Part 3 by Posh and Stoneygem

It was early when Clarisse woke, sleep hadn't come easy or been uneventful but unfortunately her physical needs outweighed her reluctance to face the world. She was hungry; an entire day without food had taken its toll. She showered and dressed before even leaving the bedchamber and although still fuming found she headed directly to the scene of the previous night's argument.

The room was still dark, and chilly she registered as she moved into the room and shivered. The fire was dead, the curtains still drawn; food still lay on the table though she noted some had been eaten. Joseph must have been hungry after all.

Stepping forward she peered over the top of the couch, he was there, still sleeping, his legs curled up, one arm beneath his head. It can't have been comfortable. Moving around and kneeling in front of him she reached out to touch his face, feeling the lump rise in her throat as she did so. He made her so angry, frustrated her so much, but looking at him now there was no denying the truth of her feelings. It hurt so much because she was so in love with him.

She touched his chin, stroked across the part of his chest that could be seen where the blanket had slipped and shuddered when his hand caught hold of her wrist.

"Good morning." He said without even opening his eyes.

"Morning…"

Now he looked at her, took in her fearful expression, her sparkling eyes, the paleness of her skin.

"I'm sorry I upset you last night." He said with sincerity.

She swallowed. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have pushed, you were tired."

"No, no, you wanted something special, I was wrong to act the way I did."

"I thought you wanted something special too." She said harshly.

He caught the double meaning of her words and couldn't stop himself from reaching up and touching her face. "I still do, this is and always will be…"

His caress was gentle and she turned her face to kiss his fingertips, as soon as her lips made contact with his skin he pulled himself from the embrace and hastily sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He tried to smile but she noticed the grimace.

"Joseph, are you in pain?" She rested her hand on his chest.

"No, just, aching from sleeping on here. Body isn't so forgiving these days."

"Oh I'm sorry, now that is my fault. Should I order breakfast?"

"I might just take a shower, try and loosen myself up, but feel free to eat without me."

He quickly stood and she sat back on the floor watching him, he clutched the blanket around his waist and she stared up at him. It never bothered him before to walk around their suite naked, in fact right now she rather wished he would. Their shared intimacy seemed to be slipping away.

She waited for him to close the door before whispering to herself.

"I always seem to be eating alone these days."

Red. Deep dark red. It stood out on her pale skin as blood on newly fallen snow. She gazed into the mirror at herself, mentally passing critique on her body. The flair of her hips sinking into the curve of her waist. Her stomach that was no longer so firm and flat, age was taking its toll. Her breasts though, now there was something that age had been kind to. She'd never been particularly blessed in that area but she found as weight became harder to lose it stuck to her breasts and now she was almost proud of them. They filled the new red lace bra and when she leant forward they swelled into an impressive cleavage.

She couldn't help but smile at the memory of the first time she had woken to find Joseph had fallen to sleep with his head on her chest. It was wonderful and harmonious and sexual and a moment to be cherished. These days she was lucky if he turned over at night and caught her foot with his.

Well, surely, he couldn't resist this. She'd never worn anything so daring… in her entire life she'd never gone to such lengths for a man. She'd sworn she wouldn't do it, after the previous weeks fiasco she had told herself she would never again attempt to seduce him. She wasn't the kind of woman that fell to those depths, she wasn't desperate, she didn't completely rely on him to notice her to bring her to life…

Oh who was she fooling? For as long as she could remember now it was Joseph who she dressed for. It was Joseph who she looked to for approval when she flounced down the corridor in some extravagant gown. Even before they'd ever touched, before he'd ever kissed her hand or she touched his face, before they'd done an act so simple as holding hands it was his face she'd look to, searching his eyes for the love, the desire, the appreciation of her beauty. And damn it she wanted that back, she missed it, she missed his eyes glistening when he looked at her, she missed the way his body would move close to hers, or how he'd greet her with a smile all at once so full of devotion and adoration and yet bubbling under with sexual tension.

She missed the feel of his body next to hers in bed at night, of waking wrapped in his arms, of his kisses on her neck, of moving as one with him. Most of all she missed his proclamations of love as he held her. Whispered words so gentle and caressing they were as a balm to her soul.

She straightened herself up and hastily wiped the tears that began to fall. Crying wasn't going to be sexy. And she could be sexy; he'd told her so several times. That was the reason she was standing here now fastening herself into new red underwear and that thing… oh some flimsy piece of material lay on the bed staring at her. Challenging her. So she had to put that on? Just what was it supposed to cover? Perhaps that was the point, nothing at all…

It could be seen as drastic, afterall this was only her second attempt at seduction and already she'd pulled out the big guns. Second… no make that third. The second attempt didn't really count though, she hadn't done anything really, just swapped her usual long flowing night gowns for a short lilac silky thing. It had the most intricate black lace around the hem and was just so gorgeous; as soon as she'd spotted it in one of Mia's magazines she'd discreetly asked Charlotte to acquire her one. Then she'd remained in the bathroom whilst he climbed into bed and wearing just that had purposefully crossed the room making sure he noticed every curve and slink as she fussed at her dressing table brushing her hair.

