The title comes from the song "Ice Cream" by Sarah McLachlan. As a friend of mine once told me, if you can sing that someone's love is better than ice cream, it must be serious.

The soft knock on the door startled Clarisse out of her reverie, although once out of it, she could not recall where she had been. She found she was staring at a book on her lap, and that outside, dusk had given way to darkness. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the fog inside it, then heaved a sigh of resignation. This constant feeling of being disoriented was wearing on her, as was the effort it took to conceal it all day; more than that, it was starting to frighten her.

Another knock. She frowned at her visitor's impatience. Or at her own awkwardness. Had she left him or her standing out there long enough to warrant a second knock? The foggy feeling hindered her reaction time. "Come in."

The door opened, and Joseph stepped into the room. Relief flooded her, and the fog lifted a bit. She gave him a small, but real smile. "I thought you were going out this evening."

"I was. Did, actually. I'm back," he replied, coming to sit down on the sofa next to her.

"I'm not usually one for spending a Friday evening in a pub, but isn't it early to call it a night?"

"It is. But going out reminded me how much I prefer to stay in. I only went along to be sociable, and you know how I am at that."

"Mm, yes, not your strong point."

"Well, I had passed on the last three invitations, and how often is the boss invited anyway?"

"I am the boss, and no one has ever invited me."

He grinned. "Then you see why I was flattered, and decided to give in."

"Poor Joseph." Her tone was teasing, but her smile conveyed genuine sympathy. "So you end up back here with your queen. I am afraid I've been monopolizing your time."

"You have not. Besides, I like being here with my queen."

She gave him a thank-you smile that seemed off to him. He sensed something crumbling inside her, something that took far too much energy for her to maintain in front of everyone else. Yes, there it was. He glimpsed it before she turned her face from him.

He saw the book she had set aside when he entered. He glanced at the tea tray with the plateful of biscuits, only one of which had a small bite taken from it. Her casual attire was impeccable, but black, of course.

He was struck suddenly by a memory in which, years ago, he had openly admired her as she emerged from her suite, dressed in an evening gown with a satin bodice, tulle skirt, and delicately embroidered patterns studded with tiny crystals and beads - all black, down to the last stitch. Even back then, she would do a spin for him, delighting in the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her in formal wear; Rupert took it for granted that she would always dazzle. The modeling of her outfit had become tradition for the queen and her bodyguard, an indulgence in a brief moment of innocent flirtation. Joseph would offer up a word of praise that was never completely adequate to express how truly beautiful she was. He would take her hand and kiss her gloved fingers properly, then allow her to pass him by as he fell into step behind her.

That one evening, he knew she had chosen that dress for him. He had taken her hand and pulled her toward him. She looked surprised at the divergence from their safe little ritual, and even more so at the unconcealed desire in his eyes. He leaned toward her and in a husky whisper said, "Thank you." He raised her hand to his lips, and though it was still a kiss on gloved fingers, there was somehow absolutely nothing proper about it. He remembered hearing her breath catch; how the satin of her glove felt as she softly, wordlessly brought her hand to his cheek and swept her thumb across it once in the lightest of caresses; how her eyes reflected back every ounce of the desire she found in his.

Then it was over. She took a deep breath, moved back from him, and passed him by, and he fell into step behind her.

Now black was all she wore, and its persistence day after day for the past eight months had begun to rob her complexion of color and her psyche of stamina. The black in her wardrobe was for the husband she had lost, for her inheritance of the solitary rule of a country, for her patience as she waited for her son to come to terms with his destiny and take the crown from her. All heavy things, each bearing its own brand of grief, whose weight seemed to increase each day.

Her voice came out in an anguished whisper. "I'm trying, Joseph."

"I know, Clarisse. I know you are."

Tears filled her eyes and her voice trembled. "I don't think I'm doing this."

"You are," he replied fervently, her agony becoming his. "You are doing so well."

"It's too hard on everyone else. If I were doing this right, it wouldn't be so hard on everyone else."

"This is hard for everyone because it is a time of great transition. But for your strength and determination, we would all be lost."

