You are right. Kate Middleton looks fairly average compared to many of the girls around Marvin. As for kids, Marvin has too many girls around him, so even if each of them only had one child, it would still be a large number.
Some people also got confused about Marvin's religion, so let me clarify: he is Christian, but he is half Jewish because his mother's side of the family is Jewish while his father is Christian, which is why he was raised Christian. Aunt Nancy married a Jewish man thus she switched, so Marvin has both backgrounds, but he is still Christian.
As for Jennifer, the tutor, she disappeared after her job was finished during the first movie, though I'll reintroduce her later.
If this does not address your questions, please feel free to join me on Discord for further clarification and answers.
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*****
"I... I never knew you were such a master pianist," she deflected, offering a watery smile. "Is there any instrument you cannot play?"
Marvin offered a wicked, devastatingly boyish smirk, tucking the handkerchief away. "Well, my lady, the world is very competitive. A man must acquire every conceivable skill in his arsenal if he ever hopes to impress a girl as extraordinarily beautiful as you."
"Hahaha" Diana burst into a bright, genuine peal of laughter, the sorrow completely vanishing. The tension broke, leaving a warm, golden glow in its wake.
"You are incorrigible," Diana smiled, leaning her shoulder lightly against his. "Hold me over, maestro. I suddenly want to hear you play the piano more. The silence of this house is usually so deafening."
"What is your command, Your Highness? What do you want to hear?"
Diana looked at the flickering fire, her posture relaxing, looking suddenly very girlish and untroubled as she leaned into his side. "I don't know. You can play anything casually."
Marvin looked at the Princess leaning against him. He thought for a second, his fingers resting lightly on the keys.
"Let us change the dynamic," Marvin suggested. "I will play. You will sing."
"Mmm, okay," Diana agreed, her voice soft and trusting.
Marvin pressed the keys, lightly knocking out a bright, familiar, and lilting waltz tempo.
Diana distinguished the melody for a moment.
A soft, nostalgic smile bloomed on her face. In a sudden burst of playful confidence, she stretched out a single finger and reached across him to the high treble keys. *Ding, ding, dong, dong, dong.* She matched the note of his opening tune, joining in the creation.
Then, over the rolling chords Marvin provided, a soft, female voice began to sing with a special, undeniably pure charm.
Marvin's fingers danced lightly across the keys, offering breezy, effortless accompaniment — gentle arpeggios that sparkled like sunlight on water, perfectly cradling the melody without ever overshadowing the voice. The piano felt warm, playful, and full of quiet wisdom, as if it too were smiling at life's uncertainties.
"When I was… just a little girl…"
The voice floated out, tender and luminous, each word delivered with delicate innocence.
"I asked my mother…"
"What will I be…?"
"Will I be pretty…? Will I be rich…?"
The questions hung sweetly in the air, filled with childlike wonder.
"Here's what she said to me…"
"Que sera… sera…"
The refrain came like a gentle sigh of acceptance, soft and reassuring, the notes lingering with a peaceful glow.
"Whatever will be… will be…"
"The future's not ours to see…"
"Que sera… sera…"
"What will be… will be…"
Diana closed her eyes, letting the simple, beautiful philosophy of the lyrics carry her away from the burdens of the Crown. The Incubus magic woven into Marvin's playing slipped past her ears and settled warmly in her chest, easing tension and stirring a quiet sense of freedom — a reminder that some things were simply meant to unfold as they would.
The piano continued its light, breezy support, chords rolling like a carefree summer breeze.
"When I grew up… and fell in love…"
"I asked my sweetheart…"
"What lies ahead…?"
"Will we have rainbows… day after day…?"
The voice remained beautiful and pure, each phrase shaped with the same soft charm, yet now tinged with the hopeful sweetness of young romance.
"Here's what my sweetheart said…"
"Que sera… sera…"
"Whatever will be… will be…"
"The future's not ours to see…"
"Que sera… sera…"
"What will be… will be…"
Marvin's piano accompaniment stayed masterful — light, airy, and perfectly matched, the notes dancing alongside the voice like playful companions. The subtle Incubus magic deepened the emotion without force, letting listeners feel a gentle release: worries about the future softening into calm acceptance, hearts opening to the unpredictable beauty of life.
