Ah, nothing like the combination of a looming deadline for a school assignment and the hopeless pondering of my WIPs to inspire me to go through my backlog of stories. I found this one, brushed it off, and am posting it. I wrote it in order to clear away any doubt that the pessimistic side of me has about Joseph's feelings in the cathedral. (What if he said yes to Clarisse, but *gasp* didn't mean it?) (Although if you're looking for that version, Marjorie Nescio has you covered with her take in the NHEAS.)

PixieKayGirl and evitamockingbird read this at various stages of development. Thanks to both of you for your thoughts and suggestions!

Thanks for reading!


-Present Day-

The way she leaned in - that had been important.

There had been plenty of times when he was the one who had drawn her toward him, but in that moment, the Leaning had a great deal of significance. The Asking had as well. They had exchanged their vows - to no one's surprise but their own, apparently - and then she had closed the distance between them, once and for all.

She had come to him. All this was unequivocally her choice. He had lost faith for awhile, and so had tried to be the one who bridged what he had perceived as a widening gap between them. But she hadn't lost faith - she'd been the one to find it, of course she had - and they were right again.

The promise he had made long ago had been honored, and he knew in his heart Rupert's blessing was secured.

And he, Joseph Romero, was married to Clarisse Renaldi.

For what might well be the last time, he stood in front of the mirror of his palace apartment, where he was changing for the reception - that was now for Clarisse and for him - with a grin so wide he feared he had permanently cracked his signature stony-faced bodyguard expression.

-Not Present Day-

"Good-bye, dear." She tilted her head slightly and offered the space somewhere between her lips and her cheek.

Rupert's kiss and words of farewell caught the corner of her mouth. "'Bye, darling." The King was feeling rushed - he hated being behind schedule - and he came off sounding brusque.

But the affection was no less authentic for its being bestowed in haste, and Joseph found himself averting his eyes.

"Do be careful, and please call when you get there." Clarisse was already speaking to his back, and he had to look over his shoulder to respond.

"I will."

"Joseph, please…"

Joseph, who had moved to fall into step behind the King, paused for a moment to bow and offer reassurance.

"I promise to see him off safely."

"I know, but he's running late, and he'll try to get you to drive faster."

"I will adhere to the speed limit, Your Majesty."

Rupert turned in exasperation. "Clarisse, you're not even letting him walk at a normal pace. If you don't want him speeding, then for God's sake, at least let him get out of the palace in a reasonable amount of time."

"Alright, alright," she conceded testily. "Go on then."

Joseph kept his promise to the Queen as much as possible, to his King's dismay; and Genovia One was waiting for its passenger when they arrived. An odd juggling of the schedule and staff had required the head of royal security to arrive ahead of the King to oversee preparations at the airport, leaving Joseph to act as chauffeur. Now David stood by, ready to take over from Joseph.

Joseph wasted no time in bringing the limousine to a stop, popping out from the driver's seat, and opening the door for the King.

Rupert unfolded himself quickly and gracefully the moment the door opened. His assistant let himself out the other side and was behind the monarch in the blink of an eye. The three of them moved forward together toward David and the plane, Rupert's long-legged strides setting the pace.

Then he stopped. He turned briefly to his assistant. "A moment, please," Rupert said, and the man bowed and continued on ahead alone.

"Joseph."

"Your Majesty."

"The Queen."

"I promise to take good care of her."

Rupert waved his words away. "I know, I know. It's…" He frowned, his eyebrows diving toward the rim of his sunglasses, and took a deep breath. "I love her dearly, you know that."

Didn't he just? Joseph's jaw tightened involuntarily and he gave a curt nod.

"I trust you and David with my life, and I trust her with my heart. I love this country. We married this country, she and I. You do understand?"

"I'm not sure, Your Majesty."

Rupert shifted from one foot to the other, moved a little closer into Joseph's space; close enough that he detected a whiff of cigarettes and an expensive cologne that he could only afford with most of one paycheck. Rupert turned his back more completely so his own face was hidden from the rest of the staff, and pulled off his sunglasses.

Joseph could not recall a recent time when he had felt this nervous.

"Joseph, if she needs you. If she...wants you."

His eyes, shielded by his own dark shades, widened slightly. "Pardon?"

"Look, can we be honest for a moment? I am getting on a plane and flying away for a few days, and this will be behind us, literally and figuratively. I know how you feel about her, Joseph."

"You...you know?" Did his voice just squeak?

"Yes, I know. And we know how she feels about you, don't we?"

