"I just about to offer him one," the Dutchman said as his sister opened the fridge.

"Sure, you were." Belgium took a beer out of the fridge. "I'm assuming that you would like a beer."

Germany smiled. "That would nice."

"Netherlands would you like a drink as well?" the Belgian asked handing the German his beer.

"Just water," Netherlands answered. "If I'm driving you to your date tonight. I shouldn't be drinking and driving."

Belgium laughed then tossed him a water bottle. "Speaking of my date, what dress should I wear?" She picked up the two dresses she set aside previously. "The blue one is shorter, but the green one is cut lower."

The Dutchman frowned. "So, I have a choice between you showing too much leg, or you showing too much chest?"

"Pretty much." The Belgian giggled. "So, which one? The blue expose more leg one, or the green expose more chest one?"

"Don't you have anything else?"

"I do, but they're the wrong century, the wrong season, or I just don't want to wear it. So, blue or green?"

Netherlands sighed. "Blue."

"Really? I was leaning more towards the green dress." Belgium turned to the guest. "Germany, what do you think? Blue dress or green dress?" She held up each dress as she said its description.

The German set down his beer. "I like the blue one."

"Ugh! You guys don't understand anything about fashion!" Belgium snapped her hands down to her sides. "I'm going to wear the green one." After saying this she left the kitchen.

"I'm confused," Germany said once she was gone. "If she was just going to wear the green one, then why did she bother asking us?"

The Dutchman laughed. "She would have worn the blue one if we said that we preferred the green one."

"I don't get it."

"It's just my sister being a girl. If you had sisters you would understand." Netherlands stood up, and tossed his finished water bottle into the trash. "Anyway, about my sister's car, could it be possible for you to work on it tomorrow?"

"What time?" The German picked his beer back up.

"Same time you looked at it today?"

Germany took a sip of his beer, and set it back down on the table. "Yeah, I'm free then. Prussia might be a little upset that he'll have to make dinner again."

"Oh, was I inferring with your daily schedule?"

The German sighed. "No. Prussia was just a little mad that he had to make dinner for our dinner could be served at the proper time."

"Oh, sorry that you had to put up with his crap." The Dutchman sat back down. "I could take you and Prussia out to dinner tomorrow, like after you're done working with Belgium's car. That way you don't have to listen to any of his complains again tomorrow. Right after you're done working, we can all go out for dinner together. I'll even pay for your meals. That includes all the stuff your brother decides to shove down his mouth in one sitting."

Germany picked up his beer again. "That's really nice of you. I'll see what Prussia thinks of this idea before I give a answer."

"Neat," Netherlands said. "Oh, and about those security cameras you were telling me about?"

Before the German could say anything the Belgian returned to the kitchen.

"I decided to wear my yellow dress." Belgium spun around to letting her dress flow around her. "What do you think?"

"It's backless," the Dutchman stated observing her outfit.

The Belgian giggled. "That's why I picked it, silly."

"You're going to wear a coat over it, right?" It sounded more like an order than a question.

"Golly, Netherlands, let a girl show some skin." Belgium twirled around again just like she did earlier.

Netherlands rolled his eyes. "What kind of brother would I be if I let my sister freeze to death?"

"Ah, come on, its not even cold outside."

"It could get colder."

"If it gets colder, my honeybun would just give me his coat. Keeping me from freezing to death."

"What if he doesn't wear a coat?"

"Why wouldn't he wear a coat?"

"I don't know, maybe he's wearing something backless too."

"That's ridiculous."

"Well, are you prepared for the temperature dropping, and your honeybun not wearing a coat?"

"If that happens, we'll cuddle."

"You're wearing a coat."

"Ugh!" The Belgian turned to the German. "Germany, what's your opinion on this issue?"

Germany sighed and set down his beer, he was drinking during this whole sibling argument. "That's a really nice dress."

Romano was struggling with his bowtie, like a teenager trying to untangle their headphones. Whoever made this stupid ribbon so complicated should be shot. Seriously, the Italian's been struggling with this stupid bowtie for the past thirty minutes. (The actual amount of time is much longer, but stating the correct amount would be an embarrassment to Romano. And he's been embarrassed enough already.)

