Disclaimer: None of the characters herein belong to me. They are the property of Meg Cabot and Disney. I make no monetary gain from writing.
Author's note: Because I love character studies and Joseph and the idea of their past.
Please read and review - I genuinely like to know how I've done and if it could be improved.
Mia stood in the hall for a moment, listening to the cracking of the radio and her mother singing none-too tunefully as she cleaned her brushes. It was crazy, really, how quickly her life had, to quote the Fresh Prince, 'flipped turned upside down.' She sniggered a little at her own cheesy joke and pulled in a breath of air. She still wanted to be angry at her mom but she couldn't really maintain her ire for much longer than a few days; not that she didn't want to, of course, but it was much easier to forgive her for doing the right thing than hating her for it. She felt differently about her grandma though and that was becoming more difficult to stomach. She kicked off the expensive leather pumps and left them disorganised, instead curling her toes into the threadbare rug underfoot.
The woman was cold.
That's what she would have said, if anyone had bothered to ask her, about her grandmother. Even as she had danced her 'wango' with Joe - which she thought was hilarious - her grandmother hadn't even lifted her head from the paper work she was pouring over until Mia had spoken to her. She was so distant. "It's Hermes" Mia remembered, a soft glow of embarrassment heating her up. Clarisse Renaldi was overwhelmingly haughty and the little ball of nerves that gathered in Mia's stomach grew bigger and bigger with every correction or piece of advice from the older woman. She was intimidating and aloof all at the same time. She was, in a word, wrong. She was not what Mia had expected of the only grandmother she now had on earth. Gradmothers were, in her limited experience, not supposed to be so fierce.
She sighed a little and flopped down on the couch then immediately straightened her posture, fearing a reprimand from someone close by. When she realised that, with her mother being the only person in the room, this was unlikely she relaxed again.
Her mom, paint flecking her hair and clothes, turned to her.
"Hey Mia," she tightened the taps, stopping the water, "How were lessons?"
"I learned how to eat a salad, tied to a chair," she said darkly, wiggling her eye brows, "Then how to dance!"
"Weird afternoon," her mom smiled, bringing two cups of tea and sitting down on the couch.
She offered Mia one. That was one thing that had changed in her since meeting her grandmother; she had grown fond of the very European beverage. In their house though they drank it in mugs that didn't match and weren't made out of fine bone china.
"So what were you learning to dance to?"
"Traditional Genovian dance." She answered, "I nearly killed Joe."
"Joe?" Her mom asked, smiling.
"He's a bodyguard," she answered with a shrug.
"He's more than that Mia," Helen answered with a smile, "I haven't heard that name in years."
"You know him?" Mia was genuinely surprised.
She had spoken to Joe a handful of times. Each encounter had been pleasant and he made her laugh. He was clever and quiet and at first she had been afraid of him with his gruff voice and blackness and hidden eyes but she had grown to like him. She didn't know what her mother meant but she was curious. That happened when new people came into your life – you wanted to know everything about them in a split second, so you could make a judgement about them.
"He's more than just your gradmother's bodyguard," Helen answered, "He's her Head of Security and by virtue of that, the head of the Military. He's worked for her for years."
"Oh," Mia looked into her tea, "I like him. He's decent."
"He is decent," her mom answered, "You're right there."
Silence passed between them for a moment, then her mom spoke;
"Do you know it was Joseph who was the first person, aside from your father, from the royal household to hold you? You were just tiny."
"Really?" Mia was surprised, "He's been around that long?"
"He knew your father when he was a boy," her mom lifted her cup to her lips and spoke from behind it, "So yeah, I suppose so. Your father loved him very much."
"He never really says much, so I suppose I wouldn't really know," Mia answered, "He just smiles and drives and dances and offers a little bit of wisdom. Though he makes my grandma laugh which is pretty much impossible so..."
"They're very good friends," her mother agreed.
"Are they? I didn't think that," she answered, "Though I suppose they do talk a lot, when she's not got her nose in some papers."