"We do?" Definitely squeaky.

"Yes, yes," Rupert confirmed impatiently. "She'll never do anything to endanger the life we have together, to be unfaithful to her country. She was so young when she signed away all options for another future, so idealistic, so -" Rupert broke off, and it wouldn't be until later that the abruptness of that moment would be obvious to Joseph, leaving him to ponder what else the Queen had been. "She's never had the opportunity to experience what you can give her. I trust you, Joseph, and I admire you a great deal. If you overstep your boundaries, I will nevertheless fire you without so much as a second thought. But if she is the one to...overstep… You see what I mean?"

"I think so, but I'd rather be very clear about this."

"My heart goes out to you. You find yourself in love in the most impossible of all situations. But so does Clarisse. I know you will be anything to her that she asks, but that's the point, isn't it? She must be the one who does the asking."

"Your Majesty, I would never -"

"Just promise me that you won't pursue her. And I promise you that as long as she's the one who…"

Joseph swallowed hard. "Pursues?"

"Yes, as long as she has done the pursuing -" He chuckled and clapped his hand on Joseph's shoulder, causing the stricken man to flinch. "- then no harm will come to you, my friend."

Rupert stepped back and gave a wink just as the sunglasses slipped over his eyes again.

Joseph watched him walk on. David, who had been well out of earshot, cast a curious glance toward Joseph before falling in line behind Rupert. The assistant waited for both of them at the entrance to the plane.

Joseph replayed the last minute or so of his life in an attempt to make the memory of it as factual as possible.

The King knew Joseph was in love with his wife.

The Queen knew Joseph was in love with her.

The Queen was in love with him.

The Queen. Was in love. With him.

If she asked him to be her lover, he could say yes.

The last thing she had asked him was to take care of her husband.

No, this wasn't weird. Not in the least.

Joseph had long ago resigned himself to a life of unrequited love, and it would be absolute folly to rethink that plan. She was a queen. A married queen. He was her bodyguard. An affair could endanger her marriage at the least, her country at most.

He waited until the plane lifted into the sky, borne on invisible air currents and held aloft on a collection of physical laws that would have been inconceivable to the point of laughable only a hundred years earlier. But life could change like that. What was beyond the realm of possibility could change, sometimes in the space of a moment.

He slid behind the wheel of the limousine. He drove back to the palace. He saw the Queen that afternoon. She smiled like sunshine and openness. There was no hint of knowledge of the conversation he had endured with Rupert earlier. Nothing had changed for her.

The King returned home four days later without anything having been asked.

Joseph was as relieved as he was heartbroken.

-0-

In almost every way, this moment fit the King's requirements - those he had stipulated and those he likely would have.

It was dark. Out in the nighttime mist that lifted off the creek and settled under the trees, they were alone and in danger of staying that way.

She had come to him - slipping from the security of the palace walls and with the help of the moon's light, had daintily picked her way across the dew-covered grounds to where he was.

She stood across from him now. He waited for her to ask and wondered what his answer would be.

Only she didn't ask. She leaned toward him tentatively, then stopped. Waited.

It was decency that held her in limbo now. She wanted to know it was what he wanted, too.

God, it was everything he wanted.

Carefully, he made up the tiny remainder of the distance between them. Their lips touched, still seeking each other's permission.

It was granted.

They melted together in the silvery shadows, the damp night wrapping around them as they wrapped their arms around each other. She tasted of lavender and salt and…

Wine.

He kissed her longer than he should have, let her kiss him deeply and thoroughly, and he moaned from the exquisite pain of learning how it felt to truly come alive when she moved against him and of knowing he was going to have to push her - gently, gently - away.

She would not be pushed away. So he stepped back.

"Clarisse," he whispered, and he overlaid her name with a thousand apologies.

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered back. "Oh, Joseph, I… I misunderstood."

This time, he did move toward her, God and Rupert forgive him. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers, and kissed her until all doubt and embarrassment left her. And this time, rather than push her away, he held her tightly, her head tucked under his head and her fingers clutching at his back.

"I'm not drunk," she said. "Is that what you're thinking?"

"Not that you're drunk. Just that…"

"Just that I'm letting the wine make important life choices for me?" He thought he heard a tiny smile in her voice.

"Maybe. A little."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But sometimes wine has some very good ideas."

In spite of himself, he laughed. "Wine is deceptive."

"No." She lifted her head and looked at him. "There is nothing in this moment that isn't truth, that isn't always here. Not for me, anyway."

