Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine, but belong to Disney, very loosely taken from Meg Cabot's books The Princess Diaries.
Early on the October morning after Queen Clarisse's 64th birthday, she resignedly made her way to her office in the palace at Pyrus, expecting the volume of mail to be horrendous since she had been away from the city for two days at the Genovian Pear Festival celebrations. She was almost getting too old for this pace, she thought. Perhaps she should start making arrangements this year to step down shortly before her 65th birthday. After all, Philippe really WAS ready to be king, and it was time he had his chance to rule Genovia.
"Your Majesty?" Mrs. Cout's voice broke into Clarisse's musings, and she slowed her step and turned inquiringly towards the Head Housekeeper.
"Yes, Mrs. Cout?"
"We've been wondering about Christmas, ma'am. Last year, King Rupert, may he rest in peace, was so ill that we never decorated... and, well, it hasn't been a full year yet, so we were wondering whether or not to leave it again..."
Clarisse rubbed her temple which was beginning to ache despite the early hour. No one knew more than she did exactly how long it had been since Rupert's death. She did miss him terribly. No matter how well one got along with a child, it was very important to have friends and support from one's own generation and station in life, as she had been taught from childhood. "I... I'll speak with Prince Philippe this morning. I'm thinking it's time we moved on. By Christmas it will be almost the year. I don't expect we will have either the Christmas or New Year's Ball, but it would be nice to have some decorations up. However, I'll discuss it with my son and will let you know definitively, if that is acceptable?"
"Perfectly fine, ma'am, thank you!" Mrs. Cout backed away, smiling thankfully.
When Clarisse entered the royal offices, she saw her aide laughing and talking with Philippe and another man who looked to be Philippe's age.
"Mother!" Philippe hurried over and kissed Clarisse's cheek. "I didn't expect to see you up quite so early."
"Oh?" Clarisse said nothing more, just arched her eyebrows, then looked over at the stranger.
Philippe spoke up quickly, beckoning the man forward. "This is my good friend, Scott, Mother. Remember I spoke of him a while ago? He has been approved to join the security team here in Genovia. Scott, my mother, Queen Clarisse."
Clarisse held out her hand, and, rather abashed, the young man took it hesitantly in his. He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to kiss it or shake it, then he released it quickly and bowed. "Your Majesty," he murmured.
"Scott... you were friends with Philippe when he was in the United States, weren't you?"
"That's right. When we met in Spain this summer, he convinced me to come to work in Genovia. I'm honoured to be serving you and your family."
"Joseph will be glad of the assistance, I'm sure," Clarisse observed. "Good morning, Charlotte. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you."
"Quite all right, your Majesty," Charlotte said shyly.
Clarisse was always puzzled by how outgoing Charlotte could appear when she was with Philippe, and how intimidated she seemed when in Clarisse's company. Still, the younger woman had been an extraordinary help to Clarisse ever since Rupert's illness began, and Clarisse had inwardly blessed the Genovian Corps many times for releasing Charlotte to serve the royal family. The queen was not sure she could function as well as she did now without Charlotte's inestimable aid.
When Clarisse was seated at her desk, Charlotte brought over the pile of correspondence. The first one she passed to the queen was personal... from Clarisse's cousin Rob in Scotland. Clarisse skimmed the letter quickly, and smiled. "Philippe?" she asked, looking up and interrupting her son's quiet conversation with his friend Scott.
"Yes, Mother?"
"Robbie and Fiona and their children are hoping to come for a visit near the end of January. I was wondering, since we didn't have the Christmas Ball last year and probably will not have it this year either, what do you think about holding a Robbie Burns Ball on the 25th of January?"
"Wonderful idea!" exclaimed Philippe. "And we can have the whole palace decorated with Scottish symbols, etc.... and have a haggis..."
Accordingly, plans were made that October for an elaborate ball in honour of the Scottish Duke and his family who would be visiting early in the new year. In December, Joseph had a meeting with the members of the security team and informed them all that they, too, would be expected to dress in Scottish outfits "in other words, KILTS" for the evening.
Scott, who shortly after his arrival had been given the nickname Shades because he continually wore sunglasses, yelped, "Skirts? Are you KIDDING? No way!"
"I never kid," Joseph said quietly. "You will all wear kilts. For your information, a kilt is NOT a skirt. Women wear skirts. Men wear kilts. While women can and do wear tartan, they do not wear a kilt. The kilt is a male garment, and is distinguished from the female pleated skirt by the length of cloth used in its construction, the large number of pleats and its weight. The length of the kilt is very precise, stretching only to half way down the knee. The pleated skirt is usually much longer, as well as being narrower, with a smaller number of broader pleats."