"I'm sensing you're not seeing eye to eye with her," her mother ventured.
"Not really much to see eye to eye on," she answered, "She thinks I can do it, I know I can't."
"Why don't you ask Joe? He is – was - your father's advisor," her mother offered.
Mia paused for a moment, then looked serious, "He was?"
"He was. In fact, he was the man who brought news of your birth to your grandmother and grandfather. Your father decided it was better to come from him and in some respects, he was right. When they came here, to meet you, it was with Joseph and when your father left, it was with Joseph at his side," Her mom paused, "And when he died, your grandmother said, it was with Joe by his side. When she phoned to tell me, it was one of the first things she said, that Joe had been by his side. And that made it easier for me I suppose...but for her too."
"For her too?"
"You have to remember Mia," her mother said quietly, "She's lost her son...not to mention her husband."
Mia shrugged, "Doesn't mean she has to be so...distant."
"No, it doesn't," she answered, "Of course it doesn't, but you have to make allowances I suppose."
They both contemplated for a moment, listening to the radio as it filled the room. Mia was surprised at her mother's insight into her grandmother – and a little taken aback too. She hadn't imagined they'd have ever had much in common.
"I always felt really sorry for her," Helen suddenly said, "More sorry for her than any of them."
Mia tilted her head to the side enquiringly, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.
"When she phoned me Mia, she tried to comfort me. It was her son that had died yet she was offering me comfort," Helen answered, "And lots of people thought it was her that made your father and me split. And it wasn't. She never once opened her mouth, never once criticised me. She was full of grace when her son broke her heart. She was a good mother..."
Mia puzzled for a moment, "I didn't think you would like her, honestly."
"I didn't say I like her," her mom answered, "But I admire her. She is made of steel and that, in any woman, is admirable. But Mia, your father loved her very much and she loves you too, I know."
"Yeah...well, I nearly took Joe out with my elbow today so I don't suppose he'll be wanting to offer me much in the way of advice. Maybe to have less sharp elbows," she muttered.
"Maybe you should ask him," her mom ventured, "He knows your grandmother better than anyone-"
"He'll stick up for her – he has to."
"You said he was decent, right? Well, he's the only one of that bunch I'd give some credit for being honest," her mother said, a little sharply, "And better than that, he has your grandmother's confidences. He often acted as a go-between for your father and her. He might be able to give her an insight into your feelings, tell her to give you a bit of a break – if you don't feel confident enough to do it yourself."
"How do you mean he acted as a 'go-between'?"
She could see her mother regretted starting this conversation and that she had grown tired and wanted to get back to her painting. But Mia was too curious, too alert now to the relationships she was witnessing but had no understanding of the significance. Joe had known her father intimately and she wanted just a slither of that connection.
"Their relationship was fraught at points. Your father and I got married without telling them – you had been born before they even knew."
"Mom, don't tell me half stories or ones I already know!" She cried, a little exasperated.
"Some things people don't want to talk about," her mom answered, though she was not angry with her, "I wish I hadn't started."
"Mom just try, for a moment, to see this from my perspective," Mia said quietly, "You stick up for a grandma who's ignored me, she drops a bombshell, you have been complicit in said bombshell, you tell me to trust the guy she wants to look after me but give me no reason...all these new people who I am supposed to trust, like and love at some point but I have no decent reason – other than genetics."
"Genetics are, sometimes, a good enough reason," she sighed, "But yeah, you're right. Joe was on a routine visit – as the Head of Security – to check on your father's detail for security. He walked into the consulate, to the prince's apartment, and found me wearing a wedding ring and holding you. He was shocked, to say the least. He fired the security detail on the spot for keeping it a secret under the prince's orders. At first, and with good reason, I thought he was an animal. He was raving, screaming at those poor guys – then he turned on your father. And what he gave him about honesty and integrity...and oddly he was saying everything I had been keeping to myself. Your father, you have to understand Mia, was an idealist. He wasn't great at reality or hard stuff. Then he spoke to me. By this point I was petrified – he asked me about my healthcare, my name – all these stupid things that shouldn't have mattered to him. Yet they did. He was very good to me. He was very kind to me. And he loved your father like a son. He held him too after he screamed at him - and your dad cried - and I knew, suddenly, it was over. Your grandmother visited once, just after you were born. Then Joe came for him and that was it."
