Wow. I have never taken so long to update a story before. I do apologize. I thank you for your patience, for all the reviews, for the favorites and follows. If you're reading along quietly, I thank you for being here. I don't know if this chapter will have been worth the wait, but at least it's long! I worked in quite a few direct and indirect quotes. In other words, the characters aren't mine, and neither are the lines you've heard in the movies.
I'm shifting the point of view, but all the same characters are here. Please excuse Mia, she's not herself today. She's got a lot to deal with, but she's coming around.
Clarisse was finally somewhat relaxed. Of course, no one would have thought she hadn't been. Even after all these years of official retirement, she still had it: the ability to project a calm and pleasant demeanor regardless of what she was feeling inside.
It was a talent useful for hiding the fact that she wasn't always completely present anymore. As the years of Mia's reign slipped by, Clarisse found herself drawn to comforting thoughts of marriage and family and friends, of the exploits of her great-grandson, of leisurely meetings with the groundskeepers, of no-strings-attached charity work; much more than to the obligatory participation in the seedy games of politics' darker side.
Like this tea, for example.
Not just tea. It looked like something innocent enough. This was tea with the snooty wives of obnoxious parliamentarians. There weren't enough female members yet to arrange tea with husbands. Inviting the husbands to tea - somehow that didn't sound right. Although Charlotte's husband was a wonderful conversationalist... She suppressed a sigh, while suddenly missing Charlotte and simultaneously voicing her agreement that something simply had to be done to bolster the sagging lace industry.
All things considered, the morning had improved. Combining her Queen's sense with her Grandmother's sense, she could see that Mia, who had herself nearly perfected the art of masking inner turmoil, wasn't having to put much effort into pretending to be interested in the superficial prattle of the titled women they were entertaining; and it was that assurance which had finally caused her to relax.
Mia had returned in time for this late morning event hand-in-hand with the Prince Consort. Clarisse had always liked Nicholas, despite her desire to loathe him for Mia's sake and for his weakness in the face of his uncle's vicious scheming. It wasn't long before she observed that Mia also liked him in spite of herself; and when Nicholas finally stood up and revealed the potential strength of his true character, Clarisse's relief had been immense. Joseph had taken more time to come around, which was just fine with Clarisse. Although she was at peace with the obvious connection between the two, she was first and foremost a grandmother. Likable or not, Nicholas's sins against their girl had been grievous ones, and Clarisse didn't think it was such a bad thing to let Joseph put a little fear into the young man.
After taking their time, Mia and Nicholas had become husband and wife the way everyone should: on their own terms. They were best friends. Fond of each (most of the time), but very much in love. Not in the fairy-tale way Mia had longed for prior to their official courtship. That kind of love was attractive but fragile, and designed to withstand only the happiest of endings. What existed between them had burst forth easily enough with all the fireworks and amusing plot twists any romantically inclined girl could dream up. But as the years went by, the roller coaster ride that was the journey of married life had only served to make their love stronger. It was a great credit to them that they navigated the journey in the unforgiving glare of the public spotlight.
Life was far from perfect, but the extended royal family was one whose members loved and argued and cooperated and played and drove each other crazy. It was all so much better than any fairy tale.
Well, except for this boring tea party. Clarisse thought of Joseph and their "lunch" plans, and tamped down another sigh.
Conversation and tea flowed slowly, but charmingly, and Clarisse couldn't help but smile at the memory of fifteen-year old Mia in the garden on that fateful afternoon, obliviously clanking a silver spoon against a fine china teacup. Mia had been a shock to Clarisse, and not just because of her deplorable posture. The jolting revelation had involved so much more than all the work it would clearly take to turn the blatantly American commoner into the Genovian princess she actually was.
The moment she laid eyes on her granddaughter, she saw a teenaged girl version of Philippe living the beautifully, blessedly normal life a part of him had always dreamed of. And Clarisse was there to ruin it all.
She suspected Mia regarded her younger self with a certain amount of fear and contempt, but Clarisse treasured the awkward girl in her school uniform, hiding behind untamed hair and bushman eyebrows. She was too young then, too desperate to be invisible, to even know how to begin to search for her authentic self. But it was there. Clarisse could see Philippe's spirit - her own spirit - alive and well within her, waiting to be acknowledged...
Damn! She was slipping after all. Lady Porcher had asked her a parting question, and Clarisse had no idea what it was. Luckily, Mia had become rather well-versed in reading her grandmother, and realizing she had been far adrift of the drawing room, the young Queen stepped in smoothly to provide the answer. Clarisse smiled her covert thanks, and Mia winked a, "Hey, no problem," as all the women rose to their feet. They were an idyllic tableau of genteel, pastel-clad aristocracy, moving gracefully as their visit wound down to an appropriately bland ending.