"Not for me either, my queen."

"But…?"

"But I want too much."

"So do I," she assured him.

"More than is right to ask."

"This is already more than is right to ask," she pointed out sadly.

"I know."

"Then there is only one appropriate thing to do." She took a deep breath. "Joseph, I must ask for your resignation."

"How's that?"

"How long have you felt this way?"

He struggled for words, to keep up with the conversation that was spinning in different directions, and settled for a ridiculous amount of honesty: "So long, Clarisse. So very long."

"So have I. And I thought I would be content with a lifetime of your being near me. But it would be selfish of me."

He was starting to understand. "No. I'm not going anywhere."

"Let me fire you. Relieve you of your duties. Run you off. Chase you away."

"Never."

"Please, you can't be happy here with me."

"But I am. Miserable, yet inexplicably happy at the same time."

Now she laughed, but only because she was afraid of crying. "I understand that. Completely." She touched his cheek and he closed his eyes.

How could something so beautiful leave him feeling so wrecked? How could doing the right and noble thing make him feel so resentful?

"You'll leave me someday," she told him matter-of-factly.

"I won't. Not ever."

"You won't be able to wait forever. And even then, what would you be waiting for?"

She was right, at least about the latter part. The sordid reality of what would have to transpire for them to even have a chance to be together made itself crystal clear for the first time.

It would undoubtedly not be news to the King. He would have had to understand the implications already. If he had been willing to give his permission in life, he must have been prepared for what came after.

Joseph shook his head. He and the King were not friends, not in any cozy, informal sense of the word. But Joseph liked the King, and respected him a great deal. (What else would have kept him from spiriting his wife away?) And he loved his adopted country. (What else would have kept him from spiriting its queen away?)

"I don't know," he replied finally. "But I will. Wait, that is. Until you decide you don't want me."

"That won't happen," she promised him.

"Just let me stay."

"Just kiss me one more time before we go."

-0-

King Rupert had requested Joseph stop by the royal apartment with a selection of cigars. They may not have been friends in any traditional way, but Rupert did have great respect for Joseph's taste when it came to cigars (a much more sensible use of his paychecks than expensive cologne), and Joseph was impressed with Rupert's taste when it came to whiskey. And sometimes, Rupert needed someone who could sit quietly and enjoy a good cigar and fine whiskey without feeling the need to do anything else at all.

This time, Joseph stopped short in the doorway to the balcony.

Rupert noticed Joseph's hesitation. "What's the matter -?" Then it dawned on him. "Ah, the death sentence. I assure you, we are past the point where one cigar more or less is going to matter."

He was right, Joseph couldn't argue with that. (Could one argue with his king, anyway?)

They assumed their familiar positions, leaning back in comfortable chairs - His Majesty's chair had an extra cushion now, and a blanket draped over the back in case he caught a chill - and smoked and sipped in silence.

It was Rupert who broke the wordless serenity. "Have you slept with my wife?"

Joseph spit out his whiskey.

"Now, don't waste that, old man. That's expensive drink."

"I have not, Your Majesty."

Rupert sighed. "If you are too honorable to have slept with her while I was healthy, I suppose there will be no hope for you now."

"There is not, Your Majesty."

"When I'm dead then?"

"I am feeling very uncomfortable for many reasons right now."

"Sorry. Yes, I suppose you are." There was a pause, then: "I don't have time to mince words anymore." There was nothing for Joseph to say to that, so Rupert let the hole in the quiet heal up again, and they settled back into the evening.

When the cigars were nearly all fallen ash, Rupert spoke again. "Before I let her accept my marriage proposal, I pointed out - among other things - that I was too old for her. I would die long before she would, and leave her a widow too young. She insisted it was not a problem in the least, that she would wear black for the rest of her years. Joseph?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let her wear black too long."

Joseph didn't answer. He was thinking back, as he had often done, to that halted moment on the tarmac years ago when Rupert had told him all the things Clarisse had been. What were they? Young. That was for sure. Rupert had said it again now, too. She had been young. She had been...idealistic. Yes, that was it. She had been...what? What was she that she had been willing to forfeit all her non-royal life paths? Why would she have worn black all the rest of her years?

So that was it, the missing end of the sentence. Joseph felt something cold twist in his chest.

Clarisse had been in love. And not just with her country.

-0-

Though Joseph had never pursued and Clarisse had never asked, they had found a way, consciously or otherwise, to connect physically over the years.

