Chapter Four.

This day was going to be difficult. Another Princess Lesson was today, and there were another 12 hours before 7pm, when she would be free for the night, and free to be with Joseph. Clarisse wasn't ready to face the hours that Joseph would spend at Mia's school, away from her. Since the declaration of affection in the garden, her mind had gone fuzzy. It had been a few days since they had kissed, and Clarisse's lips ached to feel Joseph's lips pressed against them. She thought about his hands, and the way they moved over her body as they had danced days before. She thought about the scent of him, and the crispness of his leather jacket rubbing on her bare wrists in the garden. She thought about the rumble in his voice when called her by her first name. Even now, in bed at 7am, his voice haunted her. She longed to have him whisper in her ear.

But, there were plenty of things to get done today. She rose from her bed and pulled the satin cord hanging from the ceiling. Charlotte had insisted on having it installed, to make sure that the queen was attended to at all times. Some mornings, Clarisse took advantage of the alone time and pretended to sleep past 7. In reality, she was sitting up in bed, reading a book of poetry that was torn and frayed at the edges. She had been reading this book for over 18 years. The words were branded into her memory, but that didn't stop her from turning each page with her brow furrowed in concentration, searching for a deep interpretation that she may have missed. It was no longer the words inside that told the story – it was the particular pattern of tea stains and tear marks. Some pages were streaked heavily with one or the other. These were the pages that had frayed the deepest. These were the pages that had found their way into her soul.

This morning, she took the book out of the drawer in the nightstand, and made a mental note that she needed new furniture in her Genovian bedroom – preferably something with a drawer in which to keep the book. Hiding it under her pillow was becoming more and more difficult with age. Luckily, her husband never asked where the book came from, or why she kept reading it over and over. She wasn't sure she could answer that question anyway. She wondered if she should get some copies made of a few of the poems. Mia would be able to read them aloud for elocution lessons. Then again, copies of these words would be copies of parts of her soul, and she wasn't sure she wanted to share. Clarisse thumbed through the pages carefully, and the book naturally opened to one particular poem.

Y porque amor combate
no sólo en su quemante agricultura,
sino en la boca de hombres y mujeres,
terminaré saliéndole al camino
a los que entre mi pecho y tu fragancia
quieran interponer su planta oscura.

Just as Clarisse was getting lost again in the words that played in her mind, the door to her suite opened. Charlotte hurried in, muttering something about the busy day ahead. Clarisse was beginning to like this girl. Charlotte was new, but she was sharp. She was always on top of the schedule and able to change anything at a moment's notice. Clarisse silently cursed herself now. She hadn't heard a thing Charlotte had said.

"I don't suppose it is possible to cancel everything for today?" Clarisse sighed, putting the book back in the drawer. She watched Charlotte's face contort and the pen in her hand begin to move. Clarisse raised a hand, "I'm kidding, Charlotte. My apologies. Could you go over the first half of the day again?"

Charlotte forced a smile and began to read off the schedule again. Breakfast, paperwork for the Prime Minister, meeting with the Prime Minister, Lunch…Clarisse wondered if she could talk fast enough to bring lunch up an hour. Her head was spinning with dread of talking business with Sebastian for more than 30 minutes at a time. She had a goal in coming to America. She needed time to train the heir to the throne. She needed even more time to convince the girl to do it. Ah ha. What Mia needed was most likely a boost in confidence.

"Charlotte – get Paulo here this afternoon in place of Mia's lessons. I think a little care of her appearance may change her outlook on things" Charlotte nodded reluctantly. The last thing she wanted was to babysit that clown again, even if he was an excellent stylist.

Paulo had visited a few days before…the morning of the dance with Joseph. Clarisse trusted him with her hair in America, and occasionally in Genovia. He spent summers overseas in the small country. Now, he was residing in America, making a living off of the rich and famous. If he were not so talented with hair, Clarisse would have dumped him long ago. Going through the process of finding someone secure was a pain, so she stuck out his awful accent long enough to get a decent hairstyle.

Clarisse dismissed Charlotte, promising to dress herself and come down to breakfast momentarily. She sat down on the bed and pulled out the book again. The words were in Spanish on one side, and copied in English on the other. She could read both fluently, and felt that the words in Spanish were much more beautiful than their translations. There were times when she would read them both out loud, alone in her room. Depending on her mood, tears would pour from her eyes, appreciating the beauty and elegance of this poetry, and wondering if this particular book had been handpicked for any secret reason. Was there a code hiding in the marginal notes? There were lines circled and underlined all throughout, work of the previous owner. No one would have dreamed that the queen's most prized possession was a used book of poetry, covered in ink marks that she didn't make.

To her surprise, the queen heard a knock at the door. She tied her robe around herself and went to answer it. Before it opened all the way, she knew. The scent of coffee and cologne filled her head with excitement and joy.

"Good morning, your majesty!" Joseph called into the suite. She smiled and motioned for him to shut the door. She heard it click and she was in his arms. He stumbled backward from the force of her lips catching him off guard. "Well then, good morning to me." His arms encircled her as he returned her kiss with equal fervor and contentment.

"Joseph, I am so happy to see you this morning" he didn't hear her. He was staring at her hand that contained a small, black bound book. She instinctively pulled her arm in and behind her back, smiling unabashedly at him. "What's the matter?" She asked, using her free arm to pull him farther into the sitting room of her suite.

"You kept it." His mind was dizzy with the thought of Clarisse holding onto that book. Why would she have kept it? And if she brought it here, was she still reading it? She pushed it out in front of her, opening her palm to display it for Joseph to examine. He noted the tear stains and the marks from cups of tea. He pulled gently at the frayed edges. He ran a finger over the hand written notes he had made 18 years before. "You kept it," he repeated, "you kept it." He thumbed carefully through the pages and scanned the words he hadn't read since he left it in her room on her birthday that year. He had wrapped it in a satin ribbon and put it on her nightstand for her to find. Rupert had been out of town. Clarisse stayed up all night reading the words and wondering who had left the book.

It hadn't taken her long to recognize the writing as her head of security's own.