During this hard task of putting a stupid ribbon into place, Romano began thinking of what he would do if he ever met the inventor of the bowtie. The thought of telling that bastard, "I'm going to shove a pair of tennis shoes so far up your ass, that when you open your mouth you'll be able to tie the laces", came to his mind multiple times. So did the thought of just classically kicking that jerk in the vital regions.

As fun as it was for the Italian to think of tormenting some random person that was probably already dead, he wasn't getting anywhere in putting his bowtie correctly in place. Why was it so hard? Maybe he should just ask Spain to do it for him.

No. Why did that thought occur to him? He doesn't need the Spaniard's help. If he asked Spain to do it for him, then he'll just have to listen to all his romantic advice again. He's an Italian he doesn't need romantic advice from a Spaniard.

"Stupid thing," Romano mumbled to himself trying to put the stupid ribbon in place again.

Maybe he shouldn't wear a bowtie. It's already caused he enough trouble. Its not like anybody will notice if he doesn't wear a bowtie.

The Italian sighed. Well, not dressing the part would be a disappointment to his temptress. Belgium would want him to dress the part. She would most definitely notice if he didn't wear something formal like a bowtie.

Romano gave the bowtie one more chance to go into place, and unsurprisingly it didn't. "Unfair," he mumbled. Off to Spain he goes.

Spain was enjoying himself. Watching reruns of 'Escenas de matrimonio'was certainly something a Spaniard could take pleasure in. Just when the when the show was going to play another comedic sketch, Romano walked in.

"Spain, you bastard, you should have realized something was wrong when I never came back from the restroom." The Italian obviously wasn't in the best mood.

"Yeah, I guess that it is a bit unusual for you to go to the bathroom for a suspiciously long amount time. Since now that you have a girlfriend." Spain laughed, and then continued before Romano could realize what he meant. "Did the shower curtain fall off or something?" He noticed the bowtie around his neck. "Oh, you need help tying your bowtie."

The Italian groaned. "Obviously."

The Spaniard got out of his chair and walked to the Italian. "You know that I tied your bowtie for that Christmas party that made you accidently kiss your brother."

Romano swatted away Spain's hands before he could finish typing his bowtie. "Ugh, don't remind me!" He pulled the somewhat bowtie off his neck, and threw it on the ground.

"So, you're not going to wear a bowtie?" The Spaniard sighed at the bowtie lying on the floor.

"No," the Italian answered, "last time I wore one I ended up kissing my brother."

Spain smile. "Kissing isn't bad luck."

"It is if it's your brother." Romano sat down on one of the living room chairs.

"I'm sure plenty of people would have wanted to take your place at that moment," the Spaniard said chuckling.

"Who would want that kind of misfortune?" the Italian asked. "France?"

This made Spain laugh harder. "Not the first person I was thinking of, but yeah, him too," he managed to say between laughs.

"Who were you thinking of?" Romano raised an eyebrow. "Or do I want to know?"

The Spaniard had his hands over his stomach from laughing. "No," he managed to say. "But, I was thinking of-"

The Italian cut him off, noticing the wall clock. "Shit! We should have been paying attention to the time!" He stood up from his chair.

Spain laughed as they left the living room. "You know, not wearing your bowtie might keep you from getting a kiss from Belgium."

Romano blushed from anger and embarrassment. "You need to stop laughing so hard, and that makes no sense."

"Yes, it does. 'Cause ever girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man!" The way Spaniard said this was between slightly singing it, and slightly crackling it out.

The Italian wanted to punch the Spaniard. Maybe watching all those comedy reruns put Spain in a loony mood. Whatever, the reason it was seriously annoying Romano. He really wanted to punch him. But, punching him would keep him from driving, and that would stop not fake one-week anniversary date from happening, with wouldn't be sticking with the plan. And his temptress would be really angry if he didn't stick with the plan.

Hopefully, he'll get a kiss out of this fake anniversary date. A romantic kiss from Belgium that would last longer than the one she gave him yesterday, not some disgusting unfortunate kiss that would come from his brother.