Mia was riveted to the story, not because it was shocking or malicious, but because it was an insight into someone she had known for her whole life, from photos and letters, but didn't understand at all. All she could say though was:
"My father stayed in the consulate?"
"He did," her mom smiled.
"At least I got one thing right about Joe," Mia laughed a little, "He's pretty scary."
"He loved your father so much Mia," her mom smiled, "And he loves your grandmother too... so trust him. He'll be helpful to you."
Mia nodded a little, taking a sip of her now cold tea.
The next day she was ready before Joe arrived even though it was a Saturday and she typically slept late. She sat down on the dustbins at the side of the house and watched as the limo came over the crest of the hill. Her conversation with her mother had kept her up all night, and now she felt guilty for being so hard on her grandma. She had no context for her grandmother and no understanding of her at all; how could she possibly be anything but negative towards her?
The limo pulled up and Joe pushed the door open and stepped out. She stood to meet him, thrusting her hands in her pockets and rocking back and forth on her Docs.
"I am sorry princess," he bowed his head a little, "I did not realise you would be waiting."
"You're not late," she shrugged, then asked him, "Why do you always call me princess?"
"Because you are a princess," he answered simply, holding the door open for her.
She shook her head and paused, "Can I ride up front with you?"
He looked at her for a moment then smiled, "An unusual request."
"This is an unusual situation, to be fair," she answered, "I'm not a princess yet."
She let him hold the passenger door open for her instead and slid in. He walked around the car and was beside her in a moment.
"It's not about titles," he said as he started the engine, "You're a princess, simple as that."
"And you're a charmer," she said dryly, surprised at her own confidence.
This was the longest interaction, apart from dancing with him, that she'd ever had and she was pleased that she had managed to make him laugh.
"Thank you," he smiled, "Seat belt, please."
He pulled away from the kerb and she watched him as he did so, not sure if she should leave it to him to start the conversation or if she should be the one to begin. She clasped her hands on her legs, hummed a little, and looked around the front of the limo with curiosity but she couldn't quite bring herself to start a conversation.
She was just about to ask him how his day had been after she left the day before when her stomach rumbled loudly, embarrassingly, and he turned to look at her with concern.
"Have you eaten?"
She bit her lip and shook her head, suddenly feeling a little more like the teenager she was. She had been nervous this morning and had forgotten to eat. Her mom had left early for a tour of an interested gallery and hadn't been there to remind her and she'd put pop tarts in the toaster with the best of intentions but had forgotten to fetch them when they popped.
He shook his head and turned the car down to the right, in the opposite direction of the consulate.
"That won't do," he said, "You cannot start your day without breakfast."
"It's just breakfast," she laughed, realising how hungry she actually was, "I'll get something at the consulate."
"No," he answered, "It's not. You have to be healthy. You need to eat properly."
She was embarrassed at his scolding, "Ok, I'm sorry."
"Come on."
Inside the café they took two seats, and after a glance at the menu she settled for blueberry pancakes and despite Joe's disapproving look, asked for a side of chocolate spread. He ordered a coffee.
"I'm trying," she said in response to his pointed look.
"You have to eat properly and often," he conceded, "Even if it isn't healthy, I suppose."
They looked at each other for a moment, and she examined him as he organised his things on the surface of the wooden table. He lined up his cell phone and his wallet, then took his glasses off and placed them there too. He was wearing a black t-shirt, not like his usual shirt and tie, and he looked remarkably relaxed in spite of the fact that she thought he was usually quite uptight.
"I used to come here with your father," he said conversationally and despite the casual tone, she found herself surprised.
"Here?"
He laughed at her incredulity, "Yes, here. He liked the pancakes. Blueberry to be precise."