"And what do we wear underneath these, er, kilts?" asked Andre, his eyes sparking a challenge.
For a moment there was silence, and all the men looked at Joseph. He sighed. "Socks," he said dryly in response. "And dress shoes."
Everyone groaned. Joseph added, "Scottish formal wear also includes a long-tailed shirt, which you are more than welcome to tie between your legs the way they used to do..."
"You never kid?" Shades asked skeptically.
Now Joseph grinned. "Never say never..." he said, and left the room on that note. He had already arranged to rent a formal Scottish outfit for January 25 – all in black. It included a black jacket, a black leather sporran, black shirt with a white tie and black socks, and the black plaid with a silver sword as the pin, or the sgian dubh as had been explained to him. He had tried to find a kilt and jacket in black leather, but had decided that this one would be acceptable for the one evening he expected to ever have to wear a kilt!
O o O o O o
The Duke and his family were to arrive in Genovia on the 24th of January. The day before their arrival and the planned ball, Philippe and Clarisse walked into the ballroom to view the decorations as per Mrs. Cout's request. Charlotte accompanied them as usual, armed with her clipboard so she could make notes. Joseph and his new second-in-command, Scott, were also on hand to make sure that the security cameras were unobtrusive and all venues in and out of the main ballroom, the formal dining room and the two adjoining anterooms were secure. Charlotte had also requested that they review selections of music for the dancing, while noting that she had already arranged for someone to pipe in the haggis near the beginning of the evening. She had already given Clarisse the order usually followed for a Robbie Burns dinner, so Clarisse knew that she was expected to give a welcoming speech first, then the haggis would be piped in, and then they would all sit down for supper. Following the supper would be the traditional toast to the haggis given by Philippe, then the Duke would be given the opportunity to speak. He had already been asked, and was quite anxious to do so. After that would be the dancing to finish off the evening.
"Are you going to have the traditional Genovian folk dance?" Philippe asked idly after most of the music selections had been approved. "I enjoy doing that one. With the right partner, of course."
"I suppose we should," Clarisse nodded. "It's not Scottish by any means, but it IS traditional for Genovian balls."
"What IS the traditional dance?" Scott asked Joseph quietly from the sidelines.
"I don't believe it has a name. It's sort of a cross between a waltz and a tango."
"I can't even imagine it..." Scott said.
Joseph grinned, and spoke up. "Charlotte? Do you have the music for that folk dance here? Shades has never seen the dance, and says he can't imagine how a waltz and a tango can be in the same dance."
"If she doesn't have it here, I've no doubt but that Charlotte can get it," Clarisse said promptly. She was very fond of Philippe's friend, and even now was smiling inwardly at Joseph's nickname for the man. She, too, had noticed that Scott wore his sunglasses almost constantly, indoors and out!
Charlotte found the music and put the CD on. Then Philippe stopped it and started it from the beginning, taking Charlotte's hand in his and tugging her onto the dance floor. "Come on, Charlotte, we'll show Scott how it's done."
They danced, and Clarisse found herself swaying in time to the music while the younger couple moved around the floor. It had been a long time since she had danced at all. Rupert had been ill for quite a few months before his death, so she had not had the opportunity. When the dance was over, Philippe kept Charlotte's hand in his and started the music again, this time urging his mother to dance with Joseph.
With only a moment's hesitation, Clarisse held out her hand to Joseph, and he obeyed her silent request. Taking her hand in his, they began to dance. At first Clarisse concentrated on the steps, then she realized that she had not forgotten them after all. She lifted her head and her eyes met Joseph's... and she never noticed Philippe, Charlotte and Scott leaving the room.
Something had changed. Clarisse wasn't sure how or when, she only knew that things had changed. One minute they were circling the room with Philippe and Charlotte, then suddenly the other couple disappeared and Joseph was looking at HER, Clarisse, as if nothing existed but the two of them, as if there was no time except in that moment. The very air around them seemed to be charged with an electricity that heightened her senses, amplified her awareness of him, magnified the needs that had been ignored for too long.
