So this chapter is longer than usual, since I keep making you guys wait so long. But, hey, you can definitely expect another update--maybe two!--before I go back to school on Jan. 3. Right now, though, I'm gonna post this and go watch It's a Wonderful Life, the best movie ever. Besides Old Yeller and Troop Beverly Hills (which I now own! Three cheers for Jenny Lewis.)

And now, it's time for an excerpt of other things I've been writing besides this--my review of King Kong for the local paper!

Here's the bottom half:

Kong's story is hardly new to anyone. A film crew scouting out a location happens upon a gargantuan ape who falls fast and hard for the film's lead actress. Trouble brews as it is wont to do when such romances dare to flaunt themselves in society's face. Some day we're all just going to have to accept that love crosses all barriers, including the metal ones proclaiming "DO NOT FEED THE GORILLA."

Does my description catch your fancy? Rent the original. If you're going to suspend your disbelief enough to believe that a massive ape could fall head-over-leathery-feet for a woman 1/10 his size, then you can do without the special effects.

Before that, I just rant about how it's too long and many of the character deaths confused me, as I had trouble remembering who they were. Tone down the subplots, Jackson. And don't ruin The Lovely Bones, lest ye be trampled and left for dead.

Dinner was at precisely seven o'clock, just like Grandmere had said it would be. Because everything always goes according to what Clarisse Renaldo says and wants.

I can't help but think maybe my little (or not so little?) tiff with Michael was somehow orchestrated by the universal rule of everything going her way. It's like the gods made me spill the beans to Michael, and made me stuff up so badly.

I never planned on telling Michael about the letters! So what possessed me to do so?

Grandmere. I just know it.

But even with this little theory (her being a witch and/or being in control of the universe) I couldn't let her in on it. As far as she had to know, everything was peachy in the land of Mia and Michael and their adorable little heir. And I HAVE to maintain that image.

So at seven o'clock I sauntered down to the dining room and acted as though everything was fine.

"Mmm, this all looks so good, Grandmere," I said, smiling over at her. She merely grimaced back at me. "And it smells delicious too. I can't believe you went to the trouble of making the entire meal vegetarian."

"Actually," she said as I raised my fork to my lips. "I had Marguerite add bacon to the cheese and spinach filos."

I dropped my fork with a clatter and tried to resist dry retching. I'd been so close to putting that in my mouth!

"It just adds a little flavor. Don't you think, Michael?" She sneered at him, probably expecting him to jump to my defense.

But to her surprise (not mine), he simply smiled and finished chewing his mouthful. "Absolutely, Clarisse. It'd be wrongfully plain and boring without it. Nice call." He grinned back at her.

If I hadn't been so distracted by the small red chunks of meat in my food, I would have congratulated him on that. Despite the fact that it was a blatant jibe at me.

Instead, I just looked up from my fallen fork and smiled as best I could at him, while gently prodding his leg with my foot under the table. "Yes, well I never could convince Michael to convert to vegetarianism for me."

He poked me back and returned my sickly sweet smile. "Mia, darling, you know I would do anything for you. But cutting out meat, well that just goes against the laws of nature. And it's not as if I refused to acknowledge your existence or anything. I just refused to deny the existence of edible animals."

I faked a laugh and avoided Grandmere's eyes, though I could feel them burning into me. "You're so funny, Michael," I said, poking him a little harder beneath the table. Time for a change of topic. "Olivia, would you like some green beans? They're very good for you."

She shook her head at me. "I'm 'lergic."

Michael raised his glass to his lips and smiled. "Letter number four," he muttered so only I could hear it, before taking a long gulp of his wine.

Damnit, of course! She's allergic to bee stings, green beans and strawberries. How could I have forgotten that? I read the letters mere weeks ago, whereas Michael wrote them years ago, and yet he remembers which letter said what.

I smiled again, putting the beans down. "Sorry, sweetie, I forgot for a minute. Here, have some corn. It's grown right here at Miragnac; the best in the country, right, Grandmere? Michael, can I see you outside for a minute?"

"We're in the middle of a meal, Amelia!" barked Grandmere as I pulled Michael out of his chair by his collar.

"We'll only be a minute. I just forgot to tell Michael something important earlier."

She barked something else at me but I didn't hear because we were already outside the door.

"What," I demanded once we were actually outside the front door. "Is your problem?"

"What the heck do you think my problem is?" he cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You come back into my life and you make everything seem like it's going to be okay. But do you have any idea how long I waited for you to come home? Years, Mia! YEARS. And then you finally did. My little girl had her mommy back. And it took a while, but you convinced me that this was what you wanted. That WE were what you wanted."

