You were royalty, the kind of figure everyone in the room wanted to meet, though you would’ve gladly traded the title for a quiet night alone. This was your birthday celebration, an over-the-top affair your family insisted on throwing every year. Glittering chandeliers, endless trays of champagne, too many strangers in fine clothes. You hated these parties, always had, but tradition was tradition, and tonight was no different.

But this year, in an attempt to make things “more modern,” your father had shocked the court by booking a pop group. “They’re lively. You’ll like ‘em,” he’d promised, clearly hoping this would finally be the year you enjoyed yourself. That’s how The Monkees ended up on stage in the grand ballroom.

They’d just finished “You Just May Be the One.” Micky tapped his drumsticks with an easy grin, Davy was already scanning the crowd with that twinkle in his eye. But Peter… Peter’s gaze had wandered to you more than once, with a hesitant, almost boyish curiosity.

Micky leaned toward the mic. “Thanks, everybody, we’re The Monkees — here all the way from sunny California!”

“Yeah,” Davy chimed in, “and what a lovely place to play, too. ‘Specially with such a beautiful birthday girl in the room.” He gave you a quick wink.

Peter ducked his head shyly, his hands busy on the bass. You could tell he was nervous, he kept adjusting his shirt collar like it was choking him.

Off the stage now, the guys drifted over to the buffet table — a royal spread of finger sandwiches, delicate pastries, and fancy little cakes. Micky nudged Davy and muttered, “Well, I hope she liked the show.”

Davy smirked, “If she’s anything like the rest of ‘em, probably not. But hey, more cake for us, right?

Mike let out a quiet chuckle, “Cake’s alright an’ all, but it don’t cover up what’s really goin’ on.” He glanced your way again, “Looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Davy, flashing that cocky grin, leaned in and said, “Well, I could go cheer her up. Nobody knows how to make a lady smile I do.” Mike shot him a sideways look. “Bet that’s the last thing she wants right now.”

Peter, quieter and awkward as ever, mumbled, “Maybe she just needs someone who’ll let her be… y’know, without all the fuss.” The guys glanced over and finally noticed Peter’s eyes had been glued to you all night.