Aw, thank y'all so much for the reviews. Truly a surprise. To show my gratitude, I added a lot to this chapter that didn't originally exist when Schwartzibrow first wrote out the story. Hope you enjoy.

And Jacki, I think I'd be willing to grant you Graham Coxon if you update your story.

Ch. 13

Michael's support is definitely a big boost in my ratings, but that doesn't mean Olivia is still totally psyched about becoming the next…well, me.

I can't just rely on her father's support for everything. I mean, what's gonna happen whenever he has to go back to New York? Families can't exactly operate whenever one person sways their vote in everything. Well, they can't operate happily.

Whoa. Did I just refer to them as my family? Not my heir and the unwelcome slob? My illegitimate daughter and her good-for-nothing guardian? Ungrateful Brat and Oddly Sinister Bum?

In order to keep up this tightness, I can't just rest on my laurels. Or rather, Michael's uncharacteristic (at least, uncharacteristic to Michael: The Remix) kindness.

I need to pull something fantastic out of Mia's ole bag of tricks.

I could…introduce her to the wonderful world of Baywatch! Or play NSYNC's epic sophomore effort, the famed "No Strings Attached" in its entirety. If push comes to shove, I might even donate my Buffy figurines to the cause.

"Let me get this straight," said Michael pensively. "You want to expose our daughter to softcore porn, satanic wailing, and vampires? Sounds awesome."

So on to Plan B! Mind you, this one's top-secret so Michael can't use a well-placed sarcastic comment to throw me off the scent of good parenting.

I'm on to something. There's no way I'm quitting now.

- - -

It took a lot of coaxing the next morning to get me out of bed and into the shower. This is what parents do, I told myself. We forsake our own drooping eyelids to conform to the whims of our precious gifts from God.

Not that Olivia has exactly expressed a desire for the gift I'm preparing, but it's definitely useful! She'll love it. I just know she will.

But in order to really pull this off, I've got to resort to trickery and deceit, which aren't exactly skills I want to pass on to her.

"I'm awake," I whispered, pulling my damp hair into a ponytail as I stole quietly into the living room. Michael was stretched out on the couch, his mouth wide open as his right hand skimmed the floor.

My cell phone had died the night before, so I conducted a search for the house phone. You'd think it would be resting on the receiver, but things just don't go that way for me.

And then I spotted it. "Aha!" I muttered, tiptoeing towards Michael. The phone was wedged between the small of this back and the couch cushions.

Okay, I am very well aware that I have never been especially known for my grace and poise, but please…please let his be an exception. I leaned over his snoozing form, not even daring to breathe. But just as I was about to pluck the phone out, Michael spoke. "Flurger Mia steeker."

Mia?

"Shirt stowitz off tralep baby."

I would KILL to be inside Michael Moscovitz's head right now.

His eyes fluttered open, and he squinted up at me. "Mia?"

"Uh huh?" I replied, my voice unnaturally high.

"Hi," he said, smiling up at me.

I bit back a smile. "Um…hi. I've gotta go."

"Where?"

"It's not important."

This seemed to satisfy him. For the most part. Just as I reached for the phone again, Michael latched onto my wrist. "No kiss?" he mumbled.

"Oh!" I fumbled around for some sort of response to that. But what exactly are you supposed to do when your ex-boyfriend requests a kiss in his sleep-induced haze?

If you're me, you peck him on the cheek and fly out the door, just barely snatching the phone up as you do.

He's going to wake up. He's going to remember that I kissed him. And he's going to be REALLY FREAKED OUT.

He won't want to help me any more! I'll just be that creep who's warm for his form! The psycho with an ulterior motive!

With trembling fingers, I dialed Lars' cell phone number. A little underhanded shopping is always good to calm the nerves.

- - -

I had just about forgotten my anxiety when I approached the house again, and it all flooded back to me. Especially whenever I saw who was waiting just inside the screen door.

"There you are!" said Michael, throwing his free hand up in the air. The other was clutching a steaming cup of coffee. "You scared the hell out of me!"

That's how far apart we've grown? Any contact with my lips has become a phobia of his!

"Oh, uh…I'm really, really sorry about that. I really don't know what came over me. It just…well, you…"

He glowered up at me. "That's no excuse for not leaving a note. I had no idea where you were! I thought that you had gone back to Genovia and I'd just get some call later on today filling me in. But ya know, I'm not going to be jerked around like this. I didn't come out to Genovia for you to flit around and go wherever you want and not tell me, because maybe some people are really worried that you're going to leave. Maybe some of us have reason to worry about that."

The rant dwindled off after this, and he flopped into a chair at the kitchen table, still glowering.

"That's why you're mad?" I asked carefully. "Because I didn't leave a note?"

He traced the rim of his mug with a pale finger. "I might've gone a little overboard."

