I'm here! You still want me to? I know it took me forever but believe me when I say that january...well...sucked for me. Too many things happened and took my time - yet now I'm here and ready to update! Thank you for all your sweet comments so far and I can only hope you're still with me.

*

One week later

Joseph went through the pages of the protocol once more, his brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, read what he couldn't believe once again and then looked up. "You can't be serious! Sam isn't ready to carry this kind of responsibility!" he said to his colleague.

"I'm afraid so, sir. Her Majesty was very clear when I spoke to her." Shades' voice was soft, but his tone was professional, as always. If he knew what had happened two weeks ago in France, he did not show it to his superior.

"When was this discussed?" Joseph asked, barely able to keep his voice down.

"She asked me to discuss the protocol with her this afternoon. Sir, if I may…Sam may be young, but he is well trained and…"

He had made his decision already and didn't wait for his colleague to finish his sentence. "Bullshit," he said, forgetting all about maintaining his decorum. He slammed the door shut behind him as he left the Security Center in outrage. "He's not going to this Gala and that's final."

As he paced through the grand hallways of the palace, Joseph formed his hands into fists. This was leading to disaster, he felt it. These past two weeks had been a roller coaster ride for him, and this seemed to be the final indignity, a nauseating one at that. Had it really come to this? Was he not even allowed to do his job anymore?

Those bloody magazines. Those damned paparazzi. There had been no way for him to hide the articles from her, but if he could have gotten away with it, he would have done it. After their talk about the press, Clarisse seemed to have shut herself off from him completely. There was no way for him to get through to her, no matter what he did. He had been allowed to come closer to her than she had allowed anyone near her in years, but now….all that had changed.

He turned a corner, almost bumping into two of his colleagues, but he didn't take the time to greet them. Anger surged through his body. Not once since their final talk had she allowed him to speak to her privately. And still there was so much left to say. He had tried, oh how he had tried to talk some reason into her. But her decision had been made, much to his dismay.

In a way he wasn't surprised by her reaction to the press attacks; he had expected her to retreat from him. She had been deeply embarrassed by the press reports, as well as extremely hurt and angry. She had put up a wall between them immediately, and for now, it appeared that there was no chance of him attempting to tear it down again. The realization that his dreams, his hopes, were so close to becoming a wonderful reality had spun his world around until he was dizzy. But her decision to close the door for him, for the both of them was devastating. The heartbreaking knowledge that she was honestly trying to ignore what was so alive between them was unbearable. Being cut off from her had ripped his heart in two; in fact this whole ordeal hurt him more than he could possible dare to admit to himself. He had stayed away from her, what other choice did he have? If he tried with all his strength, he might be able to tuck away their personal connection, the love he still felt for her, whenever they spoke in public. The staff would never know about what once had been such a wonderful possibility between them. He had realized straight away that one of Clarisse's direct fears was about those closest to her – those in her personal circle. She could not bear the thought that, because of her perceived indiscretions, they might somehow think less of their Queen. He would protect her, it would be their secret until time allowed memories to fade.

But as days went by, he came to realize that the consequences went much further than he had anticipated. Now they even reached the professional border, which frustrated and angered him more than he could express. She was jeopardizing her own safety now, all because of the press and their toxic pictures and words, and that he simply could not allow.

As he reached the door to her office, he knocked on it before he even stood still. After a few seconds, it swung open and he looked directly into Charlotte's eyes – Clarisse's loyal assistant. "Hello Joe," she smiled, and for a second he saw a flash of compassion in her eyes. Somehow he had the impression that this lady knew more than she let anyone believe.

"Is she in?" he asked in a short tone. In the past, he never had to make an appointment for a private meeting with the Queen. If he wanted to speak to her alone, all he had to do was look at her for a moment longer than needed and usually, a meeting would occur within a matter of hours.

Suddenly, Clarisse appeared behind Charlotte. For a second, her gaze reflected both surprise and delight at seeing him. Yet immediately, even before he had time to smile at her, she composed herself and the look faded as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn't even sure if he had seen it correctly. "Come in, Joseph." Her regal tone was back, he heard it immediately in her voice.

As he entered her office, he was once again struck by the difference with his own office, which was something of a cross between a military base, a library and a gym. Clarisse's office was almost cozy with the antique panels on the walls, the cream colored rug on the pale looking floor, the heavy chandelier above their heads and the everlasting fresh bouquet of flowers right on top of her neatly organized desk.