The intensity in his steady gaze made everything inside her tingle and those tingles danced and swirled through her entire system. Clarisse and Joseph gradually stopped moving as the music faded away, but his eyes never left hers. Clarisse tried not to think about the solid muscles she could feel along her body, the strong beat of his heart, or the heat between them as she tried to lean imperceptibly away from him. Never before had she experienced the instant tug of attraction she had felt when her eyes had locked with Joseph's while they were dancing.... a tug that was becoming more and more insistent with each passing moment. Did he know?
It took more willpower than Joseph would have thought he possessed to step back from the queen without giving in to the temptation to kiss her. And she would kiss him back, he had no doubts about that. Holding her in his arms on the dance floor, he had felt the rapid beating of her heart. When he had looked at her, he had seen the awareness and desire that stirred even now in his own blood. Yes, she would kiss him back. And then, he had no doubt whatsoever, she would kick him out of her life.
Clarisse knew what he was thinking as surely as she knew what was in her own heart and mind. Yes, she wanted Joseph to kiss her, and yes, she could not allow that to happen. He was a commoner. She was a queen... by marriage, yes, but a queen nonetheless. She had not been born into a royal family, but she had been groomed to be Queen of Genovia since birth, her marriage to the heir of the throne having been arranged when she was only a few months old. She was a strong woman who, whatever her personal feelings, would not fail her duty to her country and would never allow herself to be swayed from the path she knew must be followed.
Because of her love for her nation, Clarisse had done everything that had ever been asked of her, including marrying a man she didn't love. Oh, she had been rewarded with two loving sons, and had grown to respect Rupert and even consider him her best friend. That, however, had not been saying much because, as the future Queen, she had never any other friends who could ever have been considered close. Perhaps, once she was the dowager queen and no longer reigning, she would have time to devote her energies to pursuing her own desires. Perhaps.... but she expected not, since it had been ingrained in her to be aware of the fact that she had a public image to behold, and she was never to allow herself the luxury of giving in to her emotions. A queen, she had been taught, whether future, reigning or dowager, must be above reproach at all times. A queen must never appear tired or irritated or impatient or in need of someone else's strength and love. As a queen, she was very, very lonely, and never expected that to change.
But now... now... Could Joseph tell how aroused she had become during the dance? Clarisse was mortified to think he could... until she realized that certain parts of his body had responded to the contact too. Suddenly, even though he had stepped back slightly, she needed to touch him again. She could not have explained why, but the yearning inside her was too strong to ignore. She pressed one hand to his cheek, her palm curving around his jaw.
Joseph closed his eyes and gripped her wrist with a strength she had known he had but hadn't expected he would ever use on her. "You make it damn near impossible," he growled from between clenched teeth.
"Make what impossible?" Clarisse asked, rather taken aback by his intensity and somewhat amazed that he had used profanity in her presence. Then she lost that thought when he opened his eyes and stared intently into hers. She began to have difficulty breathing or swallowing. Her heart beat at an alarming rate, and she feared he would guess how suddenly his closeness was beginning to unnerve her.
He was going to kiss her now. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. Frankly, knowing what emotion might flare to sudden, passionate, FORBIDDEN life the moment their lips touched, she hoped he had bad breath, that he would get spit on her and, well, that the kiss would make her feel nauseous. She hoped the kiss would be too wet or too aggressive or too passive or too... His head came closer and she began to panic when she realized that the first of her hopes was not going to be realized. He could not do this! What if they were seen....? "No, Joseph... please..."
Then his warm lips were on hers lightly, and Clarisse began to tremble violently, automatically shaking her head and feeling his kiss settle on her cheek. Her teeth almost chattered as icy chills travelled through her body. Joseph should not have kissed her! She was the queen! It meant instant death to the commoner who kissed royalty on the lips. Yes, it was an ancient Genovian law, but a law nonetheless. It was absolutely forbidden. If anyone caught them....
Clarisse pulled away abruptly and looked around, not relaxing even when she realized that no one had seen them. Not meeting Joseph's eyes, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, then turned and walked out of the room, not saying a word.
O o O o O o
Finding Philippe laughing and visiting in the security office with Scott, Clarisse motioned her son out into the hallway. She didn't know why exactly it bothered her, but she supposed it was something to do with the fact that, as a future king, her son had to realize just what he had to give up. "Philippe, you ARE aware that with Scott as an employee here in the palace, a friendship between you is no longer really plausible. He is a commoner...."
"Perhaps he is a commoner now," Philippe said, his stubborn determination very obvious, "but if he ever becomes the Head of Security, say when Joseph retires, he will be of a station higher than anyone else in the country except our immediate family! And as such, he is and he will remain my friend!"