Then suddenly, things stopped being boring.
"Mama! Mama! Mamaaaaaa!"
Oh, dear Lord. Clarisse glanced at Mia, whose smile had frozen into place as she braced herself for whatever fate was currently hurtling down the hall and toward the drawing room in the form of a five-year old juggernaut.
Creek. Nets. Minnows. Joseph.
Clarisse closed her eyes in resignation as she heard at least three more pairs of feet scrambling after the young prince. Joseph. Whatever had happened, she knew then that not only had her husband failed to keep the boy out of trouble, they were bringing it all back with them.
He falls in on purpose too often. At least one person was making a squishy sound as he ran, and she heard the tell-tale squeak of rubber soles slipping on wet marble floors.
Mia moved to the doorway just as Gregory rounded into the room.
The collision seemed to happen in slow motion. Clarisse opened her eyes just in time to see the mucky prince crash into his mother's pale mint green skirt with a splat, upending the bucket of creek water and minnows. Gregory lost his balance and Mia reached out to steady him. Silence dropped down on the group as the Queen toppled backward under the squirmy, soggy weight of the Crown Prince, water splashing and tiny fish flying into the air.
A footman, three maids, and Joseph, his trousers soaked up to the knees, all appeared at once, bumping into each other as they crowded into the doorway.
Everything became still, and impossibly, even quieter - before the guests and the staff all began moving at once.
Mia and Gregory's eyes were locked together as they lay on the floor. Clarisse and Joseph looked everywhere but at each other. She was too mad to see him right now. He was too ashamed to let her.
A chorus of Your Majestys jostled around them in different accents and varying degrees of urgency, but her great-grandson's whispering cut through it all and straight to where she stood.
"Mama, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The staff quickly righted the two slimy royals. Lady Porcher and the two Duchesses hovered nearby with good intentions and fluttery hand motions, but were obviously concerned about not touching dirty things or people.
"Oh, Your Majesty, you have -" Lady Porcher gasped and the Duchesses jumped back with delicate shrieks. "I do believe there is a small fish in your hair!"
Mia's eyes widened as one of the maids reached out to pluck a very distressed minnow from the Queen's hair. "No!" the flustered maid declared loudly as she stooped to drop the minnow in the bucket, trying to turn the motion into a curtsy. "No more fish. Her Majesty's hair is lovely, and there are no fish in it."
Lady Porcher quickly covered her mouth, but not before the beginning of a chuckle had escaped. The Duchesses looked at each other, then turned away, each of them hoping to not be affected by the smiles twitching about the other's lips.
Laughing was an entirely understandable reaction to this situation, but as the Queen was still in the picture, it was absolutely the wrong one. The time had come to save them all from themselves.
"Thank you for being here today," Clarisse said in an unperturbed, sing-song voice as she made long but lithe strides toward the entrance of the room, sweeping her arm out in front of her to indicate they should all begin moving forward.
"Yes, thank you," Mia added. How elegant she was even in these circumstances, how level and serene she kept her voice, how gracious and warm her sentiments were. Clarisse detected a hint of awe in their guests who were, after all, professionals in the art of not laughing when one wanted to.
They curtseyed and fawned - not too much, just enough - and offered their thanks for such a lovely time. They exclaimed delightedly over the precious precociousness of little boys. Most importantly, they left, with a trail of flattery in their wake that was slicker than the mud already covering the floor.
The footman departed to escort the ladies.
The maids hastened off to gather cleaning supplies.
It was just the Queen, the Queen Dowager, and two of the boys they loved most in the world. Although, not so much at the moment.
The silence threatened to return. Still using her regal inside voice, Clarisse decided the best thing to do was to move themselves on as well. "Gentlemen? Shall we?"
Mia echoed both the tone and the message of her grandmother. "Yes. Let's."
She took her unusually quiet child by the hand and led the way. Joseph moved aside, looking after them as though he wanted to say far too much to be able to get any of it out coherently.
Clarisse glided to the door after them. As she approached her husband, she caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with earth, water, sunshine, and regret. Except for the regret part, she might have swooned. She paused when she was even with him, and they looked at each other fully for the first time since his less than auspicious appearance.
He cleared his throat.
She lifted her eyebrow.
"About our lunch date," he murmured.
She smiled brightly. "What do you think?"
"No?"
"What was that you said earlier? Something about always being right...?"