Clarisse herself stood in front of her bookcase now, which was filled with more than just books. He saw framed pictures and again more flowers, yet nothing seemed to be out of place.

"What is it, Joseph?" she asked, her tone not revealing any emotion whatsoever. "Charlotte, do hand me that organizer, would you?"

It was getting harder for him to control his temper, as frustration roared through his body. And yet utter frustration wasn't the emotion that overruled his reason at that moment. His love for her, his want and need for her, was still stronger than anything he felt. He had tried to push it all way in the past weeks, but one look at her beautiful face was enough to feel it boiling deep inside of him once again.

"I'd like to discuss tomorrow's protocol, Your Majesty," he stated, emphasizing the last words. He kept looking directly at her, inwardly pleading with her to do this in private. He needed to speak with her honestly; he needed her to understand what was at stake, the unnecessary risk she was taking simply because of the circumstances between them. If she would only grant him this, it would make life easier for the both of them.

"I believe Shades knows all the details already?" she said as she looked at him for the first time now, peeking over the rim of her reading glasses.

He pressed his lips in annoyance. "With all due respect, ma'am, Shades is not in charge," he said. He didn't say more but held on to her gaze, trying to find at least a glimpse of what she was hiding inside. All he found was something he had seen so many times on her before, a quality that Clarisse possessed more than anyone he knew. Determination.

"I don't think we should change plans at the last moment, do you?" she asked, glancing down at the organizer that Charlotte handed her. She opened it and went through the pages quickly. "Ah, found it."

"In fact, I absolutely do." His frustration had almost reached its limit, and he stated this in such a stern tone that both women looked up from their books. Quickly, Charlotte's gaze went from her colleague to her employer, feeling the tension that had arisen so suddenly. "Your Majesty, do you want me to…"

"Yes," Joseph stated.

"No, it's all right Charlotte. Carry on please." Clarisse's tone was light, almost casual but then she looked straight into his eyes, warning him, almost begging him, silently. Her blonde assistant stayed put, but looked down as she wrote something on her notepad.

He felt her rejection deep down in his stomach, but he carried on. "Your Majesty, you can't attend this gala with just one bodyguard. Let alone a bodyguard who isn't qualified to handle this kind of responsibility." He had to be careful, he knew her well enough to know that the last thing he should be doing right now, was show his impatience with her.

For a moment she stared at him, a pensive gaze on her face. "Joseph, I shall be among friends. Surely you don't think I'll be in any direct danger during this event?"

"Doesn't matter," he said. "Sam isn't qualified yet. Ma'am, I strongly suggest…"

"All right," she said, interrupting him. "You are probably right."

For a brief moment, his body seemed to let go of some of the tension. He hesitated as she walked away from him and sat down behind her desk. He took a dare and smiled briefly at her, desperately trying to soften things between them. "So?" he asked.

She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, avoiding his stare and his smile doing so. "So, Shades will accompany me."

For a moment he was speechless but he couldn't protest, she had him right where she wanted him. With his back against the wall. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll see to it," he managed to utter through gritted teeth before he turned around and left her office. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him.

For one awful, long moment, neither women spoke. Clarisse lowered her hand and picked up her pen again, writing down something totally useless just so she didn't have to meet her assistant's gaze. This was what she had been hoping to avoid; a useless confrontation and more frustration for the both of them. It had already cost her so many nights of tossing and turning, not knowing how to control this situation. She had no doubt whatsoever that attending this gala, with Joseph by her side, would feed the press. No matter what she would do, ignore him, act professionally towards him, be nice to him…everything would be a reason for them to print more slanderous speculation about them. She could not allow that to happen again. Her carelessness…her intense feelings about this man had fueled this media frenzy. She had to put an end to it. Although it tore her apart, it felt like the only decision she could make. What choice did she have but to ignore her heart – as she had done so many times before?

"Your Majesty, I…"

Charlotte's voice pulled her out of her pondering and she looked up, forcing a professional smile upon her lips. "Mmm?"

For a second Charlotte's eyes were soft and full of understanding. But before she could say anything concerning the matter, Clarisse prevented her from doing so. "You know what Charlotte? I would like some tea."