She allowed herself to be comforted by his words of encouragement. She blinked the tears away to have a clear view of him, and thought she saw plainly how he loved her. But could he? After all these years, could he still be here, waiting, hoping? A layer of guilt was added to the heap of feelings tangled up in her core.

He saw it happen, and knew immediately where her thoughts were going. "Don't," he begged. "Please, don't do this to yourself."

"It was wrong of me to keep you here. You should have moved on -"

"It wasn't your choice. I stayed, and I am glad, and I would do it again, Clarisse, if I lived this life a hundred times over, I would stay here with you every time. Why is this so hard for you to believe?"

"That a man would stay with me and be more faithful to me than my husband ever was, with nothing to sustain him, nothing more than friendship, no real contact, not even so much as a hint of a future?" She attempted a light laugh. "You're right, what's so hard to believe about that? "

"Wherever we end up, all that matters to me is that we are together in any way we can be. I have treasured every moment." He watched her close her eyes in an exhausting mixture of joy and pain, and he knew he had to change course before she was swallowed up by the melee of unruly emotions, all grasping for her attention.

"Tell me, boss," he said, his eyes twinkling. "If you could spend this Friday night doing anything at all, what would you do?"

She looked up at him, trying to follow the shift in the conversation. With a grateful sigh, she latched onto the lifeline he was throwing her. "Oh, I don't know. What would you do?"

He couldn't help himself. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then let his fingers continue down beneath her earlobe and trail along her jaw line to her chin. "Hmm…you answer first."

She laughed at his suggestive gaze. "Why? What were you going to say?"

He missed the friend-appropriate contact, the reassuring hugs, comforting hand-holding, a supportive touch on the arm; all things they had done discreetly for years when they knew who they were and where they stood. He also missed the flirting. And he was determined to see some spark of something, anything, in Clarisse, whether he charmed her, turned her on, or angered her. He threw caution to the wind.

He leaned in close, breathed in the scent of her neck, and brought his lips up to her ear to repeat as a whisper, "You answer first."

She laughed again, nervously this time. Damn. He should have known that scaring her off was one of the possibilities.

"Perhaps I had better," she agreed lamely. "Let's see, if I could do anything, I suppose I would -" She broke off self-consciously. "Never mind."

"Why?"

"I'm embarrassed."

"Really? I'm intrigued."

"No, no, nothing so exciting, more that it's…well, just the opposite."

"Then tell me."

"I told you, I'm embarrassed."

"Around me?" he asked incredulously. "Clarisse, how long have we known each other? Certainly we're beyond embarrassment by this point." She eyed him dubiously. "Tell me, please," he coaxed.

"Ice cream."

"Ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Ice cream could be exciting. Definitely has possibilities," he said thoughtfully, a roguish smile tilting the corners of his lips.

"I meant, I would like to go out for ice cream, not…whatever it is ice cream makes you think of that I probably don't want to know about."

"Ah, I misunderstood. Going out for ice cream is also a good idea." Then he added mischievously, "And believe me, you want to know what I'd like to do with the ice cream."

She blushed slightly, and he relished the sight of color in her cheeks. "You are terrible!" she exclaimed. She studied him briefly, then opened her mouth to say something, decided against it, and remained silent. He laughed when her blush deepened.

She changed the subject slightly. "The boys used to try to convince us to take them for ice cream after church on Sundays when they were little. Their reasoning was, if the royal family showed up unannounced to an ice cream parlor, we would be safe, as no assassins, kidnappers, crackpots, or the like would have had the prior knowledge necessary to lie in wait for us. Not to mention, we would be surrounded by happy people since, according to them, ice cream is the key to peace and harmony."

"There is some logic to that, I suppose."

"Rupert disagreed with their theory, at least enough that he was never comfortable testing it out."

"But you took them, didn't you?"

With immeasurable relief, Joseph saw an actual sparkle in Clarisse's eyes. "Sometimes."

"Hmm, I detect foul play."

"Well, Rupert traveled a lot in those days and…"

"…and you found some sympathetic bodyguard to escort you and the princes."

"More like a sympathetic driver. We had to ditch the bodyguard."