She smiled then and saw this as her opportunity to ask more but grew panicky when her next thought occurred to her.
"Won't my grandma be angry that I'm late?"
He almost laughed, "No, you're with me. And anyway, Clarisse is not a morning person. She was expecting you'd spend the first few hours of today with me, at any rate. So no, eat your breakfast and don't worry."
The waitress placed their order down in front of them and she took up her fork, looking at him as he stirred his coffee.
There were a number of things that she found surprising in this information. She was supposed to spend the day with Joe? He called her Clarisse as if it was totally trivial? She wouldn't get annoyed, apparently, as long as she was with Joe? Mia didn't know which one to opt for, and was calculating it in her head, when she wasn't given a chance as Joe spoke first.
"You did well," he said softly, "She was proud of you yesterday."
She couldn't keep the bite back from her voice, "I wouldn't know. Why do you?"
He looked at her, not with anger, but with curiosity, "She told me."
"Right," Mia shoveled a piece of pancake aggressively into her mouth.
"She loves you, you know," he continued from behind his cup.
She nearly snorted, "Strange way of-"
"You are so like your father," he interrupted, putting his mug down, "I used to think it was all about nurture. I'm starting to think differently…"
She dropped her fork, finished her mouthful and took a gulp of her coke. He was smiling placidly and it riled her a little.
"My mom says you knew him well," she finally settled for, deciding that having a go at him wasn't going to win her any more friends. And she needed a friend right now.
"Yes, very well," he smiled and she could see sadness pulling at the corners of it, as if it took a lot of effort.
She felt suddenly awkward and took another bite for something to do.
"I used to visit him when he was at college here. We use to drive down from Stanford to San Francisco," he said quietly, "Those roads are some of the best roads in the world. We'd listen to music and speed as much as we could."
"He liked driving, didn't he?"
"Yes," he nodded.
Silence fell over them as they both obviously considered where his love of driving had taken him. Joe shook his head and as he took another sip of his coffee, checked his watch.
"Are you worried?" She asked through a mouthful of pancake, hurrying through it.
He laughed, "Why would I be worried?"
"In case she shouts at you?"
"Your grandmother rarely shouts at me," he answered, "And don't call her 'she' all the time. Call her grandma or the queen, or something. Just don't call her 'she' please, at least until you stop saying it as if it's a bad word."
"Ok, I'll try," she mumbled, recognising that it was a little disrespectful.
"Thank you," he nodded, "Your grandmother is happy to be spending time with you…you've brought some colour back into her life."
He was deeply sincere, she could see, since he was invested fully in her and she didn't want to spoil it for him.
She eyed him curiously but said nothing.
"After your father died she really…" he trailed off.
She nodded, trying desperately to understand.
"Why do you care so much? It's only your job."
It escaped her mouth before she could really vet it and it sounded harsher than she meant it to be. He looked hurt for a moment but then checked himself.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive," she mumbled, setting her half-finished pancakes to the side.
He leaned forward a little, his face very serious, and his intensity caught her off-guard.
"I have known your family, your grandmother, for a very long time," he said, "And your grandmother is a better person than you will ever know her to be and trust me when I say she loves you more than you can ever fathom."
"Is she your friend?"
He laughed and she had to work hard to dismiss the feeling that there was a bitter undertone.
"Something like that," he answered, "Now please, princess, finish your breakfast."
"What does she – I mean grandma – have planned for today?"
"Etiquette," he said lightly, "I'm sure it'll be your favourite."
She snorted a little and pulled her plate towards her again.
"I find her intimidating," she said, without lifting her eyes to look at him.
"Your grandmother is in that habit," he laughed, "But you have to see past that."
"It's hard," she mumbled.
"I know," he said softly, "Trust me, I know. Will you just give it a try?"
She considered him for a moment and was glad she'd finally spoken to someone – she hadn't expected, really, to strike up a relationship with her grandmother's Head of Security. She hadn't imagined he'd be the person she'd turn to but now that he was she was oddly relieved.