----------

Her bed was cold, utterly cold in fact, and she rubbed her bare feet over her satin sheet in an attempt to warm them up. But to no avail. Her entire body was cold from head to toe, even the warm bath she had taken before hadn't warmed more than just her skin. This cold seemed to come from within and if she were honest, she knew exactly where it came from.

The Grand Gala of that evening was in fact, the highlight of the year for the High Society. She had seen countless women wearing floor length dresses, designed especially for them. Their jewels had sparkled in the evening light, complimenting their class and elegance. The faceless men who accompanied them across the dance floor all wore tuxedoes, one more betting fitting than the next. There had been enough champagne to fill a pool and she had tasted the most exquisite hors d'oeuvres that had melted on her tongue. She had laughed, danced endlessly, talked and interacted with everyone in attendance until the early hours of the morning and despite the pretty picture she knew she had painted…she hadn't enjoyed herself in the least. Although she hadn't been alone for even a moment throughout the entire evening, despite the gaiety of the event and her feigned enjoyment of the proceedings, never had she felt more lonely, more miserable or more vulnerable in her life. And she knew all too well that it was that overwhelming feeling of loneliness that now gave her that cold sensation between the usually warm sheets.

She turned to her side, pulling her knees up in a useless attempt to warm herself. As she had expected, the press had shown up like a vicious threatening army. They had been lined up in front of the ballroom, gathering proof of any scandal they could find. Or, even more so, any scandal they could come up with. Anger had filled her body as she was posing in front of them, but all she could do was smile. She smiled for the photographers and, as a result, the readers of those dreadful papers: the citizens of Genovia, the people she was trying to serve. She was smiling when the pictures were taken but she was swearing on the inside, all the while missing the warm presence of the man who was her best friend behind her. All because of them. But she had pulled through, years of training coming to her rescue. She would never let them know the price they had made her pay.

She hid her eyes behind her cold hands. Oh, Joseph. His name echoed in her head like a mantra. Joseph, dear Joseph… Granted, it had only been two weeks but she had hoped, prayed, that with time, it would become easier. Her feelings towards him hadn't melted away though; in fact his absence had only increased her want and need for him.

Seeing him quite unexpectedly in her office yesterday had only served to further spark her longing for him. She hadn't even been able to look straight at him, fearing she would break if she'd met those familiar eyes, which were surely full of hurt because of her actions. And she couldn't break, not in front of Charlotte or anyone else on her staff. After he had left her office, she hadn't seen him anymore. And with reason, she had realized, because her choice to bring Shades to this grand Gala had probably caused him even more hurt than it had caused herself. And now she had to worry about Shades as well; it must have surprised him too, he must have drawn his conclusions as well. The mess, the chaos, was complete.

But oh, did Joseph have any idea how much she was hurting, too? Did he even realize how much she dreaded her position at times? Did he know that all through the night at the Gala, subconsciously her eyes had searched for him, only to realize each time that she herself had pushed him away? Did he know how much she longed to be with him and how much it hurt to know that she had to stay away from him?

She shivered. It wasn't just her passionate feelings for him; it wasn't just about the fire he had stoked underneath her desire. She had convinced herself that she must live without that electrifying spark in her life; she had done it before and must do it again. What hurt her just as much, it had hit her in the face the entire evening, was missing his friendship; his advice, his warmth and his guidance. Every time she had searched for him, his absence had tied her stomach into a knot. Tighter and more nauseating each time she couldn't find him, each time she wasn't able to feel his comforting gaze resting on her. Missing that almost felt like missing an arm or leg; somehow she wasn't complete without it. Somehow she had come to realize how much she had depended on Joseph at social gatherings like the previous evening. How much she was used to having his company, his warmth, so close. How easy it had been to enter a room with him following her, he made everything easier by just being there, always within arm's reach. His presence entailed so much more than just protecting and serving the Queen. He made her feel secure on a personal level; she could trust him to be there for her, because he wanted to be. And now, that dreadful press had stolen him from her. They had stolen not only her best friend…but also the promise, the hope for so much more.

She shivered once more, closing her eyes in desperation. She knew that at least for the time being, at least until the press had loosened their leash on her, she would have to live without his friendship also, and that thought was devastating. Would she ever be able to win his friendship, that sense of security, back? She highly doubted it. Right now, in that cold solitude of her bed, she doubted everything.

"Your Majesty?"

The young woman's soft voice on the other end of her bedroom door tore on her consciousness and she moaned softly. Was it morning already?

