Many, many apologies for the wait. I just get so busy with school. These aren't premeditated delays in an attempt to get reviews, though I do love reviews and extend my gratitude to each and every one of you who bestow such pleasures upon my inbox.

Schwartzibrow's saga is nearing its end. Well, not for a while. But it's kinda close.

It was a minute or so after Grandmere had huffed out of the room before I was able to pull myself into a standing position. My legs felt as though they were bound by ball and chain as I wobbled towards the bathroom.

Unwillingly, I met my reflected gaze in the mirror above the sink. I'd managed not to completely lose it while Grandmere was in the room, but once she'd left, it was only a matter of seconds before warm, sticky tears were cascading down my face.

It felt like ages since Michael and I had been cuddling so carelessly underneath the sheets. And the whole time, I kept thinking, "This is it. Things like this don't happen twice accidentally. We're meant for each other."

Having Michael and Olivia in the palace would've made it so much…lighter, somehow. Olivia and I aren't nearly close enough for her to take comfort in just my presence at the castle. We'll both just spend the whole time missing the man in our lives.

Obviously Grandmere is laughably off the mark when she says that Michael is "overrated." Ashlee Simpson is overrated. Michael's like…like water or air or Lifetime…something I can't survive without.

How ridiculous is it that Michael and I have only actually been together for a few days, and yet I'm already talking like this?

I mean, sure, we were together for years and years before this, but there was so much crap to wade through before we could get back together that it was kind of like starting anew.

I wonder if Fortune could find it in her heart to give me a third chance with Michael…

And who would take a seven-year-old girl away from her father, the only parent she's ever really known?

Oh, right.

So it was with a definite sense of gravity that I went to find Michael and Olivia. I kind of wished it had taken longer, but a minute later I was standing on the porch, watching them cheerfully mold handfuls of sand into a pseudo-castle.

"Come see, Mia!" called Olivia, spotting me before I'd even fully composed myself.

As I drew closer to them, my feeling of dread grew in leaps and bounds. I'd never have that sort of ease with Olivia. I can't make her smile like he does. She'll always hold him first in her heart.

And I'm pulling them apart.

Michael could've had this sweet little girl with any other woman. After all, the only thing we really have in common is our hair color and tendency to blush. Other than that, she's all Michael. Even if I had stayed, it wouldn't have mattered in the least. As much as I want this to be my family, it's just not possible.

"Something wrong?" asked Michael, standing and dusting the sand off of his knees. "Did you talk to your grandmother?"

I nodded mutely, shivering. But the cool ocean breeze wasn't the trouble.

"And…?" The hopefulness in his eyes is what broke me.

"Michael," I whispered, finding it difficult to meet his gaze. "I'll…can we talk later?"

He got the idea. Looking from his daughter to me, he straightened up and nodded curtly. "Sure…sure…" was his gruff response. "Later is good. Besides, we've got this sand castle to build."

Olivia glanced up at us curiously as we both knelt down in the sand again. "What's wrong?"

I thought about telling her the truth. She'd find out sometime anyway. We'd zoom away from Michael in that classy limo he despised so much, erasing any sort of mark he'd made in our lives.

But just the thought made me sick. "Don't worry; I've got it under control."

She beamed at me and knelt back over her handiwork. Only Michael remained looking at me, his eyes pleading for some sort of answer. But I just shrugged and leaned against him, hoping it wouldn't be one of the last times.

- - -

Grandmere appeared on the porch about half an hour later. "Amelia, may I see you for a moment?" she called imperiously, towering over me physically for the first time.

I soon remedied this as I walked slowly up the stairs, but this one factor did little to diminish my chills.

Feeling the heat of her gaze, I shuffled nervously, looking anywhere but directly at her—and definitely not in the direction of Michael and Olivia. "Haven't we talked enough?" I asked quietly, my lips barely moving.

She ignored this. "I'm returning to Genovia this evening—"

My heart leapt, performing gymnastic feats Paul Hamm could only dream of. "R-really?" I spluttered. "But—"

"A limo will be sent for the girl tomorrow. I told the driver eleven o'clock, but in labor-speak, that apparently translates to 11:05."

"She's too young," I said earnestly, making eye contact with her at last in hopes that I could elicit a drop of sympathy from her.

"These are the formative years, Amelia. Now, really. All you've managed to do in the past few weeks is lose your head over that silly boy. Your daughter is the future of Genovia. He has no part in it."

This is my punishment for years of making Michael sit through such cinematic masterpieces as Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life and She Cried No. I mean, the signs were there whenever my dad calmly told me in the Plaza tearoom that I was heir to an entire country, and then again when Michael's and my relationship fell apart as a result of my demanding job and his demanding…libido.

And now, Grandmere's swooping in from stage right to bestow upon my little family unit the gifts of heartbreak and eternal sorrow. Working title? Every Tiara Has Its Thorn.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michael walking toward us, his lean frame coated in sand.

"He surely isn't coming up here in such a state," said Grandmere, not even bothering to lower her voice.

"Don't worry about it," said Michael, the barest hint of annoyance in his tone. "I just had to ask Mia something."

Grandmere arched an eyebrow. Or at least she moved her face in a way that her penciled brow shot up in amusement/interest.

"In private," he added. His calloused hand reached toward me. "Come on, Mia."

With the briefest glance back at Grandmere, I slipped my hand in his own and leapt off the porch into the gritty sand below.

For a moment, the sheer bliss of escaping my grandmother drove all my worries away. His feet, paler than usual with the tiny white grains that clung all over, could've crushed my own slight pair in a second. But instead they padded along beside me genially.

"What'd you wanna ask me?" I said after a moment.

