When Mia got back to her room, she knew that there was no way in hell she'd be able to sleep tonight, regardless of the exhaustion she felt. Her hands were trembling, her skin felt hot and prickly, but she was curiously dry-eyed, not near tears at all. She felt like hitting a wall, like screaming, she wished she'd slapped Nicolas a little harder; but more than anything, she wished she were back home years ago, in her firehouse apartment, drowsing in bed, fantasizing about unattainable crushes and dreaming of places she thought she'd never visit.

She couldn't though. She was queen—Queen! She was married. And she—

She was an idiot.

What had possessed her…how could she have been so stupid? If anyone had seen them, especially Andrew—well, no one had, she told herself, swallowing past the sudden dryness in her mouth. They couldn't have.

"I have to grow up," she hissed to herself; then dragged a hand over her eyes. The skin underneath her lids lids felt gritty, and they itched badly. Wonderful. Her allergies were deciding to kick in the day before her coronation. She'd look exactly the way she felt. Numb. Stunned. And thanks to Nicolas' words, more unsure of herself than ever. She'd never, ever heard such vehemence, such open hostility from anyone before. And yet---

She blinked, hard.

Mia took out the offensive contacts, throwing them in the sink and replacing them with a pair of tortoiseshells she rarely wore nowadays; glasses were "shades of that American witch Sarah Palin," Paolo had told severely, and would not be tolerated in public. She glanced in the mirror and barely caught the reflection of a pale, sober, trembling girl whose makeup was smudged round the eyes and who looked less like a monarch than anyone she knew. Almost instinctively, without washing, without changing—she went to the door, opened it, made her way soundlessly into the alcove outside her room.

Mia knew sleep might elude her tonight, but at least…her steady, level-headed husband was next door. And he wouldn't turn her away, she was sure.

She picked up the skirt of her robe; she quickened her steps.

This was quickly becoming routine, she thought, almost amused.

When Mia reached Andrew's room, she was more than a little out of breath—walking fast had turned to running, and now she felt more than a little bit silly, standing in his doorway's shadows and chewing her lower lip. She glanced over her shoulder at the unwelcome darkness that was her room now—and she straightened her shoulders before moving forward as quietly as she could.

The room was chilly, cooler than hers for once—and the light from the alcove illuminated the room just enough for her to see him, stretched out on his side. He was shirtless, and his hair was mussed; most of his upper body was outside the covers. His body was as ramrod straight in sleep as it was when he was awake. It looked unyielding, and more than a little unwelcoming, all hard muscle and skin—and she hesitated for a minute, feeling more than a little foolish. She started to back up—then froze when his head came up off the mattress, and the grey-blue eyes opened and fixed on her.

"Uh…." She swallowed. Say something, you fool! "Hi. I just wanted to say…good night?"

He blinked once; when he spoke, his voice was raspy. "What? You're not dressed for bed yet."

Mia suddenly realized that despite her robe, she still wore her jewels—and her hands flew to her throat, beginning to fumble with the clasp. "I—I guess not."

Andrew's lips twisted up, ever so slightly. "Need help?"

"No." Mia lifted her chin.

"It's an old piece, and rather heavy," he said mildly, running his fingers through his hair. "Mum always had someone fasten it for her."

"I'm sure," Mia said tightly. "Anyway…I guess I'll give them to you in the morning…."

Her husband chuckled then, a low sound that reverberated through the room. "Amelia," he said bluntly. "Did you want to sleep here?"

She jerked her chin up. Her eyes had been dry before, but now she felt her throat closing up. "You don't have to be patronizing," she said icily, feeling her cheeks burn. Jesus. First Nick, and then this--- she couldn't deal. She just couldn't. "I said I'm here to say good night and I am, and now I'm going to—"

The covers rustled as he sat up; and in a flash he was across the room, holding her shoulders, looking into her face. He looked concerned for a moment—and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible, the high-bred accent rolling the words pleasantly, sonorously.

"Do you want to tell me what happened, love?"