When she finally climbed into bed he turned the lamp off and moved closer to her, turning onto his side and leaning over her… had her heart stopped for a second? Then he'd placed a chaste kiss to her forehead, bid her goodnight and turned back over. She couldn't recall a more uncomfortable night's sleep.

So this was it, there was nothing more daring, nothing more eye-catching, jaw-dropping… tonight they would attend the Opera, she would hold his hand in the darkness and stroke his fingers. Tonight she wouldn't simply attempt to be romantic and win him over, tonight she would make it clear what she wanted, in no uncertain terms tonight they Her gown for the Opera was also red and she tingled in anticipation of allowing him to peel it from her body and discover just what she was barely wearing beneath it.

If this didn't stop soon, things would really get out of hand. All things considered he had done really well. But it was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. If only she would stop this. The silk, the satin, the lace…if she didn't stop this, things would go from bad to worse.

Genovia's opera house was a neo-baroque building, trimmed with golden decorations. An impressive building with broad staircases and large columns of marble, it always offered a grand place to see and be seen. Tonight however, everybody was certain that one would see in the first place. As the last premiere of the season the ensemble showed "Madame Butterfly" and since it was a well-known fact that her Majesty, Queen Clarisse loved this particular opera, it was expected that she and her husband would attend the event.

Gossip about the couple, which had yet to make an entrance, ran high already and people gathered at the banisters of the staircases to claim a place where they would be able to see everything. A sharp rise in the excited murmur announced the arrival of the couple and within seconds all eyes turned downwards to catch a glimpse. Seconds later, all noise ceased for a moment and hundreds of eyes widened considerably. Then the murmur increased again and more than once a male voice could be heard muttering "Lucky bastard!"

Clarisse, of course, registered the reactions she got from the crowd and inwardly she couldn't help but smirk. If you've got it, you've got it, she thought, feeling admiring eyes burning into her back. Her feeling of pride disappeared quickly however, when she realized that this was the only thing she felt on her back.

To all onlookers they presented the perfect couple: she in her gorgeous dark red gown that was so tight that she actually asked herself how she had gotten into it. The velvet clung to her figure like a second skin, providing a coquettish glimpse of the blood red lace adorning the hems of the flimsy piece she was wearing underneath it. The cut of the gown also made for one hell of a cleavage. Add to that the slit up to her thigh and she was sure she presented a breathtaking image. Joseph however, hadn't commented on it at all. To all bystanders, it looked as if he was guiding her with his hand on the small of her back, however, she could feel that he was not touching her as usual. As a matter of fact, he looked as if he'd rather run away as fast as possible.

Smiling at the assembled crowd as they slowly made their way up the stairs to the royal box, Clarisse felt her smile freeze on her face. Big guns? Didn't seem to work at all. But she hadn't given up. Not yet. They had four hours in total darkness ahead of them and he knew just how much this opera made her cry. The right moment would come and she would use it.

Two hours later, Clarisse could honestly say that her temper was slowly but steadily rising to the boiling point. Exponentially to this her frustration was rising as well. They had sat next to each other on their armchairs in the royal box in the dark for almost two hours and nothing. Nothing at all. For the first time in her life, she had not followed the fate of Madame Butterfly, but concentrated on getting closer to the man beside her, without being too obvious. Nothing had worked. No scooting closer, no inconspicuously taking his hand. Nothing. All she had gotten was a short squeeze of his hand and then he had disentangled himself from her. The only thing she hadn't tried, was throwing herself at him and…

The appearance of a footman by her side, telling her that the intermission was imminent and asking for their choice of drinks, distracted her momentarily. She'd rather have stayed in the box with Joseph, but appearances had to be kept.

A few minutes later, the lights came on again and excited chatter filed the vast hall. Clarisse turned to her husband and gave him a tender smile. Putting her hand on his arm, she asked: "Are you ready to face the music?"

A grimace of pain, or was it disgust, flitted over his handsome face, but he quickly suppressed it and answered in this incredible sexy undertone of his: "I thought, we faced the music for the last two hours. It's the intermission. There is no music. Only crowds."

She playfully swatted his arm; delighting in the shiver his voice had sent up and down her spine. Maybe…

Joseph quickly stood and straightened himself. Clarisse sighed. He looked too handsome in his black tux. He looked too handsome in black. Period. Too bad, he couldn't have worn a black dress shirt as well. That would have set off the blood red bow tie even more. Still, they way the jacket showed off his shoulders and chest. She closed her eyes for a second imagining how she would peel off this same jacket and shirt and then run her hands over the sculpted muscles of his chest.

"Are you coming, my dear?" his voice came from the door.

Momentarily disoriented, Clarisse turned her head from side to side, looking for him, before she realized that he was already by the open door. Suppressing the frown that was beginning to form on her face, she nodded and rose from her chair. Smoothing any imaginary wrinkles out of her dress, she missed the flare in his eyes and the convulsive swallows he took.

"Clarisse?"

Nodding again, she took the few steps to the door and joined the gaiety on the floor.

