A/N: First of all, thank you to you loverly ladies who read AND reviewed. And thank you - I guess - to those other 93 people who only read...sigh Anyways, i thank you ladies for the great reviews that warmed my heart. I'm glad you enjoy the little rush through our couple's lives. And well...here is part two...and it's not getting any easier.

Enjoy

Part 2

He needed a drink. A double cognac. Hell, he should probably have the bottle nearby. What a horrendous day this had turned out to be. The verbal fight with Joe had just been the end of a charming and happy day utterly gone wrong.

Nicolo sighed and falling into the overstuffed leather chair, he took a large gulp of the velvety liquid. The cognac burned in his throat, numbing the pain his conscience inflicted on him. What had they done?

She was dead.

He sat in the chair, staring into the flames of the fire in the hearth and contemplated, how this could have happened. Of course, from the looks of it, everybody must believe that she was perfectly fine and every bit as cold, unfeeling and aloof as mean tongues suggested. But he had seen her eyes, had heard the undertone in her voice. The apologies for her son's behaviour. The apologies for her intrusion and for her imposition on them. He had seen the tears barely held back.

They had killed her. Rissie was dead.

The door opened quietly. Nicolo didn't turn. From the footsteps, he knew who it was. "Get a snifter and pour yourself a drink, Joe. You'll need it."

At age 30, Joseph Romerro, now called 'Joe' by just about everybody, was not used to receive orders outside his line of duty. Yet, he obeyed without hesitation. Quite honestly, he needed the drink. Seeing her again and in such a fashion, had turned his insides out. She was even more beautiful now than he had ever imagined in his wildest dreams. Eleven years and two children had matured the pretty teenager into a stunning woman, beautiful as a marble statue – and just as cold and lifeless. She did not see anybody; she did not talk to anybody as a person. She was no longer his princess. She was a nightmare.

"You behaved like an ass, Joe. We all did, you know."

Joe took a large gulp of his drink. "She certainly did." He snorted.

"No! You did! Lisha did. I did. We all did." Nicolo's voice was angry.

But Joe was not convinced. "Why did you invite her? She no longer fits here. She looks down on us normal people. We are not good enough for the queen." He sneered.

"She looked down on us? We looked down on her." Nicolo sprung up from his chair and started pacing. "Nobody of us actually took the time to talk to her. Talk to Rissie. We were all too busy impressing or rejecting 'the queen'. You, of all people, spited her. You did not even try to be civil."

"What did you expect me to do, Nici?"

"Don't call me Nici, Joe. You are no longer Joey. And you are not yet grown up enough to be Joseph. I invited the woman, because I thought that we had known and loved Rissie, we might meet and like Clarisse. But none of us made the effort to do so."

"I don't understand."

Nicolo smiled at his friend's utter confusion. "It is difficult, isn't it? I don't know. I only realized it myself after she left – in tears, by the way."

He sat down again and faced his friend. "Joe," he said in a pleading voice, "Rissie is dead. She doesn't exist anymore. She had to disappear, when our childhood friend became the betrothed and then wife of the crown prince. You stopped being Joey, when you made your career. You became Joe. So did she. Rissie had to make way for 'the queen' and I only understood today that there is a difference between 'the queen' and 'Clarisse'. Yet, none of us tried to see that today."

Joe stared at him. If this were true… Nicolo's voice interrupted the rise of desperate heat in his body. "You can't be Joey to her Rissie anymore. If you still want to be her prince then you must become Joseph. Joseph, who sees Clarisse behind the façade of 'the queen'."

The words sounded ridiculous, maybe Nicolo was drunk or had gone around the bend, but the words kept ringing in Joe's mind. If this were true…

She was dead. She finally understood it. She was finally dead. And buried.

She had stopped being Rissie a long time ago. In her stead, only 'the queen' remained. The tears rose from deep in her throat. She had had so many hopes for this afternoon. Nicolo and Elisha celebrated the christening of their first son, Antonio. She had been so elated, when the invitation arrived. The chance of seeing her childhood friends, seeing him again after eleven years, had given her step a spring that had lasted for two weeks.

She had never imagined, it would turn out so badly. The boys had been appropriately punished for their stuck up behaviour at the reception, but the pain and the embarrassment still stung.

What had made her believe she would be really welcome? Her desperate wish to be a human and female. Just a woman, visiting old friends with her children in tow. How wrong she had been.

From the very first moment, she had felt isolated. Everybody had nearly fallen over him or herself, bowing and curtsying before her. Nobody had even tried to hold a simple conversation with her. Finally, she had almost given up and tried to shrink into the shadows. She had already contemplated, how she could gather the boys and disappear without being seen.