"What are you talking about?" Clarisse asked, truly having no idea.
Philippe sighed. His father had explained to him that a rather complicated ancient Genovian peerage had had the effect that when King Rupert (may he rest in peace forever more!!!) had elevated Joseph to Head of Security for the royal family of Genovia, he had actually granted the younger man status far above anyone in the entire country other than the immediate royal family itself. Only the Archbishop, Prince Pierre and Sebastian Motaz as Prime Minister were aware of this honour, since King Rupert had decreed that the Head of Security would be better equipped to do his duty were he NOT cognizant of this fact. It had been Prince Philippe's view that the general public, too, would be more accepting of Joseph if they remained ignorant. None of the men had thought it necessary to inform Queen Clarisse of this nor even considered that she might be remotely interested in the information. Now, however, it was more than obvious that she needed to know. Philippe had no intentions of living like his parents had lived. Theirs had been a very lonely life, he thought. He quickly explained all his father had told him, concluding, "So you see, Mother, there is no longer any reason for you to keep Joseph at arm's length."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It is rather obvious that you two are in love," Philippe said, then stopped. "Well, it's not obvious to everyone, I admit. But it is to those who know you well. Charlotte and I were talking about it yesterday. It's the look in your eyes... in BOTH of your eyes!"
"I... see..." Clarisse was almost numb with shock. Surely it wasn't that obvious! Why, she wasn't even sure what she felt for Joseph WAS love! What, after all, did SHE know of love? Romantic love was for young people, not for someone like her who had already lived a lifetime without it. She had her sons to love and to love her... and the citizens of her country... it didn't matter that she had never known the passionate, fiery love between a man and a woman! She cleared her throat, and changed the subject, ignoring Philippe's sigh of resignation. "Robbie is coming in an hour. You'll be ready?"
"I will, Mother,"
O o O o O o
Clarisse dressed for the Robbie Burns Ball in an evening gown with a black bodice, sheer black sleeves and a skirt of a faded black satin that was almost a gray. Her year of mourning was up, but she wasn't quite ready to wear colours. Besides, Fiona had told her that a black evening gown was perfectly acceptable for a Scottish formal occasion with the addition of a tartan sash worn over her left shoulder and secured with a pear-shaped white-gold and diamond brooch on the left shoulder, symbolic of her status in Genovia. Her cousin's wife, as a duchess, also wore her sash in the same manner and had helped Clarisse with the positioning. Charlotte, dressed in a long tartan skirt and white blouse, had HER matching tartan sash over her right shoulder and fastened there with a pin, as befitting a clanswoman without chieftainess status.
Upon her arrival at the closed doors to the formal dining room adjacent to the ballroom, Clarisse smiled at Charlotte who was waiting with Joseph, but her eyes were drawn to Joseph who looked stunningly handsome in his black attire. Clarisse's gaze swept up and down his body, then met his almost defiant eyes. She swallowed and her fingers tensed in his as he bent and kissed her hand. Then Philippe arrived, kissing his mother on the cheek and bantering with Charlotte and Joseph as he always did.
With Philippe two paces behind her, Clarisse entered the room when announced and welcomed everyone to the event in honour of her cousin and his family. The children, Ryan and Megan, beamed at her from the front of the crowd, very proud indeed to have been included in this formal occasion. Then Clarisse added that the 'real' guest of the evening was about to enter, and she stepped aside as the piper walked in, playing as quietly as possible, followed by another man bearing the haggis on a silver platter. Everyone clapped, then, when Clarisse was seated, they followed suit.
During the meal, Clarisse listened to Ryan and Megan talking animatedly about their dog, and she asked what breed it was. To her surprise, Robbie stood up instantly, fumbling in his sporran, saying, "D'you want to see pictures?"
Rather taken aback and averting her eyes, Clarisse looked back when he had drawn out the pictures. After the famous Genovian pear and cheese dessert had been served, Philippe rose in his place and lifted his wine glass. "To Robert Burns and his poem 'To a Haggis'!" and he began to recite the poem.
Trying to speak In an undertone, Robbie leaned over in the middle of the long poem and said to Clarisse, "The laddie has a fair Scottish accent! I'm impressed!"
