Sorry about the wait! It might be a while before the next chapter too. Tomorrow's too soon and I've got work on Thursday and Friday, plus, I'm getting the 6TH HARRY POTTER EEEEEEE!

But I'll certainly try.

Ch. 15

"Okay, hands off," I said for at least the fifth time, wincing as I did so. God, I hate having a conscience.

Michael settled for resting his head on my stomach. I didn't protest. Seriously, though, there's nothing erotic in the least about that! You could argue that maybe the purest thoughts weren't floating through my head during this, but that couldn't be helped.

"You're still my girlfriend, aren't you, Mia?"

"Eh…not exactly."

"We never broke up!" he rationalized. "You at least have to say 'I dump thee!' or else the deal isn't done."

Or maybe I have to state "Moscojuice" three times. Click my heels and whisper "There's no place like a broken home"?

"And there were no other guys for you. Just me, right?"

There's a difference between being completely hopeless with the opposite gender and never properly ending things with your old boyfriend, but I wasn't about to educate Michael.

"Well, what about you?" I said, turning things around. "There must've been other girls. I mean, I don't blame you. I…well, it's perfectly understandable. You couldn't be expected to just wait for me. Unless…unless you never considered us broken up? That's really sweet, Michael, but…there were other girls, weren't there?"

A loud snore was my only reply.

I've got to learn not to take the words of drunken-Michael to heart, especially when I'm painfully sober. This is thanks in large part to Grandmere—I can't thank her enough for all the encouragement she's given me in my romantic endeavors, though I suppose she's not to blame for this—who believes a good threshold for alcohol is a necessary quality in your royal. Apparently, one of Grandmere's favorite tactics is to get the other party hopelessly drunk before they get down to business deals.

- - -

God invented Sunday as the last day, right? And he said that we should rest and appreciate everything around us on this ONE day of the week.

So how come Grandmere chose Sunday as the day to come barging into the little beach house, demanding to be let in the loop about what was going on? Did she not get the memo about today being the day of rest?

She stopped right in her tracks though, when she opened the bedroom door and saw that Michael and I were sharing the bed.

I rubbed my eyes sleepily, staring dumbfounded up at her.

"Amelia," she said through gritted teeth, throwing death stares at Michael who was lying as still as a rock next to me. "Please make yourself presentable and join me in the kitchen. NOW."

Um, it's not as if I'm NAKED under here, I wanted to tell her, shooting her down. But I didn't. I was in too much shock. And also, the rum Michael and I had found in the cabinet last night was still coursing though my body. It probably wasn't the best idea to have drunk almost two entire bottles between us.

Then again, since Sunday IS the day of rest, I was expecting to be sleeping it off mostly. Maybe a lie down on the beach while Olivia builds sandcastles or whatever, but I certainly wasn't accounting for debating with Grandmere over anything.

I threw Michael a cautious look—he just groaned and rolled over—grabbed my robe and headed for the door. "It might be wise to just lay low until she's gone," I advised him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled in assurance, looking a little scared to tell you the truth. I don't know what he's freaked out about. Grandmere doesn't even know about all the passes he made at me last night.

And neither does he.

I grinned back at him. "She's not that bad, Michael. She's just a little on edge about the whole heir thing."

I, of course, didn't believe my own words; I just wanted to calm him down a little. Because Grandmere is certainly as scary as she seems.

"That," she said sternly, when I finally traipsed out to the kitchen. She pointed a perfectly manicured (and deathly pointy) finger in the direction of the bedroom I'd just walked out of, "is not your wedding bed. Do you not remember how this whole situation started?"

I yawned rudely, but not meaning to be rude at all. "Of course I remember how it all began. Aren't you just a bit thankful for Olivia, though? Ya know, in light of recent circumstances."

Her eyes flickered as she thought this over. Score one for me!

"And also," I continued, not wanting to give her the chance to rebuke me. "Not that there's anything going on with me and Michael anymore, but even if there was, I. Don't. Have. A. Uterus. Remember? So history cannot possibly repeat itself."

For a second she actually looked beaten. I thought I had finally won something over her. But then she opened her mouth and bit back twice as hard.

"I don't care what you think you are doing here with this boy, with or without a uterus, Amelia. You are not to get involved with him again, I forbid it. I am willing to accept that child as your own and as the next heir, but I have never been willing to accept that boy, and I never will be. He's not good enough for this family and I will not tolerate this game you're playing, whatever it is. Now once you've got this business with your daughter sorted out, call me. Then we can start making arrangements."

She picked up her fur purse and stormed out of the cottage before I could even contemplate all that she'd said.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia peeking out of the door to her bedroom, looking absolutely horrified. I made a step towards her and she quickly stepped back in and shut the door, keeping me out.

Great, just great.

After a minute of pointless knocking and gentle pleading to get her to open the door, I walked back into the main bedroom where Michael was putting his shirt on. "So how's Grandmere?" he asked casually, not giving me any hint whatsoever as to whether or not he'd heard a word she'd said to me. Though the walls are pretty thin, and she hadn't been whispering, so chances are he heard.

"As good as ever," I replied. "But I think she scared Olivia, she's locked herself in her room and won't let me in."

"Come on," he said softly, moving towards the adjoining bathroom like a secret agent in an action movie. "I bet she didn't think to lock this door."

I followed him as quietly as I could, hoping Olivia didn't suddenly hate me again just because Grandmere scared her.

"Hey, sweetie," Michael said cheerfully as he swung the door open. "Are you okay?"

Olivia was sitting on the edge of her bed, cuddling her one-eyed teddy bear closely. "She's horrible," she whispered. "She's not really my grandma is she? She was yelling."

"She was just a little bit angry with me," I told her gently. "Nothing for you to worry about. She'd never be like that with you."

She looked up at me with her big brown eyes. "Why was she like that with you? I don't want her yelling at you."

"Oh, really?" I couldn't help asking. Michael shot me a look that read: Don't push it.

I looked back at Olivia. She was now shaking her head. "No. I...I guess I like you."

Hallelujah! Never have such words sounded so good.

"You can be nice sometimes," she added, sniffling into the poor teddy.

I didn't dare push it any further. Just hearing that she liked me was enough for today. Maybe we can explore the possibility of her loving me and calling me mommy later.

Whoa, did I just refer to myself as mommy? I don't know if I'll ever be quite ready for THAT.

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