Chapter 7.

Joseph woke slowly, alone, in an empty bed. He turned onto his back and looked aimlessly at the ceiling., recalling delicious memories of the night before. He could still feel her, still feel how wonderful it was when they touched. Her smell, warm and inviting still lingered in the air of his bedroom. He groaned, he wished he could hold her there - just now.

He didn't think she would have stayed but a hope still niggled. Her pillow was still there, smelling of her, reminding him he'd held her hours before. Her skin, never had he felt skin like that. Never had he kissed a mouth so beautiful.

Her clothes were still scattered on his bedroom floor. He'd lost count of how many times he's imagined that sight, imagined making love to her. No longer did he have to imagine it. How many times they had made love, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was the early hours before he finally drifted. It couldn't have been late when he woke, 6.30 at the most. He felt half-dead, he'd had about four hours sleep but it couldn't stop the thrill, the desire to have it, to feel it again.

He hoped she wanted it, not that the night before had just been something she thought was a one off. He wouldn't be able to deal with that, if the night before had been a quick tumble and shy goodbye. Never could he live with himself if that was the case. He didn't feel as if it where. No, just feeling the electricity and connection that pulsed between them had told him different.

Slowly, he willed himself out of bed and stepping over the scattered clothing, he made his way to the bathroom. He splashed his face with the cool water, reminding himself to shave later on. First, before he could dream of functioning he needed coffee.

He reached for his robe - it wasn't there. He smiled, he'd wondered why she'd left her clothing scattered all over his floor. It made his heart jump, she was wearing his robe. He couldn't help but grin at his own reflection in the mirror, she was actually wearing his clothing.

However, it posed a problem for him. Rummaging in his drawers he pulled put a pair of lounging pants. He never covered his chest, he was in familiar company so he didn't.

When he got to the kitchen the smell of tea and coffee filled his nostrils. She was up, sitting at the table in the centre, a blissful smile gracing the features he adored as she sipped tea. Nothing had ever been more endearing; she was tented in his enormous bathrobe, hair messy, face exhausted but unusually happy.

"Hello," she smiled, looking up at him. Relief swept over him, she wanted to remember, she wanted them to be something and most importantly……he had not imagined it.

"Hello," he smiled, kissing the top of her head.

"Joseph," she whispered, "Not here". Sitting in front of her, he nodded apologetically.

"You left early," he said softly, not wanting to make it sound harsh or questioning, "With my bathrobe."

"Sorry," she smiled, lifting her eyes to him, "I wanted to wear it."

"Ahh, always get what you want."

"Yes," she said, raising an eye brow, "Always."

"Always," he repeated.

"Joseph, about last night…." He swallowed, his breathing and heart coming to a sickening stop as she uttered the words.

"No need," he choked, "It was nothing, right? And if it was, I don't want to hear it." She looked at him, perplexed then angry. How could he think that she was using him? How could he, did she seem that way!

"What?" she said, almost shocked, looking at him with disgust, "NO! god, no! I wanted to say thank you."

"What?" he questioned, puzzled. Thank you? She wanted to say thank you?

"For stopping me, for making me look at you in the sitting room. I would still be avoiding you but I'd be sacrificing my own sanity," she said, laughing wryly as she reached for his hand across the table, "and well, you made me feel alive again." He smiled at her as she stood up, reaching across the table.

He enjoyed that, revelled in it - he made her feel alive.

"Never will last night be a mistake," she whispered, cupping his cheek. "Queens don't make mistakes."

"No, not a Queen," he whispered, turning in and kissing her palm, "Clarisse, my Clarisse."

They stayed, locked in each others gaze, simply enjoying the meagre physical contact they shared in comparison to the evening before. The thudding, elephant - like pounding of boys feet on the stairs brought them, unkindly from their reverie. Clarisse startled, whipping her hand from him as if he had bit, he simply smiled.

"Maybe you can retrieve your bathrobe this evening, from my room," she whispered, a coy smile playing at her face. He smiled slyly, standing up as he exited, passing the boys on his way as they thundered into the kitchen.

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The snow, falling in thick sheets was tempting to any young boys who might have access to it, a whole mountain side worth in fact. Pierre and Phillippe wolfed down breakfast, barely lifting their heads from the plate as they noticed how thick the snow had become and how deep they could sink into it.

"Mama!" Pierre suddenly exclaimed, lifting his head from his plate as an idea clearly came into his head, "Mama, play with us today?" She looked at him, bemusement playing at her face as she sipped her tea.

"Play?" she questioned, looking from one son to another.

"Yes!" they nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, play snowball with us?" She laughed, then shook her head. Both of their faces fell immediately and it played on her heart. Never had she imagined playing in the snow, not something she ever wanted to do.

"Ok," she caved, her heart warming at the excitement on their faces, "but no being too harsh on me." They both nodded, clinking there forks on their plates and scraping their chairs from underneath them. Phillippe ran to the door, the turned, smiling at his mother as he scurried toward her.

"Thank you," he smiled, placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek, "Joseph and all of us and you will have a wonderful time."