Mia bit her lip again, considered lying; then she shook her head. As expected, he didn't push it.

"It'll all be over by this time tomorrow," he said simply; then he pulled her to him. Mia closed her eyes, pressed her forehead to the hollow of his neck. For a moment, one lovely, tender moment—it was so elemental. So simple. He was warm, welcoming—she was cold, both inside and out-- and she wanted him, right then. And that was all.

He kissed her then; not a passionate one, just a whisper of contact, a brush of skin on skin. "Let me help," he said quietly; and his fingers were at the back of her neck, opening the clasp on the ruby necklace. She swallowed.

"Thanks."

"And now you sleep." His breath came quiet on her ear, warm…blessedly warm. Nick's face was fading, now; her conversation with him almost seemed like a dream. Still damned unpleasant, of course, but unable to hurt her here.

"Yeah," she found herself agreeing. "Sleep…I will."

Christ, she'd been an idiot. And, despite her husband's order, she didn't sleep. Instead she lay awake, one arm draped over him, drowsy from the heat radiating from his chest, studying the planes of his angular face in the dark. It was a face softened by deep sleep and an exhaustion that she knew she shared. She would not wake up the same girl, she knew. If anything, her conversation with Nick had made one thing clear; she'd made her choice.

For once in her life, she would do something decisive. She would commit. And...she wasn't going to do anything to muck it up. Not this time.

Tentatively, not knowing how he'd react, she reached out, brushed her sleeping husband's face from earlobe to jaw in a simple caress. She had to admit, when she looked at him this way she felt…something; and it was deeper this time, tugged at her heartstrings with a simple intensity that took her breath away. She had no name for it of course, but…it was all right she didn't, she thought with some surprise.

It didn't bother her anymore. Not at all.

She could just let it happen.

She would just let it happen.

It still didn't bother her in the morning when Andrew, after waking up, peered warily into the washroom as she reclined in his bath, the air heavy with steam and jasmine-scented oil. She didn't try to cover herself or order him to get out, either; only looked at him with a sudden softening in her brown eyes that made him swallow audibly.

Mia smiled then, an uncertain little flit about her mouth, but it was enough, and he walked in the door, leaned over the tub, and—

She'd never felt more married, she thought somewhat breathlessly, as when his hands sliced through the water, and he pulled her to him at that moment, then kissed her with an assuredness that made her wonder vaguely whether she'd ever known him at all. She pushed aside her thoughts and concentrated on what she never had bothered to before; the warmth of his hands and mouth, the gentleness, the clean smell of him, the soft hair. She closed her eyes...and for once, totally relaxed-- letting her body respond to his the way it clearly wanted to.

Sometime later the soon-to-be crowned reigning monarch of Genovia and her consort sat leaning against the marble tub, on the rug, thier breathing steadying with every moment that went by. Mia was now wrapped in a fluffy towel, held in the circle of her husband's arms. After a bit Andrew attempted to extract himself from his wife's slippery limbs, but she shook her dark head.

"Can't we just…"

"I would like nothing more, dearest, but we've plenty to do today, in case you've forgotten," he said mildly, then laughed. "Paolo will be here any moment, beating down the door. He'd be delighted to find us in this state I think, but I am not quite as keen."

"You're always right," Mia said ruefully. "I hate that."

He chuckled, then gave her a meaningful nudge, stood to his feet. He seemed to have changed overnight, Mia thought; his look now matched his posture. Ramrod straight and unfailingly strong. He reached a hand out to help her up.

"'C'mon, my lady," he said; and his voice was not without humor, though it was serious. "We've much to do today."

He didn't discuss last night...or what had just happened between them, much to Mia's relief. He seemed to take thier every encounter simply as a matter of fact, and Mia-- well, Mia was coming around to his way of thinking much faster than she'd thought she ever could. She reached up, took his hand, offered him a shy smile.

"I think I have to wash again," she said meekly; and Andrew looked taken aback, then slightly embarassed-- and then shot her the closest thing to a grin she'd ever seen on his face.

"Indeed," he replied.