Then he had arrived. Dressed all in black, black shades over his eyes, his head almost bald – he had looked every bit the mysterious modern hero. She had felt her breath catching. Good God, when had he become like this and why was a heat wave surging through her body, starting in her stomach and spreading all over her and finally centring between her legs. She could not put a name to this feeling, but she knew the feeling that followed right after this. It was green and burned like a poison. This stunning, curvy redhead on his arm.

In spite of this floozy, she had felt herself rising, making a step towards him, when he had taken off his shades and looked at her.

A bucket of ice-cold water could not have felt any worse. If looks were daggers, she would have been a bleeding heap on the floor. He hated her.

The tears of shock and pain had risen then and there and she had started to frantically search for her sons. She had to leave. She mustn't stay.

Then there was his voice, gentle at first, when he had talked to a child that had apparently ran into him. She had not even seen, who the child was, but then heard its voice and the actually innocent and excited words had cut her like a knife.

"You may not stand in my way. I am the crown prince of Genovia and I demand that you make way for me."

Pierre. How often had she told him to keep such words to himself. She knew that Pierre did not really mean them, but that didn't change their meaning and it did not change how people perceived them.

The room had become eerily silent, as if a bell had rung. She had closed her eyes, desperately wishing for the ground to open up and swallow her. Naturally that didn't happen. When she opened her eyes, she still stood among the guests who felt humiliated by her son. Gathering all dignity she owned and then some, she had taken the few steps to take Pierre's hand, then had turned and taken Philippe's hand as well. She could not bear to look into his eyes.

He was no longer Joey. Joey would have understood. Joey would have smiled at her. This man, Joe as everybody called him, hated her. He did not understand. She muttered an apology to him, did the same to the hosts and fled.

It was clear now. Rissie was dead, she should have accepted this a long tome ago. Nobody had wanted Rissie anymore and thus she died of neglect. Clarisse had yet to appear. If she ever did. It seemed to her that nobody wanted Clarisse either. The country needed a queen. Rupert needed a wife, who was the queen. The boys needed a mother, who prepared them to do their royal duties just like she did.

Rissie was dead. The princess was dead and her prince had done nothing to rescue her.

Clarisse wiped they tears away again. Why has she so reflective this morning? There was no need for it. Life was good again. She was good again. And he was with her.

She chuckled when she heard him mumble in his sleep. He was dreaming obviously. Apparently quite a nice dream, judging from the smile on his lips. She would have liked to know, if he maybe dreamed of her. Of last night.

Their wedding night.

Their incredible wedding night.

She had never known such a passion, such abandon could exist. She had never imagined it existed in her. Yet at the same time there had been so much tenderness and gentleness. So much patience.

After so many years of waiting, he still had the patience to let her find her way into their rhythm. He had the patience to wait until she had found herself in the frenzy of their love.

It was so unbelievable, now that it had happened. It was almost easier to believe in its believability, when it had seemed impossible that they'd ever see each other again.

It was a milestone, she was certain of it. For the first time in her marriage it would be her to honour deserving citizens and she could not think of another time she loved more to be the one to do it.

She had been so proud, when she presented Rupert with the list of citizens, who she had decided should be honoured today. Rupert had stopped at one name, turned around and smiled knowingly at her. "So you have finally found a reason to have Mr. Lancý honoured, my dear. I am surprised it took you so long."

She had simply smiled in return. There was no need to explain any more. Nicolo had not only been largely responsible for the thrive of Genovia's business with expensive paper, but also made a big influence in social projects for poor youth. He did deserve an honour.

Rupert had chuckled slightly again. "I know, I know, dear. He does deserve it, though I am not certain if he doesn't deserve it more for being such a good friend of yours."

"Do you approve, Rupert?" She had asked somewhat anxiously.

"Of course, I do. I trust your judgement Clarisse, you know that."

Now dressing for the official reception, Clarisse reflected on this exchange. Yes, Rupert trusted her. It had been almost ten years since the disastrous party and so many things had changed since then. She no longer had a prince. That was over forever. Joey and she were history.

She had a king now.

As ridiculous as it seemed, that party had been a good thing for her marriage. She and Rupert had found each other. They had not found love with each other unless one counted the love one has for his best friend. The romantic, passionate one – no, they did not have this and Clarisse doubted she would ever find out, if it existed. Yet, her marriage had been strengthened. Rupert was her best friend now and she would do everything for him. Everything.

And then there was Nicolo. She couldn't even begin to describe, how much she owed that man. When she had been at the lowest point in her life and the aftermath of that party certainly had been the lowest point, he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, offering her his friendship again.

