Aw, thank y'all so much. If you're liking the track Michael and Mia are on, you'll probably enjoy these coming chapters.

Ch. 14

I don't know what it is about a sincere apology that throws Michael for a loop, but he's totally reversed his personality over the past week.

Well, I shouldn't say that. I mean, he's still Michael, of course. Sarcastic, witty, strong, possessive, intelligent…but now he's rekindled the aspects I treasured even more. Sweet, playful, adorable…

I just cherish them in a completely different way now. Like when you find a dusty old Nancy Drew book in your attic and skim through it—realizing that maybe Carolyn Keene could've been a bit more forgiving in her portrayal of Bess, and maybe should've stuck a flaw or two in Nancy, just for kicks—but you've still got a keen memory of the days when Nancy was everything to you.

Except Nancy wasn't the only guy I've ever been able to say those three words to.

But I really appreciate the level Michael and I are at right now. We've both got fond recollections of that time period…but are also fully aware of the foolishness and stupidity rampant among us in those days. It could've never worked out.

All that doesn't matter, though. I mean, of course it matters. It's just no use to think 'what if?' when you should be thinking 'what the hell am I going to do next time Grandmere calls?'

At least I have something to tell her now. Though I don't think she'll see the progress in Olivia letting me help with the sandcastle yesterday, or our group viewing of The Sound of music. And you can bet she won't appreciate Olivia and me singing along loudly to my old Spice Girls album. I know Michael certainly didn't.

But like I mentioned before, other than his usual Michael-level of annoyance, he's been pretty cool lately. I mean, when we all hunkered down on the couch yesterday—Olivia between us—Michael completely sang Edelweiss for me the way he used to.

"Wouldn't that be cool?" gushed Olivia as the credits rolled.

"Running from the Nazis?" said Michael dryly. "Yeah, probably."

"Don't be silly, Daddy," she giggled. "Like, singing for lots of people. Could we do that, Mia? We could be the…the Moscovitz Family Singers!"

Michael eyes bulged out, but he didn't say a word.

"Yeah…maybe," I said, my voice squeaking.

Aside from the fact that I can't sing, we're Renaldos anyway. Or we all would have been.

As if it wasn't awkward enough to be called Michael's family—even though I guess I am—I had to be reminded that Olivia is never going to see herself in that role. She's a Moscovitz. Michael's a Moscovitz.

And sometimes, I think I want to be a Moscovitz too.

For the non-royal aspect, of course. But if I weren't a princess, then…well…

- - -

"Okay," Michael announced over BLT's (and a bowl of Fruit Loops for me) one afternoon. "I think it's about time we got out and did something. We've been here almost two weeks and I really haven't seen that much."

Oh, God. Like that's how I really want to spend my vacation time. "Um, there's really not that much to do."

"'Course there is," scoffed Michael. "Why else would all these tourists come?"

Because they're lame. "Well, what do you want to do anyway?" I said through gritted teeth. We'd already hit up the zoo, and I'd had it specially shut down for us anyway. Does he really expect us all to go out in public like it's no big deal? What will people say?

The thing is Michael's been making fun of Genovia for years. And when he wasn't doing that, he hated it to the core. What if he's planning to set off a bomb? Or streak through the square? Oh, God, he'd be forever banished from Genovia. And Olivia would be forced to stay here. She'd hate me forever, of course. I'd never be self-actualized. I would never be back on such good terms with Michael! And there'd probably be some really awful press coverage.

"I wanna get icecream!" interjected Olivia. "And can we go to the movies? I wanna see Phantom Town 2!"

"We'll make a day of it!" said Michael jovially. "Doesn't that sound great? Really introduce her to Genovia and all of that."

Deep breath. Princess smile. "That sounds lovely."

- - -

Ya know, once we actually got out of the beach house, onto the tourist-worn streets of Genovia, it wasn't that awful. People didn't point and whisper as we passed. Paparazzi weren't swarming all over. It was kind of like being back in New York.

But all this kind of freaked me out. Am I that far removed from the public that they don't even know who I am? Christ! There are only 50,000 people here. You'd think I'd be stopped once or twice.

I guess I'm just used to being in the palace and surrounded by eager servants and ladies-in-waiting. Not that I cherish all that stuff…it's just creepy whenever it's not around any more.

We did end up going to get icecream, sitting at this little outdoor parlor right next to the beach.

"You go there a lot?" asked Michael.

"Isn't that where I've been?"

"Yeah. It must be pretty convenient to just be able to go for a dip in the ocean whenever. I guess that's one advantage."