"Clarisse!"

"Just mine. Antoine and Victor always came along, after voicing for the record their disapproval. Although I noticed they always got ice cream, too. Anyway, I never let the boys give their own bodyguards the slip."

"What sort of example did you think you were setting for them?" he chided gently.

"I didn't concern myself with it, to be honest with you. The boys wanted ice cream. It was a request most mothers could handle without batting an eye." Her blasé tone changed to a wistful one, and her eyes were sad. "Such a simple thing, and it made them so happy." She was quiet, and Joseph began to worry he would run into sorrow in some form at every turn, waiting to foul up his attempts to distract her. Then the devious sparkle returned, and she gave him a tantalizing smile. "Sometimes, we even stopped at the comic book store on the way back home."

There was some of the old Clarisse, the free spirit who resided behind the perfectly regal façade. If he took hold of this moment, maybe he could take her with him.

He stood up from the sofa. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"I am taking my boss out for ice cream."

She started slipping away again. "You don't have to."

"I'm offering you a chance to sneak out for the evening. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I don't know. Maybe," she hedged, "it's just not as much fun if your bodyguard is with you."

"Ha ha, very funny. And no more talk about ditching bodyguards. You give me heart palpitations when you say things like that." He held his hand out to her. "Enough talking already, let's go."

"Joseph, thank you. I appreciate your efforts, I really do. But I am well aware that the Queen cannot simply hop off the sofa and head out for ice cream." She didn't need to add that she was a queen in mourning, that she was too tired, that she had lost her appetite ages ago… The list went on.

"Maybe not the Queen, but…"

"But…?"

"Wait here."

"You're leaving?" The trace of panic he saw in her expression caught him off guard.

"I'm not leaving, I promise." Then he quickly made his way to the door and went through. It hadn't been closed behind him for three seconds before Clarisse heard his knock on the door.

"Come in?" she replied uncertainly.

She strained to hear his muffled reply through the door. "Queens say, 'Come in.' Normal people get up and go to the door to answer it."

There was a pause as she considered this statement. "Are you saying, you would like me to be normal right now?"

"Yes. Let's try it again." Another knock.

Clarisse got up and went to the door. She opened it a crack. "Yes?"

"Clarisse, it's me, Joe."

"I don't know any Joe."

"Joseph." She could practically hear him roll his eyes.

"Oh, yes. I thought the goatee looked familiar, although…"

"Open the door and you will see who it is."

"I can't open it until I know who you are."

"This is a pretty good neighborhood, I don't think you have to worry."

"I watch the news, 'Joe'. One can't be too careful nowadays."

"Open the damn door already, will you?"

"Hmm, the swearing is a bit milder than the Joseph I know."

"Clarisse -!"

"Now that's Joseph's temper, for sure." She threw the door open wide. "Oh good, it is you."

He stood with a sardonic expression on his face. "I came to see if you would like to go out for ice cream."

"I would love to, but I'm not sure…" Clarisse the Queen chewed undecidedly on her lower lip.

"The ice cream shop has a drive-through window. And I know a remote place on the palace grounds where we can pull over and sit by the lake."

"You didn't bring the limousine, did you?"

"No, tonight I have the Jaguar."

"So lucky for you that your employer bought you your dream car."

"Technically, she bought it for herself, but I get to drive it since her license has expired."

"For the last time, the queen's license doesn't expire."

"We're not having this conversation right now. And no -" he cut her off, "- you may not drive."

"Fine."

"Speaking of things that expire, the offer for ice cream expires in 3 - 2 -"

"Okay, let's go, I'm ready."

"You're barefoot."

"You said there was a drive-through window."

He started to object, then on a whim decided to let it go. He held his arm out to her and escorted her away from the palace and everything in it.

"Do you always get coconut?"

"I am a creature of habit."

Clarisse chuckled knowingly. "Yes, you are."

"Besides, I have tried other flavors there, and the best thing they make is coconut. In fact, no one else makes a coconut ice cream that can compare."

