So sorry about the wait! I got caught up with school and everything. I promise I won't take as long again. Seriously.

On a side note, my friends and I brainstormed up a play yesterday. It's called "The Legend of Princess Helen Keller." It's amazing.

Dedicated to Kristin, who wouldn't leave me alone. And who rocks.

I was used to being spoiled, at least in the sense that my sheets were made of the finest satin and my steaks sweet and tender. Of course, no one bothered to ask whether I wouldn't prefer a nice salad to mangled cow, but I digress.

Princesses are said to live the privileged life—which, come to think of it, doesn't seem to work out for the best most of the time. Think Anastasia. And what about the Little Mermaid? Not the sugar-coated Disney version, mind you, but the gritty Grimm Brothers tale. But aside from the nasty rumors, being a princess actually does have its perks. I can't even remember the last time I made my bed. And seriously, calculators are so a thing of the past. I can't spell trigonometry, let alone apply it to my daily routine.

Though I can't think of anyone who can.

But despite all these privileges, I didn't have one essential thing. To think, I didn't even realize I was missing this till I rediscovered it. Maybe I'd spent so much time blocking out the memory of one Michael Moscovitz that I'd forgotten the one consistent gift he gave me:

Comfort.

You'd think that I'd be a wee bit cramped, spending hours cuddled on that tiny couch with Michael. But like I've said before, being with him kind of cancels out all the icky stuff. Like the fact that my grandmother was snoozing not twenty feet away.

Take this morning for instance. Back in the palace, my first sight upon waking was usually the hideous mural that decorated my ceiling—a scarily realistic depiction of my great-great-great-great-aunt Desdemona, who was captured by a band of second-rate pirates who had barely made it out of the harbor before they all contracted food poisoning, and Desdemona (never a fan of partially cooked fish) took control of the craft while hordes of men heaved their guts out around her.

Artsy, I know.

But when I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes here, I was met by the stubbly chin of my very own boyfriend.

"Don't stare, Mia," said Michael hoarsely, not even bothering to open his eyes. "It's not polite."

"I'm not staring!"

He cracked open an eye. "What do you call this then?"

"Counting the whiskers on your chin?" I suggested, which was very nearly the truth.

The supposed object of my inspection twitched in amusement. "I can dig that. But let's schedule the next appointment for some time out of the sleep of the sane."

"Grandmere's asleep!"

Michael lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Obviously faking it. How about you do the same?"

But I had already rolled out of his grasp, my feet hitting the floor with a muffled thump.

"Mi-a." He barely bothered to keep his whine at low volume. "It's no fun without you here."

I feigned shock. "Surely you know how to make your own fun?"

A tinge of pink came to his cheeks. "Not with your grandmother in the next room…"

Fighting back both giggles and disturbing mental images, I walked towards the front door. "See you later then."

"Why?" said Michael, sitting up. "Where are you going?"

I grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of a nearby chair and pulled it on. "Just for a little walk. Go on back to sleep. I'll be fine."

But he didn't seem to agree with this plan, instead shuffling up to my side a moment later with his face contorted into a scowl. Before I could say a word, he'd grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the porch.

"You didn't have to—" I began, but he cut me off with a rough kiss on the lips.

"I can be a nut job too," he said. "Woohoo! It's five a.m.! I'm wide awake!"

"Welcome to the club," I giggled. His hand slipped back into mine as we descended down the stairs to the beach.

It's weird to think that only a couple of days ago just the idea of being like this with Michael morphed me into a bundle of nerves and denial. I guess part of it was that I didn't think he wanted me back, and then the rest of me had no idea what to do in the event that he did reciprocate what ever the hell I was feeling.

Now, though, I am a fully changed woman. Or at least I'm back to what I used to be. The girl Michael loved for years and years. I didn't have a clue about much, but I was fairly talented at being the love of his life.

The only difference here is that Michael and I…we're just having fun. It's not love. It's…fooling around. I mean, sure, we had that relationship thing for a while, and I'll admit it, it was fairly decent. Damn near perfect, some might say.

But it didn't work out—for a reason. That reason being 50,000-strong and the main residence of my somewhat unsupportive grandmother.

So when Michael halts in his footsteps to pull me into a one-armed hug and bury his head in my shoulder, I've got plenty of experience in deciphering that to mean:

a) I should wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him gently
b) He's having a great deal of fun with me
c) He knows, as well as I do, that the fun will end some time

Even Nancy never extracted all this from her interactions from Ned Nickerson.

"This might sound a bit too normal for your tastes," Michael whispered in my ear, "But can we go back to sleep?"

Figuring we'd both need our rest for a full day of Grandmere, I heartily agreed.

