Introduction: after posting chapter six nearly four years ago, I set the status of my Not Happily Ever After Series to complete. A new story presented itself however when I thought about how unusual it was that Joe accepted the Queen's proposal though he had already planned to leave her. His expression as he was on his way to the cathedral's exit, his bride by his side, wasn't particularly that of a happy man. I wondered how the marriage would work out.

The story's title is a line from the song 'I won't send roses'. By the time I watched a video of Robert Goulet singing said song I had already written some roses into the story and suddenly a title for the as of then nameless chapter presented itself.

7. Not the kind things that you deserve

The attic smelled after old boxes. Recognizing a small weather-worn suitcase, Joseph looked at his brother by way of asking if he could open it. Raoul smiled in reply. Inside the suitcase Joseph found pictures mostly, a few drawings, the remains of a velvet ribbon, an ancient toy car. Raoul applied his eye-drops as his brother went through the old stuff.

"The Romero family treasures," Joseph commented.

Raoul picked up on his brother's mixture of contempt and fondness but he didn't comment it. Joseph paged through the old photo's and Raoul thought about how to say what he wanted to say. He picked up some sharp tools and placed them in a box. The noise he made alerted his brother.

"You got me up here to show me what you wanted to do with the place and here I am watching old stuff," Joseph said, getting to his feet. "Besides," he added with a self-conscious grin, "squatting makes me feel as old as my age."

Raoul let the way to a small roof window and told Joseph he would have a dormer made there.

"To turn this into a studio for you?"

Raoul shrugged at his brother's description. "I wouldn't call it a studio. I just like to paint."

"Good for you. And you'll get rid of that hole near the window when the dormer is installed."

"It isn't a hole. It's some sort of ventilation shaft. No rain comes in."

A church bell faintly chimed. It seemed to Raoul that his brother was about to go downstairs again. "We've come a long way," he heard himself say. The church was the town's poor men's church and situated in the neighbourhoud of their youth.

"We have," Joseph agreed. To make up for mentioning the hole he added: "This is a beautiful house."

"Says the man who lives in a castle and married a queen."

Joseph was aware of the fact that a remark like that should have been made with smile. Raoul's expression was serious though without being envious. Looking into his brother's warm brown eyes Joseph felt peaceful and he said something he hadn't revealed to a soul:

"I didn't plan to."

"You wanted to live elsewhere with her? I understand that Joseph. I don't know what it is like to live in a castle, but having your own place is the best isn't it? It's just that she's lived there for so long, it must be hard for her to move out."

Joseph, confused at Raoul's train of thought, stared out of the window to the blue sky above.

"Is that why you are a bit... edgy around her? She doesn't want to move and you do?"

"I'm not edgy."

"Yes you are. Marisol thinks so too. You treat the Queen -"

Joseph, annoyed at the serious way his brother used Clarisse's title, said: "Clarisse. Her name is Clarisse."

"She's been the Queen to us for as long as you work there," Raoul kindly said, "We need to adjust."

"She doesn't fit in here, does she?"

Raoul noticed how eager Joseph sounded. "What makes you say that? She makes an effort to get to know us and she's kind and charming and not at all demanding."

"She's got a way with people."

"What do you mean?" Raoul asked anxiously. "Is she different when it's just the two of you?"

"No. She's bloody lovely."

Raoul looked at his brother wide-eyed. It was all Joseph needed to spill his heart out.

"I didn't plan to marry her."

Joseph kept focusing on the window view but Raoul suspected that his brother was well aware of his gold-fish imitation. He too opted for staring outside for sometimes it's easier to talk when you don't face each other.

"She is wearing your ring," Raoul brought in.

"It's as fake as my proposal was."

The sky was still gloriously blue and there was nothing to distract Raoul from Joseph's words.

"I thought she asked you?" Raoul asked, struggling with what his brother had just said.

"In the cathedral. Yes. But a few days previous I'd asked her."

"But you just said that you didn't plan to marry her."

"I didn't. I expected her to say no."

"So why did you propose?"

"I didn't want her to think I'd used her. I'd been bewitched by her for years and I made her know that. She never yielded. Ever. Not until after the king died. And then one night..."

Raoul cleared his throat.