He blinked slowly. "Ah. Now you agree with me."
"Yes, well, perhaps just this once."
"I'll try not to get used to it."
"See that you don't."
She chuckled ominously before continuing down the hall.
In the privacy of the royal apartment, it was still not time to laugh, and Nicholas's expression as they all filed in clearly showed he had immediately figured that out.
The Prince Consort searched the faces of his family members, finally deciding it was safest to address his grandmother-in-law.
"Do I want to know?"
"I don't think so."
"Hm."
Mia let go of Gregory's hand. The gesture had consoled him after the fiasco in the drawing room, but now he braced himself for his mother's wrath. He waited with bated breath for a verbal lashing that did not come. All he received was an anticlimactic:
"We should get you to a bathtub, don't you think?"
As if on cue, Olivia and Priscilla appeared at the door. Their colleagues had obviously prepared them, and they didn't so much as bat an eye at the creek-coated mother and son. "Your Majesty," they said in unison as they curtseyed.
"We thought perhaps we could be of assistance with His Highness," Olivia added.
"Thank you," Mia said, coolly but kindly. Then she spoke to her son. "We will talk," she warned him.
"Okay." He seemed unsure as to whether he should be afraid now or later. Either way, he decided to hedge his bets. He threw his arms around Mia's waist. "Okay," he said again. "I love you, Mama."
She sighed. "I know. I love you, too."
"So much. I love you so much. Later, can I go outside and play nicely where it's just grass? Maybe grass and flowers so I can pick some flowers for you. Flowers are so pretty, and you're really pretty. This dress is still pretty, even with the mud, but I'm finking we can clean it up and it will look as good as new."
Nicholas was in great danger of losing it as he watched his wife's nervous talking habit spill out of their child's mouth. "Gregory. Priscilla and Olivia are waiting," he said, more for his own benefit than Gregory's.
"Okay." Just to cover all his bases, he ran to his father with the intention of hugging him squishily. Nicholas held up his hands in alarm, and Gregory stopped short. "Oh. Right."
Moved by Gregory's crestfallen look, Nicholas tousled his hair affectionately. The boy brightened a little before turning to skip out of the room with Clarisse's maids. He was still talking to them long after he disappeared from view. "Bye! I love you, Papa! I love all of you! You're all my favorites, but I love you most of all, Mama! I promise I'll wash everyfing! Even my hair! I don't like to wash my hair, but I'll wash it! I'll be all squeaky clean and shiny like new! You'll see! I can't wait to pick some flowers just for you! I saw some really pretty ones near the creek..."
Nicholas inspected the hand he had used to touch Gregory's head and wrinkled his nose in mild disgust. He pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping off goo. Clarisse watched him pursue his task with meticulous dedication as he waited for someone else to start talking.
She was not surprised the person was Mia. She was a little surprised at being the first person spoken to.
"Don't say a word about spears in suckling pigs or drunk rich men on fire."
"I wasn't going to."
Joseph couldn't stand it anymore and spoke up, his voice full of a myriad emotions. "Princess, I cannot begin to tell you how -"
She cut him off mercilessly. "And don't you call me 'Princess.' I am not a princess, alright? I am the Queen. My grandmother might be your queen, but I am The Queen. Can you please scrape together enough respect for me to try and remember that every once in a while?"
It was too much. Princess had been Joseph's pet name for Mia almost since the beginning. For a long while, the only times Mia barely winced when she heard the word was when it came from Joseph, who infused it with affection and faith as well as deference. Joseph was one of the steadiest, strongest men Clarisse knew, but Mia had found his soft spot and stabbed it with deadly accuracy.
He struggled to regain his composure, and when he knew he could trust his voice again, he responded quietly. "Of course. As you wish." He ducked his head in a tiny bow and walked past her. Mia started to turn, her fingers splayed as though she would reach for him.
His thoughts coursed through the air around him like tangible things Clarisse could absorb through her senses and feel inside her as her own, and her heart beat with a mosaic of broken pieces.
You were never just my Queen. You were the someone I'd never known was missing from my life. The daughter I never had, the granddaughter who had never been possible...
It was Nicholas who did what Mia couldn't. "Joe," he said, grabbing his elbow to stop him. "Would you mind checking on Gregory?" He jerked his head in the direction the Prince had gone, and his voice lightened to a tease, intending to console Joseph in a way that renewed Clarisse's admiration of him. "After all, you made that mess, you should probably help clean it up."
Joseph's jaw tightened, but he had needed that - not to just run away, but to run after someone. He nodded gratefully at Nicholas. He glanced at Clarisse, asking her questions without saying a word. She answered the same way, raising her hand to cup his cheek. He released a deep breath, clasped her hand in his, and pressed her fingers to his lips.
