"I have spoken with my grandfather," Michael stopped Jemma mid-step in the hallway that afternoon, "If we want Tiff released then we all must be on best behaviour, including me and you," he said in a hushed voice.
Jemma wasn't really up for talking to him right now, her stomach hurt from all the puking she'd done that morning and she was tired.
She did appreciate the information but she knew the reality that this was playing more into the King's hands.
"Are you alright?" Michael asked, looking her up and down.
She looked like s**t; she knew she did, because she felt it as well.
The concern on Michael's face was not that of what it used to be though, it appeared more of vague interest than real concern.
"Maybe get a glass of water and have a lie down?" he suggested when she didn't