They savored in silence the smuggled ice cream, sitting side by side on a blanket spread out on the ground, and looking at the moon glittering on the surface of the small lake. The branches of an old oak tree twisted and stretched above them, the leaves making a filigree frame for the stars in the sky overhead.

"What about you?" he asked. "You don't always get chocolate-raspberry-what-is-it, do you? I thought your favorite was strawberry."

"Dark chocolate raspberry truffle. No, I usually get strawberry. But strawberry seemed too simple and pure for sneaking out. I figured an evening of illicit ice cream intrigue called for something decadent and sinful."

"I agree."

Clarisse eyed Joseph's cup of ice cream with curiosity, only to realize he was doing the same to hers. Their eyes met; they grinned and held out their cups to each other to trade.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"You are right. Best coconut ice cream anywhere in the world, without a doubt. What about you?"

"Definitely decadent. Downright sinful. Excellent choice."

They took their time, finishing in silence.

"I suppose we have to go back?"

"Well, you are the queen. They will notice if you don't come back." He watched her staring out over the lake. Her bare feet extended past the edge of the blanket, her toes curling luxuriously in the grass. "Of course, we can't take you back like that."

"Like what?" she replied absently.

"You have chocolate on your mouth."

"What?" She snapped back to attention. "I do not. Do I really? Where is it?"

"Right -" he pointed to the same spot at the corner of his own mouth, "- there."

She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and took a dainty swipe at the spot Joseph had pointed to. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still there."

She tried again. "Now?"

"No, you missed again."

She held the handkerchief out to him. "Here, you get it, please?"

He ignored the proffered cloth and leaned into her. He moved slowly, but purposefully. Her eyes got wider the closer he came, until his mouth made contact with the corner of hers and he heard her gasp. He held still a few moments, then his lips parted slightly and with a tiny, sweeping motion of his tongue, he took care of the errant chocolate ice cream.

He sighed blissfully. It wasn't the ice cream. It was she who tasted delicious.

They both remained motionless, Joseph hovering just over Clarisse's lips. Then as slowly as he had moved in, he moved away again. They stared at one another, trying to figure out what came next.

"Joseph," she breathed finally.

"I know. Now is not the time."

"It's just… Until Philippe is king, even after -"

"It's alright, Clarisse. You don't have to tell me."

"But I do. You need to understand my concern, my fear. If anyone found out, I think it highly unlikely we would be banished to the same location. And I cannot be without you."

Joseph laughed. "I think it highly unlikely you would be banished," he offered, neither of them convinced. "You are awfully important."

Clarisse smiled wistfully. "Even still."

"I am not going anywhere without you, my dear," he promised tenderly. "But, speaking of going places together…"

She sighed. "Yes, it's time."

They gathered up the spoons and empty cups, and returned the blanket, shaken out and folded again, to the trunk of the car. The ride back was a silent one. They walked up the steps together, then upon entering the palace, Joseph made a little bow toward Clarisse and motioned with his arm for her to take her place ahead of him. He followed her past the guard at the main entrance to the private hallway leading to her suite. He wondered how long it would take for the staff to be buzzing over their Queen's lack of footwear.

Clarisse opened the door to her sitting room, then turned in the doorway to look at Joseph. He had been keeping a deluge of thoughts at bay by replaying their sort-of kiss over and over again, but he could see she had been pondering deep thoughts. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she gave no indication that she wanted to share what was on her mind. He was, however, reassured that her eyes seemed clearer and more focused than they had of late.

"Thank you for the ice cream, Joseph."

"You are welcome, Clarisse. Any time." He kissed her hand and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

At the urgency in her voice, Joseph spun quickly and retraced the few steps back to her. "Something wrong?"

"I'll say! I can't let you go like that."

"Like what?"

"You have chocolate on your mouth."

"Where?" He started to reach for his handkerchief, then stopped. His eyes were round with disbelief, but gleaming with hope.

Hooking her index finger in between the middle buttons of his shirt, she pulled him into the room with her. "I'll take care of it," she promised, closing the door behind him.

Note: Looking at all my stories so far, I seem to be particularly fond of desserts, as well as pondering what people in palaces do for fun on Friday nights. I hope the plot was enough to override any repetitive details.