"Don't worry. I won't go into details," Joseph said. He thought about that first time when Clarisse had kissed him. He had pressed her against him as if to mark her. "She felt she had nothing to offer me for according to her we were destined for the shadows. It made her feel bad about us, but she didn't know that I liked the hiding, the non-relationship we had. When her son told her that he was ready to be a king, she started talking about our future. It was all a bit vague but it scared me still."

Joseph stopped talking and Raoul reasoned that it was up to him to mention the faith of the king-to-be.

"And then the prince had an accident."

Joe nodded. "His death left her devastated. I felt for her as she clung to me. But all the while as she sobbed in my arms, part of me thought: freedom."

Above an aircraft flew by. The Romeros followed it with their eyes.

Raoul himself had inappropriate thoughts from time to time, but it came as a bit of a shock that his big brother wasn't free of them either. He felt both vicarious shame and compassion for Joseph as well as pity for his sister-in-law.

When all that was left to look at was the aircraft's trail, Raoul said: "We watched the princess's wedding on tv." He kept to himself how they'd cheered when their Joseph and his Queen had said their I do's. "When you left the cathedral little Elena said you looked sad."

"I wanted to run."

"You didn't."

Joseph sensed hope in his brother's voice. There was so much he could say in reply, such as 'I had to deal with my mistake', or 'It would have hurt her', or 'I felt flattered' or, equally true, 'I didn't want people to mock me'. He held his tongue and merely shrugged.

"She looked radiant," Raoul said, sounding a bit accusingly.

"She did. For perhaps the first time in her public life she'd acted sponteneous. Helped by the princess, but still."

"I'm sure her smile wasn't so bright because of that."

"She thought she'd lost me and she netted me just in time."

Joseph felt his brother look at him and to make up for his harsh words he added: "She loves me. Grumpy old bastard that I am."

"Don't you love her?"

"Do you know that even in the privacy of her suite, her posture is better than that of a drill sergeant?"

"She's graceful Joseph. And I asked you a question."

Joseph didn't seem to have heard his brother. "She keeps telling me it's our suite. Which it isn't. She had my old leather chairs brought there and those look horribly out of place, just like their owner. I feel caged there."

"And a caged man will lash out."

Joseph looked to this left and found Raoul eyeing him. He stared outside again, away from his brother's disappointed expression.

"I'm not abusive."

Raoul shook his head as if to say that that was not what he'd meant. He took his bottle of eye-drops from his pocket.

OoOoOoO

Marisol returned from her small vegetable garden carrying an empty bowl. On her approaching the house, her sister-in-law looked up from her book.

"I'm sorry," Marisol said, showing her the contents of the bowl, "but the strawberries are not yet ripe." She got a feeble smile in return.

Thinking herself unkind for not having used the Queen's name, she walked toward her and sat down next to her, fighting the inclination to ask for permission to do so. Seeing that her guest's eyes were moist, an explanation for that presented itself automatically and to strenghten their bond she said: "Ana la de Tejas Verdes makes me teary-eyed too. It is one of my favourite books, even though I'm no longer a girl."

"You've barely looked at her since your arrival."

Marisol looked up and around but her husband was not in sight though his voice sounded nearby as he continued: "You oppose every word she says. You correct her flawless Spanish."

"I'm not like that in public," Joseph's voice came through. "I can act in public. The magazines say we make a fine couple."

Marisol sat frozen.

"So why do you act the way you do in private? When she told us about her seventh birthday and how her father had forgotten to buy her a present your response made it seem as if she was lying."

"I just said that she'd never told me," Joseph said.

"That was not the way it sounded. It's not like you to be rude."

"She is a stubborn woman. She still loves me. She puts my behaviour down to me getting used to my new position, to retirement. She is so... nice and understanding."

Marisol felt a shiver down his spine because of the contemptuous way Joseph had said the last three words. Remembering that her husband and Joseph had gone to the attic, she rose to stop the slaughter. Clarisse grabbed her hand and shook her head. "I need to know," she said. Since her sister-in-law kept holding her hand, Marisol, despite feeling very uncomfortable, sat down again.

" – the scandal," Joseph was saying, "if we'd divorce. She'd never want that. And as long as we are not together too often, it will work for me. It is not as if there aren't any benefits. Besides, she's helping out her granddaughter a lot and when she isn't in the gardens supervising men who know a lot more about roses than she does, I'll go fishing or fencing. She's used to having a partner who doesn't spend a lot of time with her. She'll never know."

"Know what?"