Fiona nudged her husband and frowned, but Clarisse merely smiled. The haggis was served,, and Clarisse managed to eat her own portion without making a face. She had had it before, as an hors-d'oeuvre on a cracker, and had agreed with Rupert that it tasted slightly like hash or a paté. Considering it was made from the heart, liver and lungs of a sheep, all finely chopped and mixed with toasted oatmeal, onions, and seasonings, it was very much like a paté. What differed, Rupert had told her, was that after everything was mixed, it was boiled in a bag made from the sheep's stomach, and that thought tended to turn many people off the Scottish delicacy.
When whisky was served, Robbie stood up to toast Clarisse and his wife by reciting another one of Burn's poems, his favourite. "O my luve's like a red, red rose.... So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry."
After the dinner, it was time for the dancing. Clarisse danced first with Sebastian Motaz, as was customary, then with her son, then with her cousin. After that, she was kept busy with the other parliamentarians. Throughout the evening, much to her dismay, desire surged through Clarisse's body every time she happened to see Joseph who looked very dashing in his black kilt. She tried to block the unwanted and illicit desire, despite the information Philippe had given her the other day, and despite her son's encouragement. She tried to ignore the desire, tried to will it away over the evening, but her eyes were drawn back to Joseph's frequently since she could feel his eyes on her constantly.
While dancing with Lord Palimore and seeing Baron von Troken heading her way with a glint in his eye, Clarisse excused herself and momentarily escaped into an empty anteroom to try to wrestle her emotions back where they belonged. When the door opened and closed softly behind her, she did not need Joseph's soft "Clarisse?" to tell her who had followed her.
"I will be out in a moment, Joseph," she said, gripping her hands together tightly and not turning around.
"Are you all right?" he asked as he came up behind her, the concern obvious in his voice.
Nodding, Clarisse finally turned to him. Their gazes met, caught, lingered. The silent communication was filled with hope and wistful yearning. Almost without volition, her hand went to his cheek, her fingers delicately cupping the flesh that felt warm beneath her touch. The gesture was meant to comfort, not to promise.
"Do you have any idea what your touch does to me?" His words were half groan, half speech, as if her touching him, even in the most innocent way, caused him pain.
She felt the urgency in him and the restraint. She honoured him for that restraint, but she didn't need nor want it anymore. "I want you to kiss me again, Joseph." Her voice was husky but steady.
"Clarisse, please!"
"I don't want to make it an order. Was it really that bad, our first kiss? Or did I just make it that way by trying to avoid it? Don't you WANT to kiss me, Joseph? Properly, this time?"
He cradled her face and their eyes met. In his she read determination and a kind of desperation. "I don't want to make things any more difficult for you than they already are..."
Clarisse said nothing, merely touched her tongue to her suddenly dry lips. Every part of her body seemed impossibly aware and ultrasensitive. She couldn't bear the thought of him backing away without at least giving her one taste. Joseph didn't disappoint her. He groaned and brought her mouth to his. The instant their lips met, Clarisse felt her heart leap with a burst of joy. It overtook her and drove everything else from her mind. His mouth was warm and moist and he tasted of pear with a hint of whisky. He moved his lips hungrily against hers with a heat that seared her senses. She had never been kissed like this, never with this kind of heat, this degree of passion. Not even Rupert had.... her thoughts scattered as Joseph deepened the kiss. They both sought to give more, take more, be more, feel more.
It was then that the door opened.
Stumbling as sensual waves washed over her, Clarisse kept her head down as she pushed a stunned but hastily controlled Joseph away, trying frantically to calm her breathing even as she stammered something about a medical emergency. When silence met her feeble efforts to dissemble, she looked up to see who had surprised them. The Archbishop, his own face reddening as he took in the tableau, never said a word. He backed out of the room and closed the door with a decisive click.
Still breathing hard and fast, Clarisse shut her eyes and shuddered, holding on to the ebbing sensations. She expected embarrassment would come crashing in at any moment, but she really didn't want to surrender the delight just yet. A part of her actually hoped the past few minutes had been all a dream. If only they hadn't been interrupted! And yet... thank goodness they HAD been interrupted! At last she opened her eyes.
Joseph said hoarsely, "Every time you touch my cheek, Clarisse, if you ever dare to do it again, know that I am remembering this incredible forbidden tryst and hope to repeat it. Every time..."
Before Clarisse could say anything in response, he disappeared out the side door to the gardens. After a moment to gather herself together and firmly put her outward shield of invulnerability about herself, Clarisse smiled faintly. Now all she had to do was decide whether SHE would tell Joseph what Philippe had explained to her, or whether it was best that her son speak to the man she now knew she loved intensely. After all, no matter what Joseph's station in life, a public relationship would not be possible until she had stepped down from the throne. Perhaps she wouldn't wait until her next birthday after all. Philippe was more than ready to be king.... and she was more than ready to explore the possibilities that would emerge in her own life once she could set aside the duty to the throne and country that had confined her ever since birth. Perhaps on Valentine's Day she could announce her retirement....
