Author's note: Thank you so very much for your reviews on the previous chapter! I am so grateful and please continue to enjoy the story.
The next morning they boarded the docked yacht before noon. Joseph had never witnessed such luxury in his entire life; it was so obscene to the extent that, for a moment, he thought the Renaldis were shameful. There were mountains of fresh flowers. Gilded finishes and white leather everywhere. A captain and a skipper who were pristine and polite as they welcomed them aboard. It was no shock to him that the family had friends who owned things like this and no shock that it was a life to which no one could measure up.
As they boarded the royal family finally, Alois pulled him to the side.
"The press have gotten wind of this," he whispered, "Apparently the Genovian Reporter has hired a speed boat."
He shook his head, "I'll tell them."
"No no," Alois said quietly, "Listen, she's angry at me as it is. Help me soften the blow."
"How?"
Joseph was growing impatient with his simpering.
"I don't know," he muttered helplessly, "Listen, the last time someone papped her in a bikini she flipped out."
That thought hadn't even occurred to him.
"I don't blame her," he groaned, "Let me think of something."
Sidling through the narrow galley towards his appointed room, he had a little awkward dance with the cook as she made to her room too.
"Makes the wages we get worth it," she grumbled, "I suppose."
At this, an idea – no matter how seemingly futile it was - struck. He dumped his bags and made his way to the small bridge at the front of the yacht, where the captain and Alois were in conference. As he entered they turned to him.
"You have access to funds, right?" He asked quietly.
"Yes," Alois grumbled, "Yes."
"Listen, it's unethical but…we can buy them off?"
Alois shook his head, "No."
"You're not telling me you haven't done it before?"
"I'm not saying anything," he answered, "I'm just saying no. I didn't ask you to stop them. I asked you to soften the blow."
"I'll do it. I'll buy them off. You don't have to be involved," he looked out of the window and down onto the deck, where the royal family stood. They were pointing out into the horizon and Phillippe was animatedly discussing the diving board, evidently unaware that not one of his parents were listening.
"No, Joe," Alois said, "Come up with something else."
"There is nothing else," he hissed, "Thanks to the fact your shitty staff sell them out to the press at every turn. Why don't you ask whoever did it to front the cost?"
The captain turned away then, obviously embarrassed.
"Don't be naïve," Alois said as Joe pulled the door open.
He didn't quite understand what he meant and ignored him instead. The feeling that he had been told for information, rather than to fix it, crossed his mind for a second before he dismissed it as fanciful.
The first day was, he had to admit, blissful, despite the fact he was subject to the panic of the press turning up and Alois insistence he didn't at least forewarn the family. He had tried to persuade him that morning but Alois had insisted and reluctantly, Joe had to acknowledge that the other man wielded the final say. Even his knowledge that they were coming for them seemed pale and less dangerous than it had when it was held up against the blissful sun. Fifty miles off the coast of Mertz they dropped anchor and the princes dove into the sea, spending hours in a repetitive cycle of jumping from the diving board. The cook served fruit and, to his pleasure, beer. At the queen's insistence he took one. The king and queen sat, the king in swimwear and sunglasses, the queen in a dress and hat. Her skin, when in the sun for too long, grew freckled. He hadn't noticed before.
"Clarisse," the king urged, "Go and swim with them. Come on."
"No," she shook her head, "Not after last time."
"I don't know what you're complaining about," the king answered kindly, "You looked very good. They were flattering pictures."
It surprised Joseph that the king wasn't more offended on her behalf. If it had been his wife, he would never have been so blasé with her body. Not because of a chauvinistic sense of possession, but because it was quite clear from her reaction that she had felt humiliated by those pictures. If he had been her husband, he would have been humiliated with her, stood by her and derided those photographs. Joseph had never seen them, of course, but his urge to look them up in the archives was overridden by his awareness that in doing so he would be violating her.
The Queen shot her husband a dirty look from behind her book, "Rupert that is entirely beside the point. The point is it was supposed to be a private holiday. It wasn't. I'll never quite get over seeing my body plastered all over the Gazette. It was so humiliating."
Joe supposed the King had no answer to that so the Monarch just shrugged and said, "You love swimming."
"I used to," she said sharply, "Before my thighs were given an entire half-page of scrutiny."
"I like your thighs," the king pinched her through her dress for emphasis.
"Well, so do sixty-five percent of men asked in Pyrus," she said dryly and moved away.
Joseph wanted to laugh at her witty response but he could see the anger in her too, and he became even more vigilant in his scrutiny of the area surrounding the boat. There were press coming and he knew that eventually she'd have to face that panic again. He felt fiercely protective of her where he hadn't before that night he had woken in her suite. It was something else though that he felt, which he was reminded of every rueful time he looked at her. He swallowed it and it felt heavy and sharp in his stomach.