"That I don't love her anymore. She can still charm me but I fell out of love a long time ago. It's always been like that for me with women. I hoped she'd make an exception, I did. The truth however is that at times I don't even like her anymore."

"Dios mio Joseph."

Seeing the regal woman next to her bit her lower lip and blink furiously, and no longer feeling a hold on her hand, Marisol left the Queen to her tears.

OoOoOoO

"Hearing all this... why on earth did you propose?"

"I told you. I couldn't just leave. It wasn't a real proposal anyway. I merely said that it was time to bring our relationship out in the open. Everything else about it was half-hearted too. From the timing to a silly joke I made about my knee replacement as to explain why I didn't kneel. I just couldn't ..."

The stairs cracking made Joseph smoothly say: "The value of the house will rise when you have a dormer made here. It will turn the attic into a proper room with a nice view over the park."

Marisol appeared, looking troubled.

"Ola Marisol!" Joseph said. "I just told Raoul that a dormer will be a good investment."

When Marisol merely stared at them, Joseph concluded that she needed a word with her husband. Downstairs a dog barked.

"Ah," Joseph said, glad for the convenient excuse, "someone needs a walk. Would you mind if I took him?"

Marisol shook her head and Joseph left the attic.

Marisol walked to her husband and embraced him. Cuddling was something they did more often and they never required a reason for it but Raoul, who felt burdened by what Joseph had told him, reasoned that his dear wife sensed that he needed a hug. He told her he loved her but she'd already freed herself to study the roof.

With her newly gained knowlegde it wasn't hard for Marisol to guess how the upstairs conversation had made its way to the garden bench.

"Clarisse," she said into the hole, surprising herself by calling the Queen by her name, "I am so sorry. So very sorry."

Raoul moaned.

OoOoOoO

"Come Mike!" Joseph again summoned the Yorkshire, but the dog sat before his wife and wagged his tail like a maniac.

Because he'd look stupid if the animal kept ignoring his commands, Joseph sat down next to Clarisse, who tickled Mike's chin.

"He seems to like you."

"Perhaps because I'm nice," Clarisse said.

Joseph cast her a glance, thinking it odd that she of all people would say that of herself. Clarisse, feeling his eyes on her looked at him and added: "and understanding."

Later on Joseph couldn't tell how he knew: whether it was the hurt in her eyes or the combination of the words he had used only minutes earlier on.

"Why didn't you run Joseph?"

Joseph looked behind him, partly to gain time and partly to search the wall. Having found what he was looking for, he turned his head and stared at the garden. He felt naked, his cloth of civilization being stripped from him by some overheard words.

"I felt for you," he started, for right now that seemed the best of the multiple reasons that he'd had not to kiss her hand, walk out of her life and leave her standing alone in front of an entire country. At least one of his reasons had been an honourable one, done out of kindness, hadn't it? He desperately needed to believe that right now. "And your vulnerability moved me. How would you have felt if I'd declined?"

"I don't know. I barely know how I feel now."

Mike started barking again. The back door opened and Raoul called his pet. The dog disappeared and the door fell closed.

"Had you hoped that I'd refuse you after your 'half-hearted' proposal?"

"Yes, I did," Joe admitted.

"The cards are out in the open," Clarisse said.

Despite his discomfort Joseph thought about the opportunity that was available to them now. Under the guise of marriage they could live as friends, which was less demanding than being husband and wife. And with her knowing about his feelings, she'd surely allow him to use the empty room next to her drawing room for his own.

"We can make this work," Joseph softly said. The young leaves of the beech hedge to their right whirled in a breeze. All seemed peaceful. Looking at Clarisse for a reply, he noticed her rigid posture, a sure sign of her distress. Before he knew what he was doing, he covered her hand with his, stroking the sensitive skin on her wrist with his thumb. She shivered, then jerked her hand away.

"How can you do that when..." she started. "Well, you make love to me too. Was that a benefit or a bore Joseph?"

Poise and sarcasm, building stones of the protective wall both the Queen and Clarisse built around themselves.

"A bene-" Joseph started, but though he would speak the truth, it would sound all wrong now. He opted for: "It was like it used to be."

"Freedom?"

Joseph crinched at the thought that she propably knew his attic lines by heart.

"Beautiful," he said.

Whenever he'd been angry for having been lured into marriage or for her understanding attitude toward his barely conceiled insults, that anger had always dissolved by having her, by kissing her and making her moan and wriggle.