Then he was off to find the apple of his eye.
"Now. Which one of us should clean up that mess?" Nicholas asked Clarisse.
That mess. Mia.
Still feeling Joseph's pain as her own, she couldn't help her snippy reply.
"You've already dealt with that mess once today. I suppose it's my turn."
"Fair enough. I'll go help scrub up the Little Creature from the Black Lagoon." He walked over to his wife and stood directly in front of her so she had no choice but to look at him. He spoke when he had her reluctant but full attention.
"I love you."
She responded with an expression that was part death glare, part broken-hearted longing.
"I said I love you."
"I love you," she mumbled, her speech a little shaky.
He leaned in to give her a kiss, then stopped and searched her face for a clean place to put it. Pretending he hadn't found one, he stepped back and stuck out his hand. She regarded it with feelings that obviously could not be put into any words fit for a lady to say.
He darted past her, feigning fear. "Good luck," he called to Clarisse over his shoulder.
He was gone. Clarisse moved to the door and shut it softly. She took a deep breath before turning to her granddaughter.
Mia was already facing her, tears making muddy streaks through the dirt on her cheeks. "I didn't mean to say that."
"I know."
They moved toward each other. Clarisse automatically put out her arms, then winced as Mia fell into them without a thought.
"I didn't mean it!" she said again, burrowing her head into Clarisse's neck.
"Of course, you didn't." Clarisse patted her back gingerly and hoped all the minnows had been removed from her hair.
"Why did I say that?"
"Because you were humiliated. And there is no denying he was a big part of that."
"Tell me we'll laugh about this someday."
"I would, but it would involve telling stories about spears in suckling pigs and sending dessert flying through the air at a state dinner and putting out a fire on a nobleman with an ice bucket."
Mia straightened up. "I can't do this anymore. I can't be Queen and Mia."
"Yes, you can. You've been doing it for years now."
"But it's not working anymore. I can try really hard to be a perfect queen or a perfect wife-mom-granddaughter. I just can't be both."
"I hate to tell you this, but you can't be any of them."
Mia could not have looked more stunned if Clarisse had slapped her. "You don't think..? You think I can't -"
"I think you can't be perfect. No one is perfect. Not queens or prince consorts. Not wives or mothers or five-year olds." She bit her lip, then said as gently as possible, "Not old men who thought they were going to be bachelors their entire lives before falling in love with a married woman and her family."
Mia's tears had thankfully receded for the second time that day, but she still squeezed her eyes shut for a second against the hurt.
"Mia, you expect too much from yourself."
"I just want to be like you."
"Then you're also expecting too much from me."
"I'm not. I watched you. I'm still watching you! You do this so flawlessly."
"I don't, and you know it."
"You look like you do."
"Pretenses are, unfortunately, a great part of this job. Might I venture a theory?"
Clarisse sat on the sofa, then hesitated only a moment before patting the space next to her. Mia started to sit before remembering her muddy state. "Thanks, I think I'll stand."
"You idolize him."
She nodded. "He's always been my hero." Her lips quirked into a little smile. "Remember that time he found me with my baby stuck on The Hill in the rain and got me back to the consulate in time to save Genovia?"
Clarisse's voice delivered the response drily, but her eyes sparkled. "Yes. Funny how that stays in my memory."
"He always came for me. He always believed in me. He was always just as perfect as you." She shoved one hand into her damp hair. "I didn't deserve it."
"You did. But perhaps you're being unfair to him, and expecting too much from him as well. Our heroes don't cease to be worthy of our admiration simply because we discover they're human."
Mia's hand dropped from her head, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She stood lost in thought for a few long moments. "I notice Gregory brings out the...human in him."
Clarisse laughed. "They are two peas in a pod."
"It's probably a good thing he didn't get here until after Dad and Uncle Pierre were older."
"Probably, although I assure you, they still managed their fair share of mischief."
"So Gregory comes by it honestly?"
"Let's just say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"Even royal apples?"
"Even royal ones."
"Because I don't know how to raise a King."
"Then raise your son, Mia. A good man will be a good king. And after all, he has some extraordinary examples to look up to."
Mia gazed directly into Clarisse's eyes. "Yes. Yes, he has." She waited for her meaning to sink in, and knew it had been realized when Clarisse cleared her throat modestly. She spoke again before her grandmother had a chance to fidget and deflect the compliment and the discomfiting emotional fluster she assumed would likely accompany it. "Dad was a good man."