"I apologize for waking you, but you asked me to wake you at seven. Good morning."

"Good morning," she croaked, clearing her voice. "Thank you Olivia, come in."

She sat up straight and stretched her sore back; she couldn't say that this had been a soothing night for her. In fact, had she slept at all? She didn't even know.

"Your breakfast and tea is on your coffee table." Olivia moved through her bedroom like any other morning, opening the heavy dark drapes in front of the windows. The morning sun peeked inside and Clarisse shut her eyes for it; usually she would welcome it but now the bright light almost annoyed her.

"Thank you, Olivia," she said, forcing a graceful smile on her face although a small headache was undeniably forming.

"Your Majesty…" Somehow her young maid hesitated to speak further and Clarisse caught the uncomfortable look that shone in her eyes.

"Is everything all right dear?" she asked.

After a moment of silence, an almost apologetic smile appeared on Olivia's face and she nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Enjoy your breakfast."

Her young maid left the room and Clarisse sighed deeply as she got up and started her morning routine. But when she entered her suite and made her way to her breakfast, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. Right next to the tray with her breakfast was the morning paper and the headlines seemed to scream at her from afar, making her stomach turn inside her.

"Majestic, Moneyed and Miserable."

Swallowing hard, she studied the picture underneath the headlines. She had posed for the press but she did not remember this moment. Once again they had caught her off guard for one second and twisted it serve their own purposes. She read the captions again, her mouth dry. "Majestic, Moneyed and Miserable."

She tried to read the attached article but she stopped; her headache getting stronger with each word she read. Nausea shot through her as a result; causing her to feel like the toxic words in the paper. Miserable.

Denial shot through her as she tossed the paper aside and her legs shook underneath her. This couldn't be real. This simply wasn't happening.

What on earth had happened to the world, that a handful of strangers thought they were able to describe her inner emotions, based on one simple picture? Had she become this transparent? Or was this affecting her so because they said what she was afraid to admit to herself? Were they right? Was there no escape from this? Was she so miserable without him that she couldn't function like her normal self anymore? Wasn't she able to keep up the façade any longer?

Trembling still, she picked up the paper again and straightened the page so she could try and read again. Blinking fiercely, and with a pounding heart, she skimmed through the article.

"Queen Clarisse attended the Gala unaccompanied. Where was her smile? Back home with Mr. Right?"

It was then that she noticed the second paper attached to the first, both so brand new that they practically stuck together. She glanced at the two pictures that were so conveniently placed next to each other. One showing her smile, her face radiant and happy. The other emphasizing her sadness and hurt. "A Tale of Two Queens," it said. Swallowing hard, she read on.

"The Crown Jewels sadly can't buy her love. Queen Clarisse bathes in wealth, but all the money in the world can't buy her happiness. Will we see her delighted smile again in the near future? Is our Queen meant to be single forever more? Either way, being alone is clearly taking its toll on the ever so radiant Queen Clarisse."

She closed her eyes and lowered the paper. Oh sweet Lord. They were right indeed.

---------

Peace of mind. He needed, he yearned for even a little peace of mind. Having searched everywhere for some comfort, even his excessive work out hadn't helped, he finally ended up in the large garden. It was Clarisse's garden, where the deep, sweet smell of roses greeted him, perfuming the air.

A breeze blew off the ocean and found him, it was salty and damp and he inhaled it deeply. It did not refresh his soul as he had hoped. There were no lights to brighten the paths this evening. No lights to guide him, to help him through the darkness that seemed to fall earlier each day.

As he walked deeper into the Palace Garden, he could feel the crunch of sand under his feet. In the background, coming from afar, he could hear the low and steady thunder of waves hitting the beach. But he didn't savor the sound like he usually did.

He sat down on a stone bench, pressed his fingers against his eyes and wished more than anything else for the simple thing that everybody seemed to possess but him. Normality.

He needed sleep to be normal, he realized. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in ages. And he needed regular meals, yet his appetite had sunk down to below zero. To his utter frustration, he didn't seem able to pull through this alone. He knew he needed someone to confide in and he certainly had friends, but no one close enough to call to console him. And even if he had, he would never betray Clarisse's trust to spill his guts to a third party.