"Making love to you is wonderful," Joseph emphasized in a whisper, for after the words she'd overheard she deserved another truth too.

"Did you pretend to be my bodyguard at night?"

Joseph tried to keep his expression neutral, but she knew him too well.

"Being a secret lover was preferable over being my husband. Why Joseph? Why did you propose? Why did you push it when we were dancing in the hall?"

Joseph was shamed into silence.

"Let me guess: it was a calculated move. You expected me to deny and that would set you free."

Feeling her glance at him he gave the tiniest of nods.

"What a spoil-sport I was in the cathedral."

"We can make this work," Joseph said once again.

"I've been a fool," Clarisse said in reply. "Being 'nice and understanding' doesn't mean being blind Joseph."

After listening to the wind playing with the leaves for a moment and failing to hear the beauty of it, Clarisse continued: "When we started to attend social gatherings as a real couple, I was proud. Proud that we'd stepped out of the shadows, proud to show you as my husband. It didn't take long ere our outings tricked me into believing that all was well. In public you were the witty, kind, charming Joseph I thought I'd married."

Joseph processed her words and he felt sad. "We are friends," he said. "We can make this work."

Clarisse looked at a robin landing on a bird-table. The small animal hopped about and ate of the seeds on offering.

"No."

"No?"

"I will pack my bags, thank Raoul and Marisol for their hospitality and leave."

Joseph's heart started beating faster, unsure of what Clarisse meant to say. Even her next line didn't bring much clarity: "You will have your freedom back."

"That was just a word. I didn't mean for you to hear it."

"Don't bother giving her your Sangria recipe Marisol," Clarisse said in a low voice, "she never sets foot in the kitchen, don't you querida?"

Joseph recognized the words he'd spoken the previous evening. If it wasn't for the fact that Clarisse had copied his delivery to perfection, he would attempt to give a twist to the words, to make them less harmful. He'd had a few drinks when he'd said them, and though he'd seen Raoul frown, Clarisse had smiled good humouredly. Joseph had disliked her for not taking offence but right now he wished she had been ignorant of the sharpness in his address.

"The endearment used to warm me," Clarisse added in her own voice. Joseph felt like an ogre.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Have you ever loved me?"

"I adored you," Joseph said. Past tense, he realised. The sight of Clarisse, who looked utterly vulnerable now, made him recall all the things that had lured him to her and the wonderful time they'd spent together. Past tense added insult to injury. His brain worked at full speed to soften the blow. Having heard what she'd heard, would she buy any fond words though?

"I will take your word on that," Clarisse said before Joseph had come up with something kind to say. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she produced a feeble smile.

"Clarisse, I -"

She shook her head and cupped his face. When her tears fell, she naturally sobbed against his chest. He put his arms around her and wished that her pain and his humiliation would soon be done with.

OoOoOoO

The bodyguards were standing at a small distance from the cars, but their Queen's "I'm sorry I can't stay for the entire week Joseph," was meant for their ears.

"So am I," Joseph replied awkwardly. He opened the car's door for her and bent over to kiss her hand.

Clarisse seated herself and Joseph pressed the button for the security screen to rise. He recalled previous times when he'd escorted her to her car to make sure she was comfortable. Times when they'd both acted professionally in anticipation of spending an evening together. He felt his expression soften. Clarisse stared at his face as if she was about to draw his portrait. He adjusted his countenance to a professional one.

"I'll see you coming Saturday then," Clarisse said.

Coming Saturday Joseph would collect his belongings and sign certain papers. He wished that all he could feel about it was regret. He wished that he'd only care for Clarisse's feelings yet he was also worrying about whether Mia would make a reconciliation attempt and about how the staff would treat him. He inclined his head in reply to Clarisse's remark and wished for coming Sunday to arrive.

The woman he'd pined for, the woman he'd wooed, the woman whose sweetness had driven him mad, fumbled with her seat-belt. She looked up at him and inhaled deeply.

Their final words. He'd thought about what to say ever since carrying her suitcases down the stairs but none of his phrases had gained his approval. Perhaps she'd come up with something appropriate. Clarisse glanced at the door though and Joseph obediently closed it. He understood: there was nothing left to say. He felt oddly detached.

The driver started the engine. When the backseat window came down Joseph braced himself.

"Just so you know," Clarisse said, "I do know a lot about roses."