At the door he took her hand momentarily and helped her down the few steps from the royal box. She lifted her dress slightly and watched her feet carefully, when she reached the bottom she looked up and caught his eye. He was staring at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes shining. She gave his hand a squeeze, and to her surprise he lifted her hand and kissed it before letting go and escorting her through the quickly growing crowds.

Perhaps she was over analysing things afterall; perhaps his affections for her hadn't dwindled. But he seemed distant more often than not nowadays and his behaviour towards her changed so quickly. She didn't understand it; she couldn't keep up with it.

Gratefully she accepted the Champagne glass and took a sip gazing around. All these people staring at her, well staring at them, watching to see how the former Queen was handling married life. They all thought it so very amusing that she would stoop to marry a commoner, nothing more than a worker in their eyes. All the gossip that had abounded when they'd unexpectedly married, all the nasty comments and harsh jibes. That he'd married her for money and status and a healthy retirement; that she'd secretly been sleeping with him for years, perhaps even before King Rupert died and she had waited for a moment to formally bring him into the fold. How they wanted it to fail, wanted her to fall.

She turned her gaze to her husband, caught his smile as he laughed at something being said to him. He was chatting to Maria Sandrine, an art critic, a statuesque redheaded art critic with a sharp wit and even sharper nails. Without thinking things through entirely Clarisse leant forward and rested her hand on his arm, she would show all these people. She pressed her mouth to his in a gentle kiss; gripping his arm so he wouldn't pull back she deepened the kiss feeling him stiffen next to her. She let go and moved back astonished at his formal stance.

Oh god, how wrong she was! Ashamed and suddenly embarrassed she stepped back from him, made her excuses to the approaching gossips and headed to the private balcony for some air. Joseph didn't follow, seemingly engrossed in his conversation with Ms. Sandrine, Shades accompanied her outside then politely kept a distance as she wandered off into the darkness. She leant on the rails and closed her eyes lifting her flushed face to the cool night air. She wasn't jealous, there was no room for that, Joseph wasn't the type of man to be indiscreet… was he? No, no he couldn't be. Not like Rupert, not married to her yet sleeping with other women. He'd never do that. Not after everything they'd been through to get here.

She tilted her neck back feeling the lace of her undergarment stretch along her body, it reminded her of tonight's aim. She was about to return to the gathering feeling refreshed when she heard two female voices approaching. They stood a little way down the balcony, leaning together and chatting, gossiping. Clarisse was about to set off past them when she heard one of them say,

"Did you see that dress? She almost couldn't keep her boobs in it. Honestly, what has gotten into her?"

The other answered in a similarly screechy voice, "I'd say, she's more aiming for something to get into her. That's why she wore it in the first place, completely showing off her dessous."

The first replied in a scandalized voice, "Do you really think so? Imagine, the dull queen suddenly sex-crazed." Both giggled.

In the shadows of the balcony Clarisse gripped the railing even tighter as anger surged through like fire. With difficulty both the so-called 'ladies of society' contained their laughter and the first one spoke again,

"How often do you think she's getting it nowadays?"

"With a husband that looks like that who knows... If the man is only remotely in bed like he looks, then she gets it often. Damn, some women just get it all."

"Don't they just, how old do you think he is, fifty-two?"
"You must be joking, he's her age, well sixty, she's got almost a year on him."

"Never! Well he's looking fine…"

"Absolutely."

Clarisse was about to blurt something out when the bell rang to announce the end of the intermission. Gathering herself she proudly lifted her head and strode purposefully past the two dumbstruck woman, she never even gave them the courtesy of looking to their faces, it didn't matter who they were, she honestly didn't wish to know.

The remaining hours passed comfortably enough, she pushed all thoughts of seduction from her mind and actually sat back and relaxed into the music. She knew the story so well, knew the outcome, the tragedy and heartbreak, yet as the music swelled she still found herself gripping Joseph's hand. Sharing in the woman's cries and anguish, feeling the pain as keenly as if she were on that stage in that role. He never flinched next to her, never tried to move his hand from hers, perhaps he knew she needed the comfort.

When the lights dimmed, just before the curtain rose again, he discreetly handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at the tears that streamed down her face. She cried every time, no matter how many times she had sat through it, each and every time she was carried away and with those last notes she lost control and allowed the tears to fall in the darkness of the grand house.

It would have been customary - and actually polite - for them to stay afterwards and congratulate artists at the premiere party, but this evening Clarisse just didn't feel up to it. She knew the gossip would run high over it, but she just didn't care. All she wanted was to get home, get out of this dress and all the other bloody material underneath it, don a flannel pyjama and fall into bed. Then she would draw the covers over her head and hopefully not appear again until next year.

All thoughts of a grand seduction were gone from her mind. What had she been thinking, anyway? Exposing herself like that in public. It didn't lead anywhere. And was it really all about sex? Wasn't it all about closeness? Togetherness? Him holding her hand while she cried over an opera? Him holding her cape for her and squeezing her shoulders in assurance?

Maybe that was enough. For the moment.