Rubbing his face, he remembered how he felt whenever he saw her. The leap his heart made when she entered a room, the smile that he felt on his mouth, even though his face needed to be straight. How warm his stomach became whenever she was near. How much he loved her. Slowly, he opened his eyes, once again realizing his current location wasn't going to help him think of other things. Maybe he should go back to his suite and watch TV until the wee hours of the morning. Perhaps he could try to focus on other people's problems, fictional or not.

The wind changed directions and it was then that he heard her voice. For a moment he doubted his senses. Had it gone this far that he even heard her when she wasn't around? He turned sharply and stared down the path, his ears focusing. There was no mistake. Somewhere out there was Clarisse. And she sounded agitated.

"…Darling,...no, … fine."

He took a few steps closer in the direction of her voice; acting on impulse. Finding her voice. Suddenly he knew where she had to be and found his way; she was where she always went to find some peace and quiet. The horses would never hold anything against her, she always said. How fitting that was in light of recent events, he realized. As he stared through the dark leaves of an oak tree that covered the small path that lead to the stables, he saw her leaning against the wooden wall. A long, dark black coat covered her slim body and she was talking through a cell phone. She frowned while she listened to the voice at the other end, her hand toying with the stiff fabric of her coat. Then, she spoke.

"One more time, I'm fine, Pierre, honestly. You know better than to believe anything you read in the papers. Who knows where they get their wretched ideas?" He watched as she put her hand to her face and rubbed her eyes." By next week, they'll probably be on to something else."

Her laugh, meant to convince her son that all was well, was soft -- but it sounded as loud as a gunshot to his ears. His eyes drifted shut. The true irony of her words was not lost on him, and it was unsettling to the core. Here she was, telling her son what he, Joseph, had been trying to make her understand from the beginning. Ever since the information printed in the papers had forced them apart. Ever since she had allowed it to force them apart. The articles in the papers meant nothing…they weren't to be believed. And yet…she hadn't listened to him. And he knew she was lying to Pierre now.

She had seemingly jumped at the chance to break it off. It had been his biggest fear when she had shown up in his bedroom in France; that she would need and find an excuse to walk away. She wouldn't regret being with him, she had said. Her son had to ignore the press, she had said. She didn't know where they got their ideas, she had said. Lies, all lies. Anger boiled up inside of him, tightening his throat. How tempting it was to confront her, to let his anger scream away the pain in his heart, to tell her how wrong all of this was… but oh, he couldn't. To intrude on her privacy, to possibly hurt her even more was against his nature…and so he walked away.

"No darling! God no, don't be silly!"

He heard her voice getting louder, more insistent, and instinctively, he turned his head slightly. Something was wrong.

"Because I don't want you to Pierre. I can handle this."

She was dismissing her son's offer to help her, he recognized her tone immediately. Somehow he could imagine how frustrated Pierre must feel at times. How frustrated the people closest to her often had felt. He was living it now.

"Thank you darling, I will. I love you too, bye bye."

He froze in his tracks; now would be the time to speak to her alone. If he wanted to, he had to act now. He had to have his say in the matter, one way or the other. He had to act now.

Slowly, he turned and made his way over to the stables, seeing how she leaned with her back against the old wood. She had not seen him yet he realized, and he was about to step into the light when he heard her. A high sound came from her throat, she hid her face behind her hands, and when he realized what was happening, it tore his heart in two.

Clarisse was crying.

He'd never seen her cry before. Not like this. That sudden realization left him staring at her with a strange sense of compassion and shock. Her shoulders jolted slightly at first, but then she let go completely, sobbing louder. Where her laugh had sounded like a gunshot before, her cry almost killed him.

She was standing there, lowering her hands, and unknowingly revealing that were red and narrowed. Telling him in the most natural way, that she was hurting, too. Even more than he could realize. She hadn't made this decision solemnly for herself; he should have known that. She believed she was protecting them both, protecting her family. That realization made him want to kneel beside her and embrace her, to calm her down and offer her reassurance. And yet he stayed put, waiting. But he looked away, not looking at her again until the sobbing had come to a halt.

Silence was all there was left, a loaded, maddening, hurtful silence. Now he did look up. Squaring her shoulders and heaving a deep sigh, he gradually saw the Queen in her returning. He knew her well enough to not confront her right there and then. With tears still streaking her cheeks, she would surely retreat to a level where he'd never be able to reach her. No, he would have to meet her on her terms, when she was ready to face him.

Suddenly, he realized that there was only one way to handle this.

*

TBC....

love, Janet.