The Four Seasons of Michael (Princess Diaries Fanfic)

Spring: March (1) Home - Last Part

The news of my returning to New York for a few days had indeed spread around.

Judith called me the next morning, hoping to meet up with me. She invited me over to her place, saying she was home alone. I smirked at her choice of words. That had been our code back in high school when we were sleeping together. I didn't know if this time she intentionally used it or not, but I wasn't tempted to find out. I texted her back, saying I already had other plans. Which wasn't a lie, given I was meeting Phillipe.

Lars was waiting for me in front of Plaza. He even opened the door of the cab for me, just like when we were driving in the limo to school with Mia and Lilly. At the sight of his enormous, bulky figure, a very visible gun on the right hip and the overall black attire, the cab driver's eyebrows shot up, and from his eyes, I could read he thought I was involved with the mafia. I made sure to leave a big tip, but he surely was relieved when he could drive off.

"Michael, how are you?" Lars smiled at me, as always unaware of the impression he made on ill-informed people around him.

"Alright," I said. "You? How are you, Lars?"

Lars and I had gotten well on pretty much since the get-go. Truthfully, I don't know why. If anything, he should have been extra suspicious of me, as he instantaneously saw through me, knowing I had a thing for Mia. Instead of telling me off, citing both her age and her royal status as the absolute demolition of my feeling for her, he not only gave me a chance but in a way even supported me. Once Mia and I got together, he was one of the few that never made me feel unworthy of me. His job as a bodyguard was to protect her, and he skillfully deduced that my feelings were of no threat to her. If anything, I loved her too much, and out of care sometimes somehow ended up hurting her.

"I am fine," he said, and then paused, as if knowing my question wasn't aimed only at him. "Things are very well, you should know that."

"Okay," I nodded. "Thank you. It's nice to know. You wouldn't have any idea why Phillipe asked to see me, would you?"

"To talk," he simply said as we walked to the elevator. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you."

He walked with me to the room of Mia's father. On the way, he told me an amusing story of how he and Wahim decided to participate in the next Movember and were currently contemplating getting a head start.

"I do worry about Clarisse's opinion, though," he sighed.

"Why? I know she's not a fan of facial hair, but I am sure she cannot tell you not to have a mustache," I laughed.

"The guy who worked for Phillipe before me," Lars said, "had a punk band. He never mentioned it on the job or anything, but when Clarisse found out about it, she sacked him before the day ended. Because, you know, she only listens to cabaret music. Even though he never played or even talked about his music. Mustache, on the other hand, she would be staring at constantly."

"But I thought you worked for Phillipe?"

"Keep thinking that if it makes you feel better," he said just as we reached Phillipe's room. He knocked, and Phillipe's calm, assured voice invited me in.

He sat behind a long desk. I couldn't help but notice how his personality was written all over the desk. Both were tidy, he in his expensive-looking suit that seemed to have just gotten back from the dry-cleaners, and the desk without a single pen lying around and with every paper in their respective folder.

When our eyes met, he got up to greet me.

"Michael, hello," he said, looking genuinely happy to see me. But when it came to Mia's family, it wasn't Phillipe who disliked me.