Mia Goes Fourth

And, as usual, this time it was Grandmere.

I guess she could tell, because I was so sleepy again today, that I'd been up all night talking to Michael. So this morning, between my ride with the Genovian Equestrian Society and my meeting with the Genovian Beachfront Development

Society, Grandmere sat me down and gave me a lecture. This time it wasn't about the socially acceptable gifts to give

a boy on his birthday. Instead, it was about Appropriate Choices.

'It is all very well and good, Amelia,' Grandmere said, for you to like that boy. But I do not think it wise of you to

allow your affection for this Michael fellow to blind you to other, more suitable consorts such as—'

I interrupted to tell Grandmere that if she said the words Prince William I was going to jump off the Pont des Vierges.

Grandmere told me not to be more ridiculous than I already am. I could never marry Prince William anyway on account of

his being Church of England. However, there are apparently other, infinitely more suitable romantic partners for a princess of the royal house of Renaldo than Michael. And Grandmere said she would hate for me to miss the opportunity to get to know these other young men, just because I think I have to be faithful to Michael. She assured me that, were the circumstances reversed, and Michael were the heir to a throne and a considerable fortune, she highly doubted he would be as scrupulously faithful as I was being.

I objected to this assessment of Michael's character very much. I informed Grandmere that in every aspect of Michael's life, from his being editor in chief of the now defunct Crackhead, to his role as treasurer in the Computer Club, he has shown nothing but the utmost loyalty and integrity. I also explained, as patiently as I could, that it hurt me to hear her saying

anything negative about a man to whom I have pledged my heart.

'That is just it, Amelia,' Grandmere said, rolling her scary eyes. 'You are entirely too young to pledge your heart to anyone.

I think it very unwise of you, at the age of fourteen, to decide with whom you are going to spend the rest of your life.'

I informed Grandmere that I will be fifteen in four months, and also that Juliet was fourteen when she married Romeo.

To which Grandmere replied, 'And that relationship turned out very nicely, didn't it!'

Grandmere clearly has never been in love. Furthermore, she has no appreciation whatsoever of fine literature.

'And in any case,' Grandmere added, 'if you hope to keep that boy, you are going about it all wrong.'

I thought it was very unsupportive of Grandmere to be suggesting that I, after only having had a boyfriend for

twenty-four days, during which time I had seen him exactly once, was already in danger of losing him, and said so.

'Well, I'm sorry, Amelia,' Grandmere said. 'But I can't say you know what you're about if it's true you actually want

to keep this young man. You call him at all hours of the night—'

'Actually,' I said, 'where he is, it is a perfectly civilized time for me to call, right after he and his grandparents and

sister get back from their Early Bird special dinner.'

But Grandmere wasn't listening,

'You do not give him any reason to doubt your affections,' she went on.

'Of course not,' I said, horrified. 'Why would I do that? I love him!'

'But you mustn't let him know that!' Grandmere looked ready to throw her mid-morning Sidecar at me. Are you

completely dense? Never let a man be sure of your affections for him! You did a very good job at first, with the

business of forgetting his birthday. But now you are ruining everything by calling all the time. If that boy realizes

how you really feel, he will stop trying to please you.'

'But Grandmere.' I was way confused. 'You married Grandpa. Surely he figured out you loved him if you went ahead

and married him.'

'Grandpere, Mia, please, not this vulgar Grandpaw you Americans insist upon.' Grandmere sniffed and looked insulted. 'Besides which, your grandfather most certainly did not "figure out" my feelings for him. I made quite certain he thought

I was only marrying him for his money and title. And I don't think I need to point out to you that we had forty blissful years together. And without separate bedrooms,' she added, with some malice, 'unlike some royal couples I could mention.'

'Wait a minute.' I stared at her. 'For forty years you slept in the same bed as Grandpere, but you never once told him that

you loved him?'

Grandmere drained what was left of her Sidecar and laid an affectionate hand on top of her miniature poodle Rommel's

head. Since returning to Genovia, most of Rommel's fur has started to grow back. According to the royal Genovian vet,

the allergy that caused it all to fall out was to New York City in general. White fuzz was starting to come out all over him,

like down on a baby chicken. But it didn't make him look any less repulsive.

'That,' Grandmere said, 'is precisely what I am telling you. I kept your grandfather on his toes, and he loved every minute