She laughed slightly, draining the last of her coffee a she stood up.

"Mama, that robe, that's not yours," Pierre said curiously from his spot by the door. Her heart came to a terrific stop, his robe! God, she had forgotten. She fingered the belt consciously, swallowing as she tried to come up with a convincing excuse.

"Ahh, I just found it in my room. It's your fathers, much warmer than mine," she said quickly, nervously rubbing her hands down her side.

"Oh, ok," Pierre smiled, apparently taken in by her lame but believable excuse. He quickly hurried off, his brother in tow. A deep chuckle came from behind them as they exited, heralding a very smug looking Joseph. She glared at him as he entered, dressed and ready for some fun in the snow.

"That wasn't funny," she said sharply, looking him in the eye.

"No," he smiled, mocking seriousness with a cocky grin, "not at all." She smiled reluctantly, shaking her head as she turned to go out.

"I can still come for my robe this evening, right?" he said slyly, turning to her. She smiled again, despite wanting to shout at him. Considering he was irresistible, she couldn't get angry at him.

"You can," she smiled, raising an eyebrow, "just make sure the boys don't see it on you."

As she mounted the stairs she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Acting like a fifteen year old, lusting about and flirting in such an open climate. She had tried to push to the back of her mind that fact she was married, tried to justify the fact she had slept with another man. But how could she justify that? Yes, her husband, the man she vowed for better or worse was having affairs, but two wrongs certainly didn't make anything right. But guilt; only a little wasn't enough to make her stop, nothing would make her stop. Not now that she'd been with him, felt him, wanted him. Hell she wanted more than that, she wanted to be with him every moment that existed.

Stepping into the shower, she let the scolding water massage her aching body. She closed her eyes against the spray, opening her mouth and taking a deep breath. Enough of pretending she didn't want him had taken its toll and now she had him, she felt she was the most horrid person on earth. In all truth she would have dropped it all, the title, the roles, the regulations to be with him. Yet, in all truth that was impossible. To drop her sons, to drop Rupert who as much was a bad father or husband was also a good friend, was wrong and unfair.

But with Joseph, it wasn't just a bit of fun, it was more than that. It was, well, it was wonderful. It wasn't about sex or pleasure, though neither were lacking. It was just different; it was what she felt with him, not…….oh, she didn't even know how to explain it! It just felt right.

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The snow was unbelievably deep as Clarisse steeped into it. The boys had been quick out the door but Joseph had lagged behind with her, traipsing in the thick of the snow.

"You are aware you're risking your health playing snowball fights with these boys," he teased, giving her a side-ways grin.

"Yes," she laughed, pulling on her gloves, "I am very aware of that!"

"Watch!" he suddenly shouted, but not quick enough. The snowball hit her squarely on her chest, covering her in snow.

"I'd wipe it off," Joseph laughed out of earshot of the grinning boys, "but not appropriate." She simply glared as she attempted to brush the snow off but really couldn't help the smile that crept over her face.

Before she knew it she was under attack, mercilessly being hurled with icy snow balls from her sons while her security guard amused himself.

"Joseph!" she reprimanded, trying to look annoyed and failing miserably, "help me!" Trying to contain his laughter, she spat a mouth full of well aimed snow out of her mouth. He nodded through his laughter and picking up snow started to aim at the boys.

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From the tinted windows of the limo the sight was perfect. Christmas card snow, a large lodge with soft lighting and a smoking chimney. A family, or at least what appeared like one tumbling in the snow. Covered, laughing, playing, enjoying each others company. Perhaps Rupert had never noticed it but she looked glowing. Smiling amusedly at her children and Joseph, she looked so contented. No, he didn't love her but he couldn't deny how attractive she was.

His children, children he'd never really wanted, noticed the line of cars snaking its way up the mountain first. Joseph stopped mid-way through creating a snowball to study the approaching cars. He turned to Clarisse, said something and clearly, whatever he said was not welcomed. The fun, the playfulness came to a stop as the cars halted in front of the group of people.

The car door swung open, letting in the chill as Rupert wrapped his coat tighter round himself.

"Hello," he smiled, "Clarisse, children." They stood there, Phillippe partially gaping at his father, disgust on the face of Pierre. Joseph looked very uncomfortable, tugging on the collar of his coat as the nasty silence engulfed them. Clarisse was blank, her face stony and cold.

"Rupert," she smiled, shooting a look at Philippe who closed his mouth immediately.

"Your Majesty," Joseph smiled, "how nice to see you. Come on, let's get inside and get something warm to drink."

Rupert held Clarisse back as the others treaded silently ahead. She looked at him, disgust and something else, something he could have well mistaken as fear coming over her face.

"Clarisse, are you ok?" he questioned, taking her upper arm.

"Fine," she said sharply. "Did the mistress bail out, or are you just here for the view?" She pulled out of his grasp then, moving over the snow quicker so she wasn't near him. He sighed, this was a bad idea, he had know it.

We like to cause trouble, hence Rupert coming to stay! evil grins

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Yours,

The Authors.