O o O o O o
Unfortunately for Clarisse, neither she nor Philippe spoke to Joseph about his status in Genovia. The week after the Robbie Burns Ball, Philippe was tragically killed. Since Pierre had already made it well known that he had no intentions of taking over the throne, Clarisse knew she would have to remain queen... and she knew, too, that now a romantic relationship with Joseph had to be put on hold indefinitely. During such a trying time, with Baron von Troken poised to take power in Genovia, there could be no breath of scandal attached to the Renaldi name.
Supported by Charlotte, without whom Clarisse was convinced she would not have been able to continue to do the duties inherent to the crown, and by Joseph who tacitly cared for her security and physical well-being, Clarisse managed to drag herself out of the depression Philippe's accident had dropped on her. She retreated behind a protective wall that kept her emotions well-hidden and well-protected from everyone, including herself. It seemed the only way she would be able to survive.
When Clarisse determined to go to the United States to fetch her grand-daughter, she asked Joseph to remain behind in Genovia to see to domestic matters, thinking that since Scott was an American, he would be the logical choice to accompany her as a bodyguard.
"Your Majesty, you may not go alone," Joseph said flatly.
"I was not planning to go ALONE, but..."
"I am coming. We can leave Shades here to look after things in the palace."
After a moment's hesitation and re-arranging her plans in her head, Clarisse nodded slightly. "Very well." She thought a bit more, then said, "It might be for the best. You could instruct the princess on matters pertaining to security. Amelia must begin living the life of a princess of Genovia, and she will need to be well-informed as to the state of affairs here, and..."
"What if she doesn't want to move? What if she wants to stay in San Francisco?" Joseph interrupted her.
Clarisse stared at him, dumbfounded.
"For that matter," he continued, "what if she doesn't WANT to live the life of a princess?"
"I..." Clarisse was at a loss for words. It had never occurred to her that a Renaldi would even consider reneging on the responsibilities and duty to Genovia.
Joseph smiled. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. I just thought you should be prepared... in case she is not as amenable as you hope."
Gathering herself together with an effort, Clarisse nodded, hoping he was wrong. "Being aware that Baron von Troken is plotting to wrest the throne from me, and by extension from Amelia, are you certain you should come with me to the United States?"
"Of course!"
"Thank you," Clarisse smiled, and her hand cupped his cheek.
For a moment Joseph was immobile, then he stepped back and said softly, his face anguished. "Must I remind you, Clarisse, what your gesture signals? I find it hard to believe that you are giving me permission to kiss you again."
"Joseph, I... I'm sorry... I. had hoped... we could..." she faltered uncharacteristically, thinking for a moment she could see straight into his soul. Such sadness! It made her ache to think of him hurting so deeply. Yet her own sorrow was just as deep, just as heart-wrenching. A part of her wanted to give in now and promise him that everything would work out just as they wanted, that they could be together now and forever more. But the part of her that listened to her brain rather than her heart knew that it was not possible yet. The future of Genovia was at stake. AMELIA'S future was at stake. Clarisse could NOT give in. If there was to be even a breath of scandal about a relationship between herself and Joseph, the Renaldi reign would be threatened, not to mention the country. They had already jeopardized that future when the Archbishop had walked in on them during the Robbie Burns Ball...
Joseph sighed. "No, Clarisse, I am the one who should be apologizing. It is not your fault. I will try not to falter again."
"I wish I could promise you more..."
"I know. Forgive me. Our... friendship... will remain in the shadows."
O o O o O o
Over the next five years that took them through the tragedy of losing Philippe and young Mia's assumption of the role of Crown Princess until her coronation after her twenty-first birthday, the archbishop obviously had never mentioned the indiscretion he had interrupted the night of the Robbie Burns Ball, since neither Joseph nor Clarisse ever heard any whispers or rumours. They almost, ALMOST, forgot he had caught them so flagrantly loving one another. On their wedding day, when the Archbishop said "FINALLY!" in response to Clarisse's declaration that she wished to marry Joseph, Clarisse gulped and sent a look to Joseph that made his lips twitch and would have made him laugh out loud had he not been so shell-shocked at the events of the past few minutes.
THE END!