"He was," Clarisse said reverently. Then, with no less love but some frustration: "And a handful, let me tell you."
Mia's tone shifted as they went back to Joseph. "He loved Dad, didn't he?"
"He did. And still does. And Pierre, too. You see, Joseph was...never just our Head of Security."
"What about my grandfather? The biological one, I mean."
She smiled. "He had great respect for him, and Rupert liked him very much."
"I'll bet that made things complicated." Mia's hand flew to her mouth. "I mean -"
Clarisse answered bluntly. "In a way, with regard to the feelings Joseph and I had for each other, it did. But it made our choices simpler. Joseph would never have done anything to hurt Rupert, neither the man nor the monarch."
"Nor the husband?" Mia asked cautiously. They had spoken much about Rupert, and lots about Joseph; but they rarely spoke of them together.
"No. He wouldn't have hurt Rupert the Husband either. For all his being human, he's an awfully good man."
"No one else like him," Mia whispered.
"Not one I've ever seen. And I've met a lot of people."
Mia released her arms in order to twirl a lock of hair as she shifted from one foot to the other, and Clarisse was happy to see the fifteen-year old Mia once more.
"Probably he's so great he'll even let me talk to him again?"
"Yes, but he'll probably be clean by then, so if your talk will involve hugs, which you Americans are so fond of doling out, I suggest you think about a shower and some new clothes."
"Oh. Yeah, that might be a good idea." Her eyes flitted to the closed doors, and she bit her lip. Clarisse was pretty sure she wanted to run. Whether it was to Joseph or from him, she couldn't say.
"I promise, you have time for a shower." Clarisse stood up. "Let yourself and Joseph have a little space, hmm?"
Mia sighed. "Okay." Then she stopped fidgeting and took a deep breath. Even splattered in mud and with her hair starting to frizz adorably, she began the successful transition back to grown-up Queen Amelia. Clarisse felt a pang as she watched the little girl disappear, but pride as she saw the return of the woman she had become. "First things first, right?"
"Right." She started to leave, then turned back with her arms wide. "Oh, what the hell. It's not like I couldn't do with a change of clothes myself at this point."
Mia laughed - a wonderful, hearty, full Mia laugh - and held her grandmother tightly. "Thank you."
"For the hug or for being practically perfect in every way?"
"Both. For all of it, Grandma. For everything."
"I love you, my darling girl."
"I love you, too."
"Your hair smells like fish."
"Ugh, I know. I can smell it, too."
"And dirt."
"Yeah."
"And that sort of greenish slimy stuff that grows on the rocks in creek beds -"
"Okay, okay! I get it. I need a shower."
"Shall I call for Brigitte and Brigitta?"
"No, thanks. Not yet. I need a little space. You know, those girls are great, but -"
"Yes, I know. They always have been...enthusiastic."
Mia smiled. "They have. I'm pretty lucky to have so many people who care about me."
"You are," Clarisse agreed, cupping Mia's sticky cheek with her hand. "Now go on, take some time to care for yourself."
Mia knew they were talking about much more than a need for soap. "I'll try."
"Please, do." She stepped back a couple paces. "See you at dinner?"
"The one with Lord and Lady Porcher? Wouldn't miss it for the world," Mia said, rolling her eyes. She headed off toward her bedroom. "Oh, hey. Grandma? Be careful tonight, will you?"
Clarisse had been concentrating on getting back to the door without tramping on the footprints and making an even bigger mess of the floor. She came to a full stop before turning to respond. "What do you mean?"
"The culinary people are roasting a suckling pig for the occasion."
"Ha, very funny."
"It was, wasn't it?"
"Especially since we're actually having fish," Clarisse replied, knowing full well beef was on the menu.
Mia pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not as funny."
"Don't worry. Someday it will be."
"Promise?"
"We all still chuckle when they serve chicken, don't we?"
"Again with the chicken! And no, I don't. I feel a little uncomfortable. Like maybe I've met the poor thing somewhere before."
"Possibly in the throne room?"
"Alright, Grandma. You're funny. But don't quit your day job."
"I have quit my day job. I'm looking for something else to do."
"You have plenty to keep you busy right here."
She took in the sight of her grubby granddaughter one more time. "I think you're right. And thank heavens for that. It does feel nice to be useful."
"I have every intention of keeping you that way."
Clarisse watched Mia disappear into the other room, and was surprised when she felt her eyes tear up. Yes, she had lots to do. Her country still needed her. But she had never felt quite so filled with purpose as she did in that moment. She offered up a silent thanks that she never again would have to quit being a grandmother.