The final refrain swelled just enough to feel complete, still soft and luminous.
"Que sera… sera…"
"Whatever will be… will be…"
"The future's not ours to see…"
"Que sera… sera…"
"What will be… will be…"
When the last shimmering chord faded into warm silence, the room felt lighter, as if the song had gently lifted away invisible weights. Diana's expression had softened completely, a small, peaceful smile touching her lips.
Marvin had not just accompanied the song.
With his rolling piano, he had turned "Que Sera, Sera" into something even more tender and freeing — a quiet celebration of letting go, delivered with such charm and emotional depth that it touched the soul in the sweetest, most unforgettable way.
The faint, innocent singing voice drifted through the massive villa, carried perfectly by the brilliant sound of the grand piano, driving away the cold loneliness hiding in every corner of Wormleighton Manor.
---
After a few more lighthearted songs, Diana's voice finally grew tired. The music ceased, and the only sound remaining in the grand living room was the soft popping of the dying fire.
They sat together on the piano bench in complete, comfortable silence for nearly ten minutes. The atmosphere was peaceful.
Then, the gravity in the room shifted.
"Diana, you wanted to know why I actually flew to England so suddenly, without informing you first," Marvin stated. His voice was no longer a playful purr. It was flat, heavy, and chillingly serious.
"Mmm," Diana hummed, turning her head. Her entire concentration was instantly locked onto him. He hadn't called her "sister." He had addressed her directly, bypassing all their affectionate nicknames. She knew immediately that whatever he was about to say was a matter of seriousness.
Marvin looked away from her, staring into the dying embers of the fire.
"The other night in Los Angeles..." Marvin began, his voice dropping to a low, trembling whisper that was entirely uncharacteristic of his usual confidence. "I had a nightmare. A nightmare specifically about you. I... I saw you die."
Diana's breath caught in her throat. She stared at his profile, a cold chill running down her spine.
"On a late night," Marvin continued, his voice taking on the clinical precise cadence of an omniscient observer narrating a documentary. "You just departed the Hôtel Ritz in Paris. You were in a black Mercedes-Benz S280, desperately attempting to escape a swarming pack of relentless paparazzi. As the photographers relentlessly pursued your vehicle on motorcycles, your driver—sped recklessly through the streets of the French capital, trying to evade the flashing cameras and the aggressive tailing."
Diana's eyes widened in horror. The level of detail was staggering. It didn't sound like a child's fragmented bad dream; it sounded like a factual police report.
"The frantic, high-speed chase culminated inside the Pont de l'Alma tunnel," Marvin recounted, his jaw clenching. "Your driver... who, in the aftermath, was found to be heavily intoxicated and driving at more than twice the legal speed limit... lost control of the vehicle. The Mercedes violently crashed head-on into the underpass's thirteenth concrete pillar."
Diana covered her mouth with trembling hands, a sickening wave of dread washing over her.
"The sheer, catastrophic force of the impact instantly killed your driver," Marvin said, turning his head slowly to look her dead in the eyes. "But you... you actually survived the initial collision. First responders arrived at the chaotic scene to find you alive and conscious, but hopelessly trapped within the mangled, crushed wreckage of the backseat. You were suffering from catastrophic internal injuries, including a severely torn pulmonary vein."
"Marvin, please..." Diana whispered, terrified not of the little man, but of the incredibly plausible, horrific reality he was painting. Paris, the Ritz, the paparazzi—it was exactly the kind of nightmare her life routinely invited and It seems entirely possible that this could happen.
"After being carefully extricated from the vehicle with heavy machinery, you were rushed to the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital," Marvin pushed on, mercilessly ensuring the terror set in deeply enough to save her life. "An emergency surgical team operated for hours in a desperate attempt to stabilize you. But despite their exhaustive efforts and multiple, attempts at resuscitation... your injuries were simply too immense. You went into cardiac arrest. You were officially pronounced dead in the early hours of the morning."
Tears were now openly streaming down Diana's face, her mind rejecting the horror, yet utterly paralyzed by the prophetic weight of his voice.
"In the time following the tragedy," Marvin concluded softly, "exhaustive investigations by both French authorities and the British Metropolitan Police pieced together the exact causes of the crash to provide closure to a grieving, broken world. They ultimately ruled that the disaster was the result of gross negligence, placing the blame squarely on the impaired driving of the driver combined with the reckless pursuit by the press."