"You're easy to talk to," she said, "Do you know that?"
He nodded, "Apparently so."
She smiled then, "Do you always order people around?"
He laughed, "The queen orders me, I order them..."
"Right, I see," he pulled fifty dollars from his wallet and left it in the centre of the table.
She was going to correct him on the amount but it occurred to her that it was probably intentional.
They made their way outside and the sun was now strong, bathing the city in a gauzy light. He slipped his sun-glasses back on.
"So grandma's not a morning person?"
"No," he answered with a laugh, "No, she is not. Between you and I, her maids have quite a time trying to convince her to get up."
She laughed properly and delighted in the secret he was sharing with her. He smirked at her then and she knew he was trying, and winning she supposed, to make her grandmother seem more human.
"I didn't think she slept," she said dryly.
"She's human. Possibly more human than you or I."
"You're convincing me," she climbed into the seat as he held the door open, "Don't push it."
She heard him laugh as he closed the door.
The consulate was quiet when they arrived and there was no one at the security desk, like there typically was. The place was silent and calm and so much more welcoming than it previously had been.
"Come on," he motioned out into the garden, "I want to show you something."
He led the way past the table at which she had had tea with her grandma a few days ago, and walked to the end of the rose-lined path. He stopped at a massive oak, under which there was a pool of shade because it was so dense and green. He pointed at the trunk of the tree and it took her a moment to understand what he was pointing at. A faded, crude love heart had been hewn into the bark. In the centre someone had, in all its clichéd glory, carved 'PR + HT'. She reached out and grazed her fingers across it.
"My parents…"
He turned to her, "He loved you both so much."
"Is this what you were instructed to show me today?"
She laughed quietly.
"No," a sing-song voice from behind interrupted them, "He was instructed simply to get to know you. It appears, as with every one, he has won you over."
They both turned at the same time and beside her Joe bowed lowly. She studied her grandmother. Until this point Mia had only ever saw her in those beautifully tailored but nonetheless severe, and black, dresses. Today she wore all white and accompanying her pearls around her neck she had tied a blue sweater. She looked like something from the cover of Good House Keeping; perfectly tailored slacks and make-up in a heavenly setting.
Joseph reached for her hand as he straightened from his bow and kissed it. Mia almost wanted to avert her eyes but she didn't for the life of her know why.
"Your father," she turned to Mia, "Was a terrible romantic."
Her voice was not critical but wistful.
"I see that," she answered.
"He was such a good person," she added, turning to Joseph, "Wasn't he?"
"Yes," he answered, "He was."
She smiled then but it was similar in its strained, sad quality to Joe's when he had spoken of her father.
"How are you, grandma?"
At this, the adults on either side of her shot their eyes towards her. Then her grandma smiled. It was a grin almost and Mia was sure she had never witnessed before.
"I am…better Mia, thank you for asking," her grandmother touched her shoulder, "Why don't we have some tea? Have you eaten?"
"Yeah," she answered, "Joe took me for breakfast."
"Healthy I hope?"
"Of course," the Head of Security interjected before Mia could tell the truth, "No pancakes in sight."
"You're too soft," the queen nudged him lightly as he walked alongside her and Mia watched their interaction with curiosity.
It wasn't so much employee and employer as it was friendship, she suddenly realised. A real friendship she'd failed to see in her own limited impression of them both.
"You should eat healthily Mia. God knows your body needs it in this role in life," her grandmother advised in that stern, familiar tone.
"I know. I'm just working on other stuff, you know? Like trying not to fall over every time I'm in the same room as you."
Her grandmother laughed again and turned to her, "You are perfect. Despite my criticisms and my desire to refine you, in private you are perfect."
"Just need to work on my public persona?"
"Precisely," her grandmother answered, "And that's why today's lesson is etiquette."
Joe shared a rueful smile with her then nodded and Mia found herself saying;
"I can't wait to spend time with you all day."
And she was even more surprised to find herself meaning it.
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