SapeloSweetie, xiao chan, and jacki: I'm completely honored that you're reading my story, as I love all of y'all's. Now update!
Oh, and you should all check out the story "Phenomenal Woman," by Mrs. Hector Elizondo. It's under the PD section of this site. And it's beautiful (this is coming from a normally militant anti-C/J-er.)
Ch. 8
I stayed awake until 3AM reading those letters. All of them. From the first one when Olivia was two, to the last when she had her last birthday. Michael always sent them just after her birthday, though I never realized it at the time.
The first two were written with love, you could tell. Michael would ask me questions, tell me he missed me, and that he wished I was there sharing his experiences with him. But then, after the time of the small letter I read first, the letters were distant. Michael addressed me as Miss Thermopolis, and never again mentioned anything about Us. It was all about Olivia.
He didn't miss me any more.
I pored over them intently, though my eyes had grown more than a little weary by the time the sun rose. With my nose practically skimming the pages, I could even see the tiny little etch marks that went into each one of Michael's letters. All these years he kept in touch and I just didn't even bother. Not necessarily with Michael. Personally, I find that understandable. But this wasn't about us.
Was he right about me becoming cold and inhuman? Not necessarily his words, but I read—or rather, listened between the lines.
No. I can't think like that. I'm the next in line for the throne. It wouldn't have worked if I'd stayed with Michael and Olivia. I'd have ended up resenting them, and they would have hated me for it.
Though they hate me now anyway, so what's the difference?
I have decided though, that I can't let them leave the country hating me like this. Not only is it not fair since I'm only doing what's best for my country, but it's just not healthy. Such resentment towards people should only be reserved for people who really deserve it. Like Grandmere. I'd understand if Olivia hated Grandmere, but her own mother? She doesn't even know me!
And I guess if I'm going to win over Olivia, I'll need Michael's cooperation, which would probably include actually speaking to him. The dread that filled me at the thought of this may have seemed a bit melodramatic, but I felt it was fully deserved.
How can I look him in the face after reading what I read? It was all so much easier when I thought we had been on the same page when I skipped out of there. I thought…well, I thought he understood why I couldn't stay.
Except how could he when even I don't? At least not any more.
I went to bed with pieces from each of the letters swimming around and around in my head...
Olivia took her first steps today, you should have seen her. She wanted her Elmo doll, so she just got up and walked towards it...
She likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Something I could never understand, but she loves them...
When she smiled today, I could see you. She looks exactly like you, except she has my eyes...
...first word was 'jello'. She has a fetish for red jello, which I think she gets from you since I can't stand the stuff.
She needs you...I need you. Please come back...
-
Bright and early the next morning (a princess never sleeps past nine, even when they were up until five the night before) I knocked on the nursery door and let myself in.
Michael and Olivia were fast asleep; Olivia's thumb securely in her mouth and Michael's arm wrapped protectively around her waist, as if he were afraid someone would try to kidnap her.
I sat down tentatively on the side of the bed and shook Michael gently. Finally, he cracked an eye open.
"What time is it?" he whispered.
"Almost eight thirty," I replied, staring at Olivia's sleeping form. She's so beautiful, I never expected a child of mine to turn out so...perfect. At that age I was constantly tripping and cutting my own hair and accidentally destroying my mom's artwork. I wasn't what most would consider 'precious.' "I was thinking, I'd really like for you and Olivia could hang around for a while. You know, so I could get to know her."
Michael sat up uneasily, careful not to wake Olivia. "I don't know, Mia." In the haze of sleep, he seemed to act almost human towards me. "Liv really wants to get home, I think the shock of this all is a bit much for her to handle. You can understand that, can't you?"
I nodded, straining to see his side. For a girl who's read To Kill a Mockingbird nine times, I sure have a tough time of "crawling around other people's skin." Though one look at Grandmere—not to mention Michael and Olivia—will tell you that I'm quite good at least getting under the skin. "But what if you don't stay in the castle? Grandmere has a beautiful beach house not far from here, you could stay there...Maybe I could even stay with you?"
