(Given artistic license and all that…plus my little shifting in the timescale, the ball at the beginning of PD2 doesn't happen…Mia meets Nicholas somewhere else…we shift straight into the trip to Parliament, and Clarisse's difficult news for the princess)
Present – Genovia, Clarisse's bedroom
As she yawned silently and stretched out her arms above her head, Clarisse was pleasantly surprised to find herself resting gently against Joseph's warm chest. It really interested her that, the way their bodies were growing increasingly at ease with each other, how each morning they would wake to find themselves slightly closer. His breathing was deep and steady…and she knew that he wouldn't wake anytime soon. She turned carefully, smiling as his arm, which had hung loosely at her side now circled her more firmly, holding her to him as she settled her cheek against his chest. He sighed and, pulling her even closer, so her forehead tucked into the crook of his neck, he settled again.
She wondered what time it was. Today was the big day so far as Amelia was concerned. Parliament would be discussing her accession to the throne this afternoon, and voting on the general timescale of transition from one queen to another. Clarisse snuggled into Joseph, trying to rid herself of the tension that was already building. She reminded herself that it was nothing more than a formality, and that any divergence of opinion would simple mean a matter of weeks. She closed her eyes, wishing she could fall back to sleep. Oh how she hated visiting parliament…
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As she strode into her study late that evening, she didn't immediately register that she had company. Cursing loudly, she threw herself down on the leather couch in front of the fire. Thank god Mia had ensconced herself in the film room, armed with an array of what looked like cheap B-movies and a tub of ice-cream. Normally she would've objected to the fact the girl was clearly about to eat the whole carton with a spoon, but she'd held her tongue. Her granddaughter had more than enough to think about at the moment. In fact, she could really do with some ice-cream herself right now… Groaning again, feeling the unmistakable throbbing of a headache descending upon her, she twisted and buried her face in the cool leather.
"Everything alright, my love?"
Her head snapped up, and she realised that he must have been sitting at her desk, looking out over the dark gardens, even before she'd come in. She couldn't decide if she was irritated by his presence or incredibly grateful. Sighing, and easing herself into a sitting position, she opted for grateful.
"Not exactly…did Charlotte fill you in?"
He smiled, the corner of his mouth curling, and swung the chair round to look at her,
"Yes…but she then, on pain of death, she swore me to secrecy…"
Clarisse smiled in spite of the pain working its way behind her eyes, and stood up, shaking her head,
"You look rather at home in that seat, you know…"
He grinned, stroking the leather arm rests as if to illustrate her observation,
"Hmm…yes, just like a Bond villain…"
He growled, and frowning evilly, began to stroke an imaginary white cat on his lap… He was pleased that she could smile, she'd had one hell of a day. She would make light of it now, of course, but from what Charlotte had said, she'd really been pulled over the coals this afternoon. And as for the implications of Mia's engagement upon her already fragile relationship to duty and obligation, he didn't want to go there right now…
The smile soon faltered though, and, as she leant against the back of the couch, she rubbed her temples. Assessing the situation, he decided that staying would be better than leaving and, getting up, he quickly crossed the room. The door was shut, and there was little chance of interruption.
She smiled weakly, as he clasped his hands loosely round her waist. Too tired to reciprocate, not wanting to push him away. Kissing the hand that was still rubbing her eyes, he looked at her sympathetically, not wanting to crowd her, but knowing she needed comfort all the same.
"Rough day?" He raised an eyebrow, and asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she were a frazzled wife, coming come from a stinker of a day in the office needing to vent.
Again she smiled, exhausted, but less tense now, and brought her forehead down to rest against his shoulder,
"One of the worst…"
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to rest fully against him, and dropped a kiss to her cheek. She sighed, and he gently began to stroke her back.
"Tea, my darling?"
She snuggled in deeper, momentarily pushing the tension to the back of her mind, and tilted her head to kiss his neck,
"Tonight, Joseph…tonight I need a whisky. " He smiled. That was his Clarisse.