The boys climbed aboard again, dripping water all over the shining mahogany of the deck. Here they were freer, less aware of their surroundings but more in tune because of their ignorance.
"Come in papa," Phillippe asked, "Please?"
"No," he answered, holding up the file he was reading, "Maybe later."
"Mama?"
"No dear," she shook her head, "Granted my excuse is altogether weaker than your father's but no."
They looked dejected until Phillippe turned his attentions to Joseph himself.
"Joe?"
"Um – sir…"
"Oh please Joe! Come on," Phillippe looked at his mother, "Let Joe! He loves the sea."
She turned to him and he couldn't see her eyes for her sunglasses but he knew she was smiling. She tipped her head to the side, "Do you Joseph?"
"Yes ma'am," he nodded.
"Well I don't see why not," she motioned to the three other security personnel, "We have these three and I'm sure Alois is skulking nearby. You might need to change though."
"Mama, he'll definitely need to change."
She turned to the king, "Rupert?"
He was so lost in his reading he simply gestured with his hand and made a little grunt of affirmation.
He bowed, sharing a secretive little grin with Pierre, "Give me two seconds your highnesses."
He went below and dressed in his swimming trunks, removed his watch and kept his sunglasses, and he was ready to dive in. it was deliciously cool as he did so, fully immersing himself and kicking fifty yards from the boat before he surfaced and watched the princes dive in. He fooled about with the boys, racing to the boat and back, aware that the whole time the queen was watching them with the kind of joy he'd never seen before. She did so for hours, shouting words of encouragement and excitement as her sons enjoyed their time. He'd discovered she had a fondness for amateur photography, and had worn a camera since they'd arrived on the boat as if it were a passport to another life. At dusk, with Philippe dramatically complaining of exhaustion, they climbed aboard.
"That," Phillippe threw himself onto one of the leather-clad seats around the lower deck, "Was brilliant. Did you see me win? Mama? I raced Joseph, and won."
Joseph looked up from drying his body to see her watching him, a clever smile of charm on his mouth which faded into oblivion when he met her eyes. Suddenly he felt embarrassed and wrapping his towel round his waist, excused himself. She looked away too, turned towards the railing around the deck and stared out across the smooth sea. Her face, tipped up to the sun, took on a set arrogance.
"Mama? Did you?"
"Yes," she finally said, her face still towards the sea, "I did."
For a moment, he let himself imagine, she had been looking at him.
After they'd eaten – the staff in the galley kitchen and the family on deck – he excused himself to rest. He'd brought a book he wanted to read and he had some calls he wanted to make home on the satellite. After doing so he decided to go above for a glass of water and discovered the queen in the wider hallway between the upper deck and the luxurious guest bedrooms.
"Hello," she smiled, glass of wine in hand, "I'm just going to bed."
He'd assumed, of course, she'd be sharing the master suite with the king. A stupid assumption, he suddenly realised. They didn't sleep together at the palace, so they certainly wouldn't sleep together here. She was wearing a silk night gown that grazed her knees. Aware of how thin it was, he averted his eyes as much as he possibly could. He tried, managed, to shut down the baser instincts he was so prone to indulging in this woman's presence.
"Right," he slid against the wall to let her pass, squeezing his eyes closed.
"Joseph," she touched his shoulder and he nearly flinched, "Thank you for today."
"I enjoyed it," he turned to look at her face, but saw past her too.
"Well so did the boys," she said gently, "The king's docking tomorrow."
"I thought it was on Wednesday," he said, "I thought-"
"Change of plan," she lifted up her wine glass in a little salute, "Changes of plan are the Renaldi speciality."
"Do you need me?"
He didn't know what he was asking. He reached out and touched her arm, boundaries tossed to the forgetful winds. Her skin was hot, blistering under his hand. Her eyes darted towards his fingers, soft but unable to let go of her upper arm. She looked at them with a sort of alarmed curiosity, as if they were a slowly growing threat. Realising her panic, he removed them.
"Joseph, don't ask questions you know the answer to," she whispered, and her voice carried none of the fear evident in her face, turning away, "The king's already asked you for me. Just stay."
"I didn't mean that –"
"Walk me to my room," she said, handing him the wine glass.
He followed her through the boat to the room beside the princes'. He followed like a spectre, not sure why he was asked, or why he agreed. Blistering, salty hope stuck in the back of his throat.
"Stay with us," she turned to him, her handle on the door, "Please."
"I-"
"You promised me," she whispered, her voice tight and desperate, "You promised me."
She pushed the door open and disappeared inside, leaving him with her wine glass and plea.
She also left him with the knowledge that he only ever saw her in bursts, and that those bursts were woefully few and far between. There would be no further discussion tomorrow, no more insights until he was caught off guard again. And the relief, and the pain, was an extreme he'd never known.