Who cares? I was just relieved that he didn't remember the peck! "No, you're right. I shouldn't have just gone off like that. Next time, I will definitely let you know where I'm going."

Without pressing my lips to any part of your body in the process.

- - -

Once Michael chilled out, he busied himself in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I, on the other hand, went to go surprise my daughter with Phase 1.

"Wake up, Liv," I said, shaking her gently. "I got something for you!"

She, like Michael, is most definitely not a morning person. "Whaaaaaaaaat?" she drawled, shielding her eyes against the light I'd flicked on.

I could barely contain my excitement. "I think you'll like this."

And with that I drew a swimsuit out of my shopping bag.

- - -

I knew once Olivia warmed up to the idea, she'd totally be open to becoming one with the water. "But for now," I explained to her as we stood on the shore. "Let's just keep this our little secret. We'll surprise your dad with how good you've become! It'll be so cool."

"He doesn't like swimming, though," she said slowly, looking out into the sparkling water with a wistful expression.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to learn. Parenting is all about wanting to give your kid what you can't have. And you, Liv, have got WAY more courage than your dad, which is why he wants you to tackle those waves."

Her face split into a wide grin. "Okay!"

I took her hand, leading her out into the water. "See?" I said, checking to make sure she wasn't freaking out yet. But she seemed to like splashing around in the shallows.

So we went on like that, just walking further and further out. Taking our time, though. I didn't want to scare her before we even got to the hard part.

Before I even got to flex my swimming skills, though, trouble struck.

In the form of a 6'2" blur with a frilly apron.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? THAT'S THE OCEAN, MIA. YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE HER OUT INTO THE OCEAN! SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM! ARE YOU INSANE? GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"It's okay, Dad!" Olivia called back, not looking fazed by her father's hissy fit in the least. "Mia's teaching me how to swim."

"It's not okay!" he retorted, now standing at the edge of the water. "Come back in this instant."

I looked at Michael, white-faced and shaking, standing ankle-deep in the water and glaring at us. My plan wasn't to upset him. Just to get an edge over him with Olivia! I wanted one thing that he hadn't helped along or rigged for me.

"I could teach you too!" I found myself calling before I even knew what I was doing.

He didn't say anything for a second. "Really?"

"Of course," I asserted, pleased that he hadn't immediately started questioning my qualifications. "Hop on in."

- - -

I spent the better part of the day helping a boxer-clad Michael float. "You're sure you've got me?" he kept repeating. It's disconcerting enough to be holding your ex-boyfriend without him constantly second-guessing you.

Olivia stood in water up to her waist, giggling at us. "Daddy, you must be fat!" she giggled as once again Michael sunk without my support.

"It's impossible!" he grumbled. "Some people just aren't meant to swim."

Considering he had refused to allow Olivia to continue her lessons until he had mastered it himself, I wasn't about to let him drop it now.

"Just relax," I told him as he leaned back again. With one arm, I held his legs while the other supported his back. We've been practicing with him "floating" with me as a crutch, just to get him used to the feel of it. But any time Michael tries it alone, it's impossible.

"How can I relax when I'm seconds from death?"

"I've got you, all right? Do you really think I'd just let you drown, Michael?"

He met my eyes and I almost forgot to hold on to him. "You're right. I trust you."

For a second, the absurdity of me cradling a man in his thirties vanished, and I was just left with those words.

He trusts me…with his life. With his daughter's life.

As I mulled over this, Michael kicked off the bottom again, letting his body ease back until he was practically parallel with the ground below. "Am I doing it?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"You are!" I squealed.

"I am?" he practically shouted, losing his balance in the process and choking on a mouthful of saltwater. "I can swim?"

Through my giggles, I explained that floating on your back is hardly the equivalent to being a full-fledged swimmer.

"You at least need the doggy paddle. But that can wait for another day."

"Why not now?"

I looked back to the shore where Olivia was sitting on the sand with Sebastiano's daughter Polly.

"I guess a little more practice never hurt anybody."

"This is your fault," laughed Michael. "You're addicting. With the lessons and stuff. You'd make a good teacher, if you weren't…well, a princess."

"I'm not just a princess."

He pushed wet strands of hair out of his eyes. "Not even close."

- - -

Grandmere called me at the beach house a few days later to see how things were going. And also to see if she should be preparing for 'Little Princess Lessons' any time soon.

After making sure the bathroom door was locked properly, I replied. "I'm still trying to get her used to the idea of being my daughter, Grandmere. I haven't even touched on the issue of her being a princess too in days. I don't want to rush her."

"Time is of the essence, Amelia," she said, sounding gruff.

"Why? Dad's still on the throne, and then it's MY turn. She won't have to assume the throne for years and years. Why can't you just let it go for a little while? Let her get used to it all."