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They had spent a long time talking over the situation that evening. Clarisse had been keen to think through the options there and then, to try and deal with things immediately. It was her way of coping, he knew that, and for a while he humoured her. Mia would have to enter into an arranged marriage, just as Clarisse had done; would have to put her country before herself. That decision made, and it appeared that Mia had been quite adamant that she was prepared to do this, it remained only to find a suitable candidate.
It had been his ridiculous idea to put together the PowerPoint presentation…he'd meant it entirely as a joke, but, in her exhausted state, Clarisse had jumped on it and declared it a marvellous idea. He didn't have the heart to protest. She was focusing entirely on the practicalities, missing entirely the real situation that was unfolding. It all seemed just so wrong…such a waste. That poor girl.
Clarisse was not being cruel, she was simply on autopilot, and so he said nothing as she began listing possible husbands. She seemed less tense now that she had something constructive to do. He could only watch her and wait….wait for the inevitable realisation of what she was asking of her granddaughter.
Just after ten, she dropped the pad and her pen to the table and sunk back into the seat.
"Enough."
He looked up from the book he had been attempting to read and tried to work out what she meant. She was rubbing her eyes again, and looked thoroughly exhausted.
"You should go to bed…"
She smiled, and, as if on cue, yawned sleepily.
"Stay with me? I shan't sleep nearly so well otherwise…"
He smiled back, and got up to sit down next to her, wrapping an arm casually around her shoulders.
"It would be my pleasure."
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But, it turned out, it was Joe who ended up having trouble sleeping… The events of the day had taken their toll on him too. That and the horrible suspicion he had that things might get worse before they began to get better. He was still struggling to comprehend the reality of what Mia was being asked to do. Having lived with the consequences of such a decision for so long himself, could hardly bear to stand back and watch his little girl make the same mistake. He sighed and shifted slowly in the bed, taking care not to wake Clarisse. Propping himself up on an elbow, he watched her as she dreamed. A faint smile was playing on her lips and her face was relaxed. The room was still dimly lit by the table lamp by the door – Clarisse hated the dark, and always kept something on lest she wake in the middle of the night. She turned a little and rubbed her face against the pillow, stretching her hand out in her sleep to find him.
He smiled, she always looked so innocent when she slept, so untroubled. It was good to see her relaxed. Again she shifted, and murmured under her breath,
"Not now…no…"
He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was dreaming about. Three words. They meant nothing, of that he was sure. They couldn't. Surely she couldn't remember that? But the force of his own words, uttered what seemed like an age ago, came back and hit him full force…
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(Flashback)
It had been the day of the funeral. Appropriately, it had been grey and overcast, threatening rain. The ceremony had gone as well as could be expected. From the rear of the church, he had listened in admiration as Pierre read the eulogy, his heart breaking as he watched Clarisse desperately holding it together. It was with a pathetic irony, he realised, that this was exactly what he should be doing. For once, all he had to notice was Clarisse, never to take his eyes from her, tracking her every move. Today, however, it almost killed him to watch her.
She was dressed exquisitely in black – the epitome of mourning perfection. So refined, so calm, so…together. Had he not known that she were crumbling slowly inside, he would have found it almost distasteful. Only he had noticed the iridescent tear slip down her cheek as Pierre mentioned their childhood escapades; only he had registered the way she leant heavily on her son's arm as they left the church. Only he realised that she had asked Pierre to allow her to travel back to the palace alone after the burial.
As he had joined her in the car, she had seemed surprised. She was sitting in the far corner, her legs crossed delicately at the ankles, her hands folded in her lap, her forehead pressed against the cool window. For a moment, he decided not to speak. There had been something of reconciliation since the night of Philippe's death. Both had realised that something had changed…but neither had pressed it. This was not the time. He had been more relaxed, and she had appreciated his support. Occasionally he had offered a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to. Each had been cautious not to give too much…both knowing full well that this elaborate dance of emotional tag couldn't continue indefinitely.