Marvin paused, letting a suffocating silence hang in the air for five seconds.
"Furthermore," Marvin added, delivering the final, fatal detail. "Medical experts and crash investigators highlighted one crucial, tragic detail: you weren't wearing your seatbelt at the time of the impact. A single, careless decision that drastically reduced your chances of surviving the catastrophe."
Diana was trembling visibly now. The shock had completely paralyzed her. She looked at the little man, feeling a visceral dread.
Suddenly, Marvin's composure completely shattered.
"Since the moment I opened my eyes after the nightmare," Marvin gasped, his voice cracking violently. "I have had these... these sudden, uneasy feelings. This flashes of intuition. People call me a 'Gift of God.' They say I am God's grace upon the world. They think I am a miracle! Diana, that fucked up nightmare was too detailed, too hyper-specific to just be ignored. I felt the cold concrete. I smelled the gasoline. I think they might be right about me. I think I was shown this to stop it."
To Diana's foundational shock, tears began to spill rapidly from Marvin's blue eyes. The little man, the man who challenged the Virginia Records's CEO, the man who chatted with European bankers like it was nothing, was openly weeping.
He lunged forward, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder.
"So here I am!" Marvin sobbed, his small frame shaking against her. "Please, promise me! Promise me you won't leave this place. At least not before September ends. Please, Diana! You have to promise me you will take care of your safety! I don't want to lose you!"
The desperation in his voice snapped Diana out of her paralyzed horror. Her deep maternal instincts, combined with her profound, unconditional love for the little man, completely overrode her fear of the premonition. Feeling the wetness of his tears soaking into her cashmere sweater, the Princess of Wales acted on pure instinct.
She quickly and fiercely wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her chest, rocking him gently back and forth.
"Calm down. Shh, darling, calm down," Diana murmured, her voice adopting a soothing, deeply maternal frequency, though her own heart was still racing. She stroked the back of his golden-brown hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It was just a nightmare, Marvin. A horrible nightmare. People have them every single day. Don't be stupid like every other man in the world, worrying yourself to death. I thought you were the smart one."
"No!" Marvin cried against her shoulder, his grip tightening around her. "You have to promise me first. I am not leaving until you promise!"
Diana closed her eyes, holding him tight. She didn't fully believe in prophecies, but she believed in the little man in her arms. She believed in the terror she felt vibrating through his chest. If staying isolated in the English countryside for a month was the price to pay to ease his brilliant, burdened mind, it was a price she would gladly pay a thousand times over.
"Okay, okay, my sweet little knight," Diana whispered fiercely into his ear. "I promise you. I will cancel all of my overseas schedules for the month of August. I won't step foot in Paris, and I will not leave the grounds of this house before the end of September. And I swear to you, I will always wear my seatbelt and keep my security detail close. See, my drivers are fully sober and break check my cars."
They held each other in the dim light of the fireplace for a long time, the cracking of the wood the only sound in the room.
After five minutes, the frantic energy slowly bled out of the atmosphere. They gently separated, pulling back to look at each other.
Marvin's eyes were still red, traces of moisture clinging to his eyelashes. Diana, mirroring the exact gesture he had given her less than an hour ago, reached up and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs.
Marvin let out a shaky, self-deprecating sigh, looking down at the damp patch on her shoulder.
"I am so sorry about your sweater," Marvin murmured, his voice returning to its normal depth, though still carrying a trace of hoarseness. He offered a weak, embarrassed smile. "You must be thinking of me as a pathetic, fragile little crybaby now. The great Hollywood Wonder Boy, reduced to tears over a bad dream."
Diana stopped wiping his face. Her hands rested warmly on his cheeks. A brilliant, radiant smile completely illuminated her features, driving away the last lingering shadows of the premonition.
"Of course not," Diana replied softly, her blue eyes sparkling with unending affection. She leaned in close, echoing the poetry he had gifted her.
"As a great, genius little man once told me," Diana whispered. *"Tears are not a sign of weakness. They are simply the ink with which the soul writes its deepest truths."* Only a heart capable of profound, shattering love can produce something so beautiful. They do not diminish you; they make your soul infinitely more radiant."
*****
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