I didn't point out that I hardly ever don a swimsuit, much less practice my backstroke. "There are other advantages," I said, looking over at Olivia. "I mean, there are lots of really cool dances, and pretty clothes, and really good food, whenever they actually cook the stuff you want instead of presenting you with some poor, defenseless animal whose life goal probably wasn't to end up in my mouth—"

Michael interrupted my tirade with an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"What!" I asked incredulously. Olivia had fallen into giggles too. "What's so funny?"

She shrugged, still laughing at her father clutching his stomach and gasping.

"Seriously, who drugged your icecream?"

He finally regained his composure, wiping the corners of his eyes. "I don't know what got into me," he said, chuckling weakly. "I just…only you could go from schmoozing to some rant about the horrors of meat."

"It is awful!" I insisted. "There are some websites I could show you that really go into the workings of the meat industry. If you'd just read a little about it, you'd see what I mean—"

"Mia," said Michael slowly, though that signature grin was playing at his lips. "I. Love. Hamburgers. I will never stop. Hamburgers and I are destined to be together until the end of time. I'd invite you to the wedding, but I'm afraid you'd freak and cry and scream at great-aunts or nephews."

Replace "hamburgers" with "another woman" and you've got reality.

ARGH! I CAN'T BE LIKE THIS!

Michael was looking at me strangely as he took a long, slow lick of his mint chocolate chip.

Jeez.

- - -

"So…spill," said Michael abruptly one evening. Olivia had already been put to bed, but I had yet to turn in. Even though I got the privilege of a warm, inviting bed that night, I was taking my sweet time getting to it.

"Spill what?"

We were sitting side by side on the couch, a rerun of the Real World playing on the mute television. He nudged me playfully, the absence of his shirt making this all the more uncomfortable. "C'mon…you know…"

I inched away from him, trying to give off an air of indifference. "Nope, can't say I do."

He closed the distance between us. "You haven't told me what you've been up to these past few years. I mean, I've been bringing up Olivia, but you…you remain the enigma."

"Well…" I said slowly. "Just princess stuff, I guess. It's really not all that interesting."

Michael didn't seem to believe me, though I'm fairly positive my nostrils weren't flaring in the least. "No fun? No friends, maybe, that you went out with? There had to be someone your age."

"I saw Lilly and Tina a couple of times," I admitted uncomfortably. But instead of the expected indignant reaction at being left out of these reunions, Michael's response was something else entirely.

"That's it?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Just Tina? And my sister? No…no guys? Lots of people have guy friends," he finished quickly.

"Rene, I guess…"

"And how closely is he related to you?" cut in Michael.

I practically laughed at loud at the odd expression on his face. "I don't know! Pretty distantly. Why does it matter?"

He seemed to recover. "Rene…he's the one with all the floozies, right?"

"Floozies? Yeah, okay, hepcat."

"Not like you, though," said Michael, ignoring that last jibe. "You're not like that at all. Want a drink?"

Following up his observation that I wasn't an easy woman with an invitation to inebriation seemed a bit silly to me, but I accepted. Lord knows I could ease some tension right now.

- - -

"Okay, okay! Do it again! Do the one where she just woke up!"

I turned away from him, rolling my shoulders back a couple of times in preparation. When I whirled around again, I was an entirely different woman.

Though not completely unrelated, some might say.

"Amelia!" I barked. "Amelia, where've you put my rouge!" Michael broke into a fit of giggles as I took a drag of my invisible cigarette. "Don't shield your eyes, child! It's a nightie, not a bloody corpse!"

"Brilliant!" he said, getting shakily to his feet. "Okay, more drinks? You up for more drinks?"

Considering Michael was a lot less prone to make fun of me whenever he was hitting the sauce, I only too readily agreed.

Another side-effect of Michael's intoxication was one in which I took a poorly concealed pleasure. "Here ya go, daaaaahlin'," he slurred, coming up from behind me with an overflowing shot glass. I took it from him, allowing him the opportunity to wrap both arms around my waist.

This fact had obviously slipped Michael's mind before we began drinking, but he was always easily shitfaced. I could hold my own for much longer than he could.

"You're so pretty," came his voice, thrilling my ear. "That's why you're my Mia. No one else's. Not that Rene guys. Always my Mia."

Ugh, that is one thing completely exasperating about this version of Michael. He likes to live in the past. Mind you, his sober counterpart is on an entirely different path of life now.

"Maybe I should get to bed," I said half-heartedly, slipping out of his grasp.

But Michael seemed reluctant to let the evening end. "Wait, wait, I can come with you!"

Now that's an idea. Why shouldn't he? It's kind of ridiculous that a grown man is being subjected to curling up uncomfortably on that rock-hard couch. The bed is plenty big enough to comfortably situate two totally uninvolved adults.

"Don't get any ideas," I told him firmly as I turned down the sheets.

At least not any that'll be gone by the morning.

If only someone weren't arriving in the morning...

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