Her involuntary shudder wrenched him from his thoughts, and he was shocked to find her bent over double, her body racked with silent sobs. In a second, he was beside her, his arm instinctively wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
The car was moving now and, from the scenery outside, they had about ten minutes before they arrived back at the palace. He turned back to look down at her, all the time rubbing her back soothingly. She needed this release. He said nothing, simply holding her, letting her cry. After a few minutes though, to his surprise, she suddenly sat up and turned towards him, looking him straight in the eye. Her body was still shaking a little and she laid a hand on his chest to steady herself. The tears continued to stream down her face and he automatically raised a hand to wipe them away. Still she held his gaze. Her eyes were impossibly blue, and sparkling as they were with teardrops, he could make out the beautiful grey flecks in them. Everything could change and yet these eyes would remain the same. She could hate him, ignore him, hurt him…and they would still look the same. God she was beautiful. Even when she was in pieces she was beautiful. Especially then.
The car turned a corner and the hand resting on his chest slid a little, inadvertently caressing his breast. He gasped and tensed at her touch. Almost imperceptibly her pupils dilated. Her body had stilled now, and her breathing was getting closer to even. For a second, the intensity of her gaze was too much, the question within it too demanding, and his eyes flicked shut. He felt her breath against his cheek before her lips grazed his. She hesitated, pulling away almost immediately. Not opening his eyes, not wanting reality to intrude, he snaked his hand around to the nape of her neck and pulled her back against his trembling mouth. She sighed, her mouth opening slightly, and he kissed her gently, almost enquiringly. She relaxed against him immediately, her lips bruising his with a passion he had not expected. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a desperation that left him breathless. He ran his hand delicately down her face and gradually slowed her kisses, his lips savouring each one, his mind begging him to stop. He placed a hand on her shoulder, kissing the corners of her mouth, longing to continue, knowing that he couldn't,
"Not yet…no…"
Feeling him beginning to pull away, she broke the kiss and looked him squarely in the eye. Her face was flushed and her eyes, still glistening, were filled with concern. She began to speak cautiously, as if she didn't quite trust her voice,
"I….I'm sorry….I…" Her head dipped, and she couldn't look at him. The eyes that had held him so captured now hid from his soothing gaze. Again, he brought his hand to her cheek and raised her face. His thumb caressed her bottom lip, and for a moment her eyes flickered shut.
"Don't ever apologise for what you feel, Clarisse…" She looked at him, not understanding what he meant. Taking a deep breath he continued,
"Don't you see that's where it all went wrong? I….I can't deny this feeling any longer…" Her eyes sparkled with hope and she brought her own hand to rest atop of his.
"But this is not the time…you know that as well as I do. We are too dangerous for each other, and I won't hurt you…not again….I…I can't let you hurt me, my darling."
She raised an eyebrow, her treacherous eyes moistening again, desperately searching his. He nodded,
"Yes, my darling…you have always been that….and you always will. But we need time."
He looked at her closely, realising that all the while she'd said nothing, and wondered what he could say next. Opening his mouth again, she laid a finger softly on his lips. Nodding almost imperceptibly, she lowered her lips to his own, and for a moment they both relaxed again. This time the kiss was more controlled, but no less intense. As he traced her bottom lip, she shivered, and he smiled against her mouth. Both knew that it would be some time before such a kiss would happen again…but it would. It had to.
As the car began to make its way up the long driveway, they had parted. Taking her handkerchief, Joe had tenderly cleaned up her mascara. The car slowed, and they reached the palace gates. As Joe moved to get out first, she caught his hand and pulled him back slightly,
"I love you, Joseph"
He smiled, kissing her hand delicately,
"And I you, my darling."
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(end flashback – present)
And so it had been for nearly a month, Joe mused, looking down contentedly at the wonderful woman snoozing beside him. But then there had been San Francisco, and everything had changed. He smiled, and kissed her shoulder gently, not wanting to wake her. Lowering himself down onto the pillow beside her he felt his eyes beginning to grow heavy. She shifted again, and almost as if she had registered his movement, snuggled her forehead against his arm. Lifting it carefully, he brought it down around her back as she snuggled into his chest. The last thought he had before finally dropping off to sleep was one of complete contentment.
A/N OK, can you see where I'm going now? Next stop, Wango-time…and an unfortunately timed suggestion ;o)