They were little things - brushing lint off a shoulder, straightening a tie, lightly touching an arm to get the other's attention. Once she needed help across an icy sidewalk, and as no one else was around, he held her hands to steady her. One of his hands lingered with hers longer than it should have. Little things, but still as dangerous as any full-blown affair. If, for example, a camera had captured that moment when she'd pulled his handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket to wipe a spot of chocolate off his lip, it would have been as damning as catching them in flagrante delicto.

So these small gestures were shared between them, and treasured. But Rupert still had the greater intimacy - her confidences, her quietest and most unguarded moments. Her heart, at one time.

Joseph had long ago figured out that Rupert's affections lay elsewhere, and were likely as unrequited as Joseph's. But had Clarisse ever held Rupert's heart as completely as he had held hers? When they married, perhaps? He tried not to think of it - whether their love for one another had overlapped at some point, whether it was more than duty that was consummated on their wedding night.

But Joseph remembered and respected the King's directive, and had applied it to emotional matters as well as potential matters of the flesh. He would not pursue her in any way, or ask for anything she was not ready to offer.

There were things she shared, but the questions he wanted answered the most - even as he feared them - she kept close to herself. And anyway, the circumstances surrounding the ownership of her heart in her youth were not completely hers to divulge. She owned them with Rupert, and Genovia owned them both.

Still the truth managed to find him one sad and dreary day, unexpectedly and from another source entirely.

-0-

"Joseph?"

"Your Majesty."

"Will you see that Lord Bellamy is driven safely back to the palace? I suspect he has, erm, imbibed some significant amount of liquid comfort."

He gave a small bow to Clarisse before turning to Shades and nodding his head. The younger man stepped over to the Queen to block the wind-whipped rain her umbrella could not, and to help her into the back of the limousine. Joseph waited until she was safely on her way, then crossed the graveyard to where Lord Edouard Bellamy stood in solitude at the edge of a copse of spindly trees. Yesterday, their foliage had likely been bright and festive for fall; but the overnight storm had stripped them mostly bare, and any leaves that remained were battered and bruised and clinging to the thin branches for dear life.

It was a day that demanded mourning without mercy from even the trees.

If Edouard was aware of the tumultuous weather, of the color seeping out of the trees, or of Joseph's approach, he gave no indication of it.

"My apologies, my lord, but I have heard you find yourself without a driver this morning."

"I can drive myself," he replied, his eyes glued to the place in the ground that would hold his heart for the rest of time.

The wind roiled around them then, and Joseph cinched the lapels of his raincoat together under his neck. Edouard did not shiver, or even so much as flinch.

"My lord, I am concerned that you will catch a chill. Also, it happens that I have an extra car here. I can have one of my staff -"

"I don't want your car or your staff. I have a car, and when I am ready to leave, I will get in it and drive far, far away from here."

Joseph knew Edouard would never be ready to leave, and he was in no condition for driving, long distance or otherwise.

He took a step closer, and in doing so, a big risk of chasing off a man who had no business being alone in his current state.

"I will drive you myself," Joseph said quietly.

Edouard looked up then. He blinked several times as he attempted to bring Joseph into focus.

"Who sent you?" It was accusatory, but not belligerent.

"Her Majesty. She wants me to see you home."

"I'm not ready to go home yet, Joseph."

"Then we shall drive to the palace and circle the block until you are ready to go in."

Edouard laughed, a low dark sound, but there was some amusement in it. "Circle the block, eh?"

"Yes. It is a very big block."

An actual grin. "Is there any point in resisting?"

"No. Besides, this particular car has a small stash of bourbon in the backseat."

"What are we waiting for, Joseph?"

They walked slowly back to the car, able to take their time as the crowd had diminished and the paparazzi had flown with the motorcade, flocking after the living with the same hunger that vultures sought out the dead. They walked through the wind and the stinging rain, through the cold that stiffened their limbs and the pain that smothered their hearts. Joseph moved his umbrella so it sheltered them both, and hovered his hand a few inches from Edouard's back in case he needed extra guidance.

Joseph saw the man into the car before getting behind the wheel himself, as promised. He turned toward the backseat to give directions to the tiny camouflaged bar, but Edouard had already found it.

He lifted the glass, held it aloft in black gloved-fingers, then tossed the contents back. Joseph watched the man's body relax, his eyes closed and his head lolling against the seat as the cold left his body in a shudder and the grief went temporarily numb. After a few moments, he opened one eye. "I would offer, but you're driving."