He turned around from me and walked to the railing. I thought this was my cue to speak, to tell him that it IS what I want, but he kept going.

"And then you tell me that you really did only come back for Olivia. No wait, for your heir..."

"I never said that," I interjected.

"You didn't have to. I could hear it without you actually saying it. You only read my letters when they suited you. It didn't matter at the time when I wrote them, when I was completely losing my mind. We didn't matter to you then. But as soon as you wanted something from us, they seemed important enough to read. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry," I offered up, not feeling like my apology, though totally genuine, held much weight.

"It doesn't matter anymore now, does it? Even if I wanted to I couldn't take Olivia back to New York. You'd have the royal Genovian army on my ass the second I got out the gates. We wouldn't stand a chance. And I have only myself to blame, for believing that somewhere inside of you is the girl I fell in love with. The girl who would never treat her daughter like something that can be bartered. Well, congratulations, Amelia Renaldo, you got what you wanted...you always get what you want."

With one last look he turned and walked down the steps. And I watched with mute disbelief as he sat in the rose garden and hung his head in his lap.

"Amelia!" rang Grandmere's cheerful soprano from the dining room. "It's certainly been long enough!"

Michael didn't move an inch. I thought briefly about joining him on the bench—somehow making him believe that I wasn't the evil whore he seemed to be envisioning.

Grandmere called again, her tone even sharper. "Amelia, won't you join us?"

I gulped, taking a few steps closer to Michael.

He did look up this time, but didn't say anything.

"I…I…" I stammered, unable to meet his gaze. My heels stuck in the damp grass.

His expression as hard to read, especially from the slanted angle I had. He scooted over on the bench, but just as I was wriggling my shoes loose, Grandmere appeared in the doorway.

"Dessert," she said coldly, "is being served. I'm afraid I must insist you join us."

I turned back reluctantly. "Coming, Grandmere."

As I hobbled back towards the open French doors, I could've sworn Michael sighed behind me.

- - -

Pretty little Aurora pricks her pretty little finger on a not-so-attractive spinning wheel. With a pretty little gasp, her pretty little eyelids flutter and her pretty little ass crashes to the ground. Then Aurora slips into a pretty little slumber for all of fifteen minutes. Before the crusties can even gather in the corners of her pretty little sapphire eyes, the handsome prince has valiantly come to her aid—which, conveniently, happens to be a bed with a hot broad whose snoozing parents are halfway across the palace.

Wanna know what happens when I wake up? Being of royal blood myself, you might think I routinely arise from my siestas with a delectable piece of man candy patiently waiting for me to stop watching the movies on the inside of my eyelids.

But no, in my little fairy tale, the whiny quasi-prince interrupts his fair lady's dozing by banging around unnecessarily and harrumphing every two seconds.

I squinted through the darkness, finding it hard to remember yesterday's events when it was two in the morning and Michael was pissing me off. "What the hell are you doing?"

He merely grunted. Real cute.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, still trying to get a handle on things. Michael was definitely still pissed, that's for sure. And he had every right to be. All those things he said were…well, true. I know I like to bitch about Michael and his ever-present stupidity, but I couldn't help but agree with what he said earlier.

Except when he said I didn't want them. It wasn't even a matter of Olivia being the heir to the throne or whatever any more. And I didn't just see Michael as "my jerky ex who just had to tag along for the ride."

I needed them for…well, them.

But Michael seemed to have other things in mind. "You're leaving?" I asked weakly, watching as he tossed an undershirt onto the growing pile of clothes on my floor. The clothes he had unpacked just a few hours earlier, back when we were whispering nice things to each other and envisioning how to get around the next trick Grandmere pulled—just as long as we got to stay together.

"Yeah," he snapped. "I taught you how to divide fractions and you taught me how to pack up and go. Even trade, I think."

"You—you can't leave!" I stammered, sitting up straight. "What about Olivia?"

He faltered for about a nanosecond before folding his hands up beneath his chin in mock contemplation. "Hmm, let's see. I stick around…you'll be thinking about yourself…your grandmother will be thinking up ways to make a sweet little girl into…well, you. And I will be pushed aside to let the upper class through."

"Michael, you know…what'll Olivia say when you're not here? You're her father. You can't just walk out like this. She needs you!"

He kicked the bed frame—once—twice—"Dammit, Mia! Are you that thick? Do you think I'm wanted here? Is your grandmother gonna honestly be all, 'Oh, okay, Michael. Since you know so much about etiquette and shit, why don't you instruct your daughter? I think you did a real snazzy job of it already.' You were the one who left. I stayed, and what does that get me? Why, I get another princess that I'll never see." He made to kick the bed again, but his leg swung out into thin air. "I fucking hate royalty."