- - -

Michael and I were back in his—our apartment in New York, sitting out on the fire escape like we used to do when we were younger. "Michael," I complained. "I'm freezing. You can see the sunset just as well inside."

"This is better," he insisted, wrapping his arm around my shivering shoulders. "Believe me."

I snuggled closer, closing my eyes and smiling in spite of myself.

"What are you doing?" he laughed in my ear. "You'll miss it."

"This is how I enjoy sunsets. Plenty of people do this."

He didn't buy it. "Blind people?"

"Let's just not talk, all right?" If he was going to drag me outside so we could contract hypothermia, then he sure as hell couldn't instruct me on how to act. I've seen a million sunsets. But I could cuddle like that with Michael a million times more.

"Amelia," whispered Michael.

Okay, now he was just getting insolent.

"Amelia," he said, his voice increasing in volume when I didn't respond.

"AMELIA!"

I jerked awake, practically crashing to the floor in the process. Standing above me was a seemingly feeble old woman with demon eyes and lingerie a bit too youthful for her. What a lovely way to be awoken. Especially when I find that I'm alone on the couch without my newly rediscovered…man candy to cling to.

Michael walked out of the kitchen, sipping out of his mug carefully. "Jeez, isn't it time for you to get up?" The cute little grin he flashed me lifted my mood just a tad.

"I'm coming…I'm coming…" I muttered groggily, swinging my legs around until my bare feet hit the ice-cold floor.

"Breakfast is ready, if you ever choose to join us," Grandmere sniffed as I stumbled toward the bathroom.

"You cooked breakfast?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course not!"

My disbelief only grew as I whirled around to Michael. "Don't look at me!" he said, putting his hands up in defense. "We're being taken care of. Your grandmother trucked over the entire Palais de Genovia staff. They're staying in some seedy motel down the road."

How sweet. "I…I need to put in my contacts before I try and process any more information."

"Do as you wish," said my beloved grandmother coldly.

"I'll go make sure Olivia's getting dressed," offered Michael, disappearing into the bedroom.

I stepped into the bathroom just as the door from Olivia's bedroom was opening. Before I could say a word, Michael had kicked the door shut and began planting kisses all over my face. Kind of like a dog, but somewhat sexier.

"Is Olivia dressed?" I asked, half-laughing as he pressed me up against the wall.

"Not even awake."

"Oh?" That made it way less awkward to be making out in here.

"Yeah, how long do you think we have?"

We'd experienced this plenty back in the day. Frantic fumbling in his dorm room whenever Lars had wandered off to watch soccer with the other co-eds. Hilariously non-erotic lap-dances (given to yours truly) in the Moscovitz den.

"Five minutes. Ten tops."

He started to yank at the hem of my t-shirt, but refrained. "I should probably get Olivia up."

"And I need a shower," I admitted.

Stopping at the door, he kissed the back of my head and groaned. "We've become way too responsible."

I pulled away from him and started to strip off my nightshirt, eliciting another painful, guttural sound from Michael. "Don't do this to me," he hissed. "There are things our daughter shouldn't see."

Our daughter. I turned around again to find that he had slipped out of the room.

It's a good thing he doesn't know that I want him even more.

I stepped into the shower, both the icy water and the thought of Grandmere waiting cooling me down considerably.

Does she not know the meaning of vacation?

- - -

It's a big shocker that I haven't drowned myself yet, considering there's a whole ocean out there just waiting for me.

I am going to kill Grandmere. No joke!

Just a bit of exaggeration. I don't think even the heir to the throne could get off for murdering her grandmother, the beloved dowager princess of Genovia.

I'm not sure exactly how that happened. Maybe she doesn't barge in on the people when they're attempting to rekindle an old flame.

Though, judging from the looks Michael's been giving me, he's plenty on fire. Yowza!

However, there's absolutely no chance to act on this, what with Grandmere and her 40,000 manservants to contend with. And, of course, Olivia. But we had dealt with her!

It's funny, though. First I grew to love Olivia. Then I tried to put her aside for her father and I've got my grandmother all up in my grill.

Is this karma? Because I have to say, I don't know what all the hype is about. This SUCKS.

We don't even have a moment alone any more. She doesn't even leave me with Olivia! Apparently, I'm not to be trusted when I can't even teach a simple curtsy to a seven-year-old.

Excuuuuuse me. Hasn't Grandmere noticed that forcing etiquette lessons on a kid is no way to their heart?

Of course, inheriting the throne has absolutely nothing to do with love and affection. It's all protocol with a hint of forced politeness and complete emotional shutdown.

But I don't want to do that any more. I don't want to be the princess Grandmere ordered. I mean, you'd think I'd be happy with a tiara and a palace and crown jewels and all of that, but none of that even really matters to me. A Cracker Jacks prize from Michael would mean more to me than any scepter at this point.

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