He sighed and took a minute to think about it. "I guess it can't hurt to ask Liv, but I'm telling you, if she wants to go home, we're on the first flight outta here. I'm not putting her through any sort of emotional shit she's not old enough to deal with. Christ, Mia, you practically had a meltdown when you found out who your dad was, and you were fourteen! Imagine what it's like for her."
I nodded. This time I could actually see his point. At least Olivia didn't have a Josh Richter-type to deal with. "I understand, Michael. And I'm not trying to make things hard for her. I just...I want to spend some time with her, is all. Surely YOU can understand that?"
"Okay, okay, I'll talk to her. But I want to talk to her alone, okay?"
"Fair enough. I'll be downstairs getting breakfast organized."
I stood up and started to walk away, just as Olivia woke up.
"What's she doing here?" she asked rudely, both sleep and anger causing her to squint her eyes at me.
I took a deep breath and composed myself before turning around. "Good morning, Olivia. Would you like some breakfast?"
She shrugged and looked at her father. "Are we going home today?"
I gave up and walked right out the door.
-
Michael came into the kitchen about ten minutes after I'd left him and Olivia. I felt a slight pang when I saw that he still had that slight swagger to his hips. Or rather, the space between his legs and torso. Michael was completely lacking butt-wise.
"She's agreed to think about staying a little while. She says she'd like to go to the beach like you'd suggested, and she'd like to meet Sebastiano's kids."
Great. So she wants to stay for the kids, but not for me. I suppose beggars can't be choosers though, I'll take what I can get.
I forced a smile. "Great! Is she coming down for breakfast? I'm making waffles."
"YOU'RE actually making them?" he asked, a sly grin playing on his lips.
I cringed. "Well, I'm having them made. But I asked for them especially for her, I know she likes them."
Thank you letter number five.
"And here I was thinking you'd never read those letters I'd sent," he said, in a tone I couldn't quite place as happy or disbelieving. "But anyway, she said she'd only eat breakfast if she could eat it in the nursery."
Wow, she won't even eat breakfast with me. I'm doing just spectacular so far!
"Fine," I said, a grim look masked by a totally fake smile. I shoved a plate of fresh waffles and syrup at him. "Here you go then. I hope she enjoys them. I'll call Sebastiano and arrange a time to meet him for the beach. But we can go in about an hour anyway. Make sure you're both packed up and ready."
I stormed out of the kitchen before he could object.
"Grandmere?" I stepped into her office, smoothing down my skirt and praying for the flush in my cheeks to die down.
She barely glanced up from the letter she was writing. Handwritten correspondence was immensely preferable to electronic communication in her opinion.
I walked in further. "Hi, Grandmere!" I said in a falsely bright tone. "How are you?"
"Amelia, I really don't have time for this. Have you sent the boy home?"
"Well…"
"Does the girl know? Is she prepared to take on her role? Are you ready to be a mother?"
All right already with the third degree! As if Grandmere has any right to accuse me of being an unworthy parent. She totally scarred Dad for eternity with her excellent maternal habits.
But I answered her questions anyhow. I've grown accustomed to just succumbing to Grandmere's harshness. It's just easier. "She knows. I…well, being seven years old, I doubt she's fully qualified to handle an entire country. Nor required, at this point. But I'd like to get to know her. So I was thinking we could use the beach house for a while. Just to get her away from all the royalty and everything. It's way easier to conduct normal relationships away from moldy tapestries."
Grandmere looked slightly offended. She didn't say anything about me skipping over that last question, though. I think we both knew the answer.
"Is the boy coming?"
"He's in his thirties now, Grandmere. I'd hardly refer to him as a boy."
She merely sniffed. "Well, you never had much sense around him, did you?"
A change of scenery coming shortly.