She sighed down the phone and I sensed a lecture coming on. "Because, Amelia, she's still young. There's still hope for her being a great leader while she can learn from such a young age."

"And are you saying that I won't be a great leader?" I bit back nasty comments. Getting into a fight with Grandmere never solves any problems.

"All I'm saying is that is you'd known about your true path earlier, maybe we wouldn't be in the situation we are now. This way Olivia can find a suitable Prince Consort and have legitimate children. Hopefully the Renaldo line of illegitimate children will end with her."

"Whatever. I'm not going to rush her."

I hung up without another word and walked back into the kitchen where Michael and Olivia had been teaching me to bake cookies.

"You missed it, Mia!" Olivia cried when I walked back in the room. "Daddy dropped the bowl of mixture and got it all over his shirt!" Her little laughter was infectious. I was joining in before I even looked across at Michael, who was covered in white flour.

I stepped forwards to help him clean up. "At least you hadn't added the eggs yet," I said, brushing him down. "Because THAT would have been a mess. I know from experience."

"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "And at least he didn't drop the choc chips!"

"Oh no," I said, pretending to sound relieved. "That would have been the end of the cookies. Who wants to eat cookies without choc chips in them?"

"Not me," she said softly, shaking her head and going back to her job of whisking the eggs.

With Michael's help, Olivia has come out of her shell quite a bit in the past few days. We're not quite at the stage where she's calling me 'Mommy' and we're braiding each other hair, but then again, I don't think we'll ever get to that stage. I'm not really one for braiding.

"I'm just going to go change shirts," Michael announced, after deciding that his shirt was no longer salvageable.

I started weighing out more flour when he walked back in the room shirtless. Butterflies raced through my stomach as I thought back to the days Michael used to walk around his parents apartment shirtless.

"Uh, it seems I don't have any more clean shirts," he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," I told him. "Someone was supposed to come for our laundry today, but I guess they've forgotten about it. Maybe I can find something for you."

"You can wear one of my shirts, daddy," Olivia kindly offered, her face showing she was completely sincere.

Michael smirked at me. "Thanks, sweetie. But I don't think any of your pretty tops will fit daddy. But maybe Mia has something I can wear. Something pink and strappy, I think."

"I'm sure I can find something like that," I said, grinning at Olivia. "It'd fit you perfectly."

We walked into the bedroom where my suitcase lay open by the door. We were still taking it in turns to share the bed, and tonight it was my turn.

"Here," I said, throwing my pink boob tube at him. "At your request."

He looked at me strangely for a second, then thanked me and threw it on quicker than I could grab it back.

"How does this look, Liv?" he asked, walking back into the kitchen and tying the bow at the front. "Does it look pretty?"

Olivia nodded, putting down the handful of choc chips she'd been sneaking in our absence. "Very pretty."

"Come on, Michael," I said after a second. It WAS kinda funny. "You're gonna stretch it out. I'm sure I've got something more manly for you to wear."

"But I like this one," he said, seductively fingering the front of his chest. "And Olivia says it looks good. I think I'm going to keep it on."

"Then at least wear an apron over it," I told him, throwing a novelty apron at him. "I don't want to get it dirty."

"Okay," he agreed, tying the apron around his back.

As soon as I caught sight of what was on the apron, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. It was a picture of a female wearing a bikini on it.

"Niiiiiiiiiice," Michael said, his head bobbing in agreement with the apron. "Wait a second, where did this apron come from?"

I pointed to the bottom drawer. "In there."

"Does that mean...Is this Grandmere's apron?"

I gasped. "Ew. No, it can't be. Grandmere would never wear something like that. And I'm sure she wouldn't even allow it in her house. She'd be completely mortified if she knew it was here."

"If you say so," Michael said disbelievingly.

Olivia looked uncomfortable for a second. "Does that mean Grandmere is my grandma too?" she asked quietly, her expression showing she was almost scared of the answer.

I left this one up to Michael.

"Not quite," he said. "You know granny and pop back home? Well they're my parents. And you know who their parents are in Florida and California? Well they're like you great-grandparents. Which is what Mia's grandmother is to you."

"I don't like her," Olivia said, scrunching up her face.

I laughed. "Don't worry, honey. I don't like her much either, but you can't choose your family."

I looked at her, waiting to see if she had a response to that. A couple of days ago she would have said something about her not wanting me as her mother, but today, nothing.

Maybe I really AM making progress!

"Come on, daddy," I said to Michael, throwing him a smile. "Let's mix up this flour again. And this time, don't drop it!"

He grinned back at me and grabbed the bowl.

Remember, it's your opinion that let's me know if my story is headed in the right direction. Like, I know what's going to happen, but there are still tons of details to be worked out, and I wouldn't publish this on if I didn't want your input.

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