And in the new friendship, which he had build against all odds – against his wife's slowly waning jealousy, against the country's gossip, against Rupert's worried warnings of propriety, against her own insecurities – brought them together as new people. They were no longer Rissie and Nici as they had been. It was Clarisse and Nicolo again, grown up, with responsibilities and a position in life.

She would always be grateful for that. Rupert had finally understood this friendship and supported it. Of course, he didn't know everything. There was no need for that. Nobody would ever know. She wouldn't tell, neither would Nicolo.

If people did not get the idea from the money dropping into her private bank account every month, she didn't know, why they should.

Taking a deep breath, Clarisse squared her shoulders, fiddled with the hems of her jacket one last time and went to the throne room to do her duty.

The ceremony was a surprisingly enjoyable one. Clarisse wouldn't have thought that usually positively dull event could be so nice. But then, she had never been excited about one person receiving the honour before.

At the small reception afterwards, she mingled gladly, all smiles as usual. People greeted her respectfully with a bow or a curtsy and she returned those greetings with a nod or a few words.

Her direction was unerringly though and after only a few minutes, she was standing with Elisha and Nicolo in a quiet corner inquiring about the health of their children. Naturally, Clarisse's biggest interest was drawn to the newest accomplishments of her godson, Hector. The little boy had wormed his way into her heart from the first moment she met him. At age five he was strutting around and announcing that he intended to be the Queen's knight when grown up. The words of the boy never ceased to warm her heart. He reminded her so much of Joey then.

"Clarisse, are you well?" Nicolo's worried voice interrupted this particular train of thought. Elisha quietly added. "You have become awfully pale."

She held up a hand. "No. No, I am fine. I just need a moment."

It was then that a footman stepped up the trio asking Nicolo or Elisha to the phone. After a short unspoken discussion, Elisha turned and followed the footman outside to take the call.

Clarisse appeared calm outwardly, but all of a sudden she felt a knot of fear forming in her stomach. Joey?

As if the mere thought of her childhood companion had opened up the long dead connection, she suddenly felt as if this was about him. As if this call was about him and as if she knew that it would bring bad news.

"Clarisse, what is the matter? You look as if you would faint in a minute. You should sit down and have a glass of water." Nicolo was concerned. He knew, Clarisse sometimes had her moments and he had his own suspicions what brought them on.

He was a best friend of the queen and his business partners took a great interest in that fact. It had helped of course, just as much as the investment a certain royal had made into his venture with expensive papers. Mostly, however, he was friends with Clarisse.

Clarisse, who sometimes came over on Saturdays to read and play with the children and then charmed his lot, his youngest was already declaring himself to be her knight and her prince. Hector, why Clarisse had chosen that name for her godson he would never know, was perceived as a precocious little boy, but he and Lisha knew that the little one was absolutely serious about it. Hector was very much like Joe had been that age and thus it didn't surprise Nicolo at all that he had Clarisse wrapped around his little fingers.

Nicolo figured there were still two persons inside the body of Clarisse. There was the one, who never came unannounced, who was always grace, dignity and beauty personified. But there was also the one, who barged in at the oddest moments, usually in the middle of the night, flustered, confused and out of sorts.

Then she had her moments, when he wasn't entirely certain, where her mind was. In a memory, in the future? Those moments were Joe-moments, he knew. Moments, when Rissie reared her head up, not the child, but the young woman, who had been so inexplicably jealous of Lisha, the young woman, who had sobbed in his arms the night of her engagement announcement, because her secretly beloved had run off.

Sometimes he was worried. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Joe could sleep his way through as many beds as possible and Clarisse could play the happy wife and mother as long as she wanted, they were not over. He knew it and he feared for the moment they would realize it.

He looked into Clarisse's face. She was still pale, but the conversation with young Mr Motaz, who was quickly rising in Genovian politics, seemed to ease her tension a little.

The sound of quick footsteps made him turn. He felt the iron fist gripping his heart with all its might. Something was wrong. The children…

"Lisha!"

Her voice was shocked; cold somewhat numb, with the first traces of tears audible. "Nici, they shot him."

Their immediate surroundings became eerily quiet. Nicolo could feel the sudden silence like the ringing of bells in his ear. Shot?

The fist around his heart quickly unclenched, but closed again immediately. "Shot? Who?"

"Joe!" It was an anguished cry tearing from Elisha's throat.

Nicolo stood like a stone. Closing his eyes in agony, he only prayed that when he would open his eyes, he would see Lisha smiling at him, telling him that it was all just a very bad joke.

All of a sudden there was a heavy thud next to him.

When he turned, he knew this vision would be edged into his memory forever. Clarisse lay on the ground in a dead faint, her hand clenching over her heart.

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