Hi everyone,

well, the time has come for the final chapter of this story! I wanna thank all of you for reading and following the story! This is all from me but maybe I'll write some more PD fanfiction in the future.

Please review!

Much love, W.

Wednesday, January 1, 6 am

Last night Harry and René went to the center of Monaco to celebrate the New Year with some of our cousins. Michael and I stayed behind in this great house on the hill overlooking enlightened Monaco and we could even see Genovia in the distance (I can say that we had a totally better fireworks that Monaco. Take that Arne.).

We were sitting on the balcony and he had his arms wrapped around me.

"It's December," I said.

"Yeah, it is," he said and kissed my temple, "but not for much longer."

I laughed. He totally didn't understand what I was telling him.

I looked him in the eyes.

"It's December," I repeated, "you are supposed to ask me something in December."

He looked so confused. And so totally, utterly cute.


"You are supposed to ask me something in December," I repeated and laughed.

He shook his head in confusion.

"What are you ta…"

And then it occurred to him. He realized what the question was. He just stared at me, completely shocked for about five seconds.

"Mia … Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I smiled and nodded, "yeah, I am."

And I was.

And it was … perfect. It …

Wait – my phone is buzzing. Who is up this early (well, besides me, obviously, but I have a good reason to be up already) to text me?

Harry: I'll take pictures at your wedding, Genovia. BTW, do you remember the deal we made last year? That both of us will have a wedding of our grannies' nightmares? You still in or are you now BFF with Clarisse? Well, I think you two nerds could rock a Star Wars wedding. Promise me René will be a Chewbacca, he'll love it.

And then there was René's text a few seconds later (ok, what did they do last night – or more importantly, where did they end up this morning?): I'll play better at your wedding, I promise. And I won't break the piano and instead of spraying champagne, I can throw rice if you want. That's what people do at weddings, right? You still want Paramore's My Heart to be your wedding song? Harry can do the screaming part, he'll love it.

Oh my god. Just how drunk are they?

And please don't tell me Sebastiano's flight got cancelled or that his visa was denied or something and he is now with them because he is texting me too!

Sebastiano: Can I design your wed dress? Please? I have it all in my mi alred! Do you want to go white - though I am think a mix of yell and brown with dark lipstick will make you pret. And I talk to Paolo to do your hair – sligh curly, not too much, we don't want to make you like a poodle. Get back to me, ok? PS: Ameri is great!

And then -

Vigo: All the necessary arrangements have been made and the kitty is now allowed to stay at the palace, Princess.

Ok, what is wrong with them (well, Vigo is not sane either, but I mean the rest of them)? What is all this talk about my wedding? Hello? I am seventeen! Seventeen! And just last night I had sex for the…

Wait. WAIT!

Oh my god.

I think I know what all the commotion in the salon was about. You know, when Michael told us about his company, Pavlov Surgical and they all started spitting and dropping things and Grandmere looked like she had a coronary.

Oh my god.

She was right.

That fortune teller lady last year was right. You know, the one that told me I would marry a guy that makes a living off his animal.




Oh my god.

Not that I haven't known this before, I mean, we are totally getting married, I already talked about the vegetarian course with Pierre, it is just …. Well, it is nice to hear it from the fortune teller lady.

But … if she was right about me, she was also right about … well, other people.

Like Sebastiano – she said he will succeed with polyester which sent him into total panic because, well, he hates the material, god knows why.

Harry – she told him the girl of his dreams is a queen which totally upset him because, well, he wants to go against his grandmother's wishes to marry, well, a royal. He craves for a normal wife.

René – he is supposed to settle down before turning 25 – since he is the greatest party boy there is, he only laughed hysterically and said there will never be a day when he'd settle down.

Grandmere - this one was the worst – the lady said she would voluntarily move out of the palace in the next five years. At first, Grandmere accused her of being a fraud and then she started screaming that she just received a death threat. It took two sidecars to calm her down.

Oh my god.

I hope they are too drunk from celebrating the New Year to pick up on this …

Wait, new text –

Grandmere – what wasssssss the name of that forrrrrrrrtune tellerrrrrr, Ameliaaaaaaa? I have tooooo speak tooo herrrrrrr immediatelyyyyyyyy. Callllll me, Clarrrriseeeeee, your grandmotherrrrrrrrrr

Oh no.

The End.