"Nothing really. You looked near the end of your fuse, though, and I thought the old lady had had enough of a shock for the afternoon without you exploding on her."

"Poor, poor Grandmere," I spat sarcastically. Only yards away, Olivia sat sculpting her castle. Michael followed my gaze, and the corner of his lips crept up even further.

"She gave me the pink slip when I accidentally crushed the west tower with a bucket." He watched her for a few seconds longer before cocking his head in my direction, his chocolate curls flopping all over the place. "Didn't, uh, didn't you have something to tell me earlier?"

"Grandmere's leaving."

The smirk exploded into a full-fledged beam. "Serious? Well, that's good news! That way you can come back—"

"Michael," I stopped him before I could be too enticed by what he had to say. "She's…Olivia's going to go live in Genovia. At the castle."

"Alone?"

"No, no! I'll be there, but…"

The twinkle that had been in his eyes was all but vanquished. "I won't be."

"I tried, Michael, really. I want you to be there. She just won't listen. She doesn't care about anything I have to say. You know that."

"I know," said Michael quietly. "You're leaving tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning. Grandmere's going this afternoon."

"Oh." His voice was nearly lost beneath the crashing waves.

I watched him as he inspected his own feet; the only signal that I'd just delivered such awful news was his speechlessness. "You're not going to yell at me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Michael," I said. I would've laughed if I hadn't already been fighting off tears. "Practically all we've done since we met up again is argue about my royalty and Olivia. Now this and…and nothing?"

"Why would I yell at you?" he repeated, still sounding oddly distant. "You did all you could. I know it's not your fault, and…and I know I can't fight it."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my cheeks growing damp as I lost my inner battle.

He grabbed my hand again, pulling me away from Olivia and into a slow stroll down the shore. "Don't apologize. Just…well, I know you'll take care of her. I don't have to ask." There was a short silence as Michael's brow furrowed in consternation and I watched him. "I want to be involved," he said at last. "As involved as I'm allowed to be. This isn't goodbye."

To think Lilly once referred to me as a "baby-licker." But when it came down to it, I was the one fleeing responsibility while Michael, forced out of his cherished role, was still willing to squeeze into his daughter's life in any possible way.

"It's not fair."

Michael shook his head. "Fair's got nothing to do with it. People go crazy trying to make things fair. You just have to accept it."

I stewed over that for a second before looking over my shoulder at our daughter, still hard at work.

"Wanna head back?"

He turned around as well, and then nodded. "But…don't say anything."

As if I'd volunteer for that task.

- - -

With my promise that Olivia and I would be joining her at Miragnac the next day, Grandmere left. Now it was just the three of us, alone at last.

Michael and Olivia had a few hours together, before it was time for her to sleep. We'd decided that it was best if I take her to Miragnac without her knowing Michael wouldn't be following, so she had no idea what fate was to bring her. Poor girl.

"I guess that's it," Michael said, exiting Olivia's bedroom and joining me on the couch. "That's the last time I tuck my little girl in and wish away the bed bugs for her."

There were tears in his eyes, but I couldn't suppress my smile. "You wish away the bed bugs each night? I didn't know that."

"There's a lot of things you don't know. She's deathly afraid of spiders, she's allergic to bee stings, and she puts up a good fight over the television remote. She also..."

"Michael, it's okay. You'll only be on the other end of the phone, and I'll get to know things about her myself. I'll be the best Michael-substitute I can be."

"I know you will be," he said, a tear finally falling from one of his eyes. He hurriedly wiped it away. "But it's still hard. She's my daughter, and I feel like I'm walking out on her. You have no idea what that feel...Oh." He stopped talking mid-sentence and looked away. "I'm sorry."

I sighed. Sick of this conversation coming up over and over again. Will it ever just GO AWAY? "You don't have to be sorry, Michael. I'm the one who DID leave voluntarily, I should..."

"Shh," he whispered, placing a trembling finger on my lips. "Let's not go over that again. You left, end of story. Let's just concentrate on tonight, because this is all we have."

He kissed me, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. His heart was still in Olivia's room, wishing away all the bed bugs and guarding her door from heartless mothers who want to take her away from him.

And I completely understand.

Gently, I pulled away from him. "Why don't we just get in bed?"

You would've thought that what looked like our last night together ever would've been a bit more special. But it was hard to turn on the seduction as I watched Michael wearily crawl into bed, burrowing beneath the sheets. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, I kept thinking as I slid in beside him.

But Michael was right. Once you start thinking about all the injustice in the world, it's kind of hard to function at all. You've got to bear your own crosses before you start trying to help others lighten the load, or however the old adage goes.

I lay there, enveloped in Michael's muscular grip. Countless times I've drifted off to sleep in this position—his feet gently massing mine, my waist encircled by his pale hands, our breaths mingling.

His heart beat a dull rhythm against my back, falling in sync with his quaking shoulders.

It had never been quite like this before.

If I had known what to say, I would've turned around and told him immediately. But that's like the Bionic Woman saying to Helen Keller, "I know how you feel." Or Donald Trump telling the Joads, "The grass is greener on the other side."

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair.

But I had to accept Grandmere's mandate to keep Michael out of my life. Olivia would have to accept that Daddy can't solve everything. PETA was going to have to take it in stride that sometimes whales are going to depart this world.

What ever came of fighting back anyway? I mean, sure, there was that whole suffragette thing. And the civil rights movement wasn't entirely unsuccessful. And what about when I got parking meters installed in Genovia? I didn't just sit back quietly then and things got done.

It's not fair…but I can fix it.

"Michael," I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement. "How'd you like to take a trip?"