Seeing Michael lose his marbles like this was completely unsettling. This was way different when he broke down that last night at the beach house. He let me comfort him then. Nothing I could say right now would ease his nerves.

"Look, Michael," I whispered, though the whole palace had probably already been awakened by Michael's sudden bout of Tourette's. "Just tell me what you want. Anything—I'll give it to you. I want you here, and I want you to be happy."

He seemed to contemplate this for a second. At any rate, he stopped kicking things. "I want," he began, breathing heavily, "for Olivia to abdicate. Or whoever has to do it for her. She'll come back to New York with me. No royalty. Can you do that?"

"Michael…" The catch in my throat made it all the more difficult to say what I had to. "Would you really be happy like that?"

"It worked for six years. Why stop now?"

"You'd be happy," I clarified, "without me?"

For a second, I'd like to think Michael let down his guard. "It's not really an option," he said, his voice so low that I had to strain to catch it. But I definitely heard him.

I tossed aside my sheets and walked over to him slowly, taking a deep breath. "Just…just stay tonight. Please? We'll talk about this tomorrow. And if you do leave—"

"I am leaving," he muttered.

"Right. And I want you and Olivia to have a proper goodbye." He opened his mouth, probably to start up that jazz about me always getting my way, but I kept on going. "That's what you want too."

Still breathing hard, he stared at me for a moment or two. I tried to read his expression, but to no avail. There was absolutely nothing there. Not that Michael's dense. He's just not about to open up to me right now.

"Do you wanna sleep in Olivia's room?" I offered kindly.

But he shook his head. "I…I need to think about some things."

He'd never be able to leave if he were at her side. I guess he knew this too.

Fully aware that Michael wasn't about to share a bed with me right then, I led him down the hall to where Rene usually stays.

And—unwelcome as always—Rene was already burrowed deep underneath the covers, humming what sounded frighteningly like vintage Celine.

I shook him awake while a bemused Michael stood to the side.

At last he shot up, kicking away his sheets to reveal leopard manties.

Michael stated it best. "Ew."

"Hmm, who's there?" mumbled Rene, oblivious to our gagging.

"Get up. Michael needs your bed."

Shaking his head roughly, he propped himself up on one tanned elbow and looked back and forth between us. "When did you get here?"

"This afternoon. Now why don't you go bother one of the maids? I'm sure they'd love your get-up."

"They already do," he assured me, sitting up. "Now why am I being robbed of my bed whenever Michael can just shack up with you? Your grandmother told me all about it. Nice going!"

The moment Rene stood up to give me a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, Michael slipped around him and flopped onto the bed, rolling over to the middle as he drew the sheets up to his chin. Clear indication that he wanted to be left alone.

Though I must say Grandmere wasn't entirely wrong in thinking that Michael isn't the best choice for an etiquette coach.

"Come on," I said, pulling Rene out into the hallway. Closing the door behind me, I turned to face him, wishing he had at least pulled on some shorts. Rene's a little too proud of his "thunder."

"Why aren't you in there with Mr. Friendly? You can tell me, Mia. Has he…lost the ability?"

"Eww! No!" I squeaked, putting my hands over my eyes for no particular reason. Oh, yeah, Rene's prominent manhood. "We're…having a difference of opinions. Just…do this favor for me. And don't ask any more questions. It's waaaay too complicated."

His attention was already away from my little problems, though. I'd never been scandalous enough to hold his focus. "Can I see Olympia again?"

"Olivia."

"Right, I'm going to teach her how to play seven-card stud. I figure these will be our times. During the day, Clarisse can coach her in all that fancy-schmancy stuff, and at night, her Uncle Rene will teach her some real life skills."

"You're not her uncle, and she's sound asleep. The corruption will have to wait till a decent hour."

"And here I was, thinking Michael would bring back the fun in you. But he seems pretty boring now too."

I struggled to remember a time when Michael was the lively party animal Rene seemed to have in mind.

"I'm going to bed," I told him. "And thanks."

He waved me off. "Don't say another word. I'll fall asleep in the middle of the hall."

One day, I hope to meet a guy who isn't intent on deflating my self-esteem on a regular basis. But this seems just as likely as my Sleeping Beauty fantasy—which would probably only occur today with the help of a roofie.

So there really will be a happy ending. Mia will atone for her sins, as will Mr. Moscovitz, Rene will learn how to "shape his junk" without the aid of Lycra, and Grandmere and Joseph will NOT get it on. A toast to that--via review.