Joseph gave him a nod of appreciation. "I am," and he turned the key in the ignition. He cranked up the heat to where it was far too uncomfortable for himself, but probably only beginning to take the edge off for Edouard.

"You are a good-looking guy, you know that, Joseph?"

Ah, the unpredictability of drunken conversations. He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Edouard chuckled. "I know a secret about you."

His insides clenched in dread, but he kept his calm demeanor. "Then we are even. I know one about you as well."

"I'll bet you do," he replied, the high gloss of his usual charm tarnished by a surprising earnestness Joseph had never heard before. "You know that my womanizing is fake."

"I do."

"Well, then you're wrong. It's not actually fake. What I mean is, I am in no uncertain terms a womanizer. Or was. I'm too old for that shit now." He lapsed into silence, apparently forgetting that he had intended to go somewhere with this. It was a few minutes and a second drink later when he remembered. "I was a womanizer, but it was all for show. I lived in fear of being found out. It would have been the ruin of him. If I had been found out, he might have been found out. I couldn't risk anyone finding out, even if it had ended before...before he married." He laughed quietly in a way that made Joseph shiver. "But you found out, didn't you, you clever bastard?"

"I knew."

"How did it go? Did she tell you? Or did I slip up?"

Joseph hesitated before deciding there was little chance the other man would remember much of this later. "Actually, it was His Majesty."

Edouard's eyes grew instantly cold and disbelieving. "He didn't tell you."

"No, he didn't. He slipped up though. I saw him once, watching you, and I knew then. I recognized something of my own struggle in the way he tried not to watch you. But in those few seconds, I saw... I knew then."

This answer seemed acceptable to Edouard, and he nodded slowly. "I see." He poured himself another glass; and as the car was moving and he was getting drunker, there was something unnerving in the steadiness of his hand.

"He wouldn't have slipped up in his younger years. We made it too easy for him not to. Clarisse was head over designer heels for him, and I was royally pissed off. That's what the womanizing was at first. I wanted to numb the pain, and I wanted him to feel pain. What did he get? A dandy little bundle for a fellow to cuddle. You can't feel pain through that! Joseph?"

"Yes, my lord."

"The thing is, it wasn't Rupert who hurt me. He'd had no choice in the matter. Why did I spend so many years trying to hurt him back? Why, Joseph?"

"Because you are human, my lord."

"Well, humanity can fuck off." He spoke into his glass as he lifted it to his lips. "Joseph?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I think I'm cut off now."

"You are very wise."

"And you can stop circling the block."

"Very good, sir."

"There's no block. See? That's why it's funny. It's a fucking palace. It doesn't fit on a block."

"No, it does not."

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Joseph pulled up to the most inconspicuous entrance, where they were relatively sheltered from the weather and prying eyes.

This time, Joseph's hand made contact with Edouard's back, his arm ready to slide around his shoulders in an instant. They started to walk, but Edouard stopped and, very slightly, swayed.

"Look at us. A couple of unmentionables. Unsuitable suitors."

He didn't even feel it coming, but there it was: Question 1 of 2, just blurting itself out.

"Did he love her back?" Joseph asked.

Edouard sighed and brought his hands up to Joseph's face. He patted one cheek thoughtfully while he formed his response. "He loved her. Who couldn't? Well, I couldn't. Not at first. Eventually, even I loved her, damn it. But Rupert. I knew him. He didn't love her back. That much, even he couldn't do."

Question 2 of 2. "When did she stop loving him?"

Edouard released Joseph's face and draped a heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a sort of side hug - but somehow without the hug. Edouard wasn't much for hugging, even in his present state.

"Never. But she didn't always love him back. Does that make sense?"

"No."

"I mean, I think she realized he could never love her like she loved him - am I keeping all my pronouns straight?"

"Very much so, I'm quite impressed."

"She started to love him back the way he loved her. It was a good fit for them, that kind of love. And I'm not just saying that because of jealousy. Her love and my jealousy sort of wore off about the same time. We all grew up a bit. And then you showed up, old man."

"I did?"

"So you saw him looking at me, eh? That's what gave it away? I'll share a little secret with you. That's how I knew. I saw her look at you. I don't doubt she loved Rupert when she was younger, that she'd given him all she thought her adorably youthful heart could give. She'd looked at Rupert with stars in her eyes. But the way she looked at you, still looks at you when she thinks it's safe - I'm pretty sure she never loved him like that."

It didn't feel wrong, having asked. And neither did it feel wrong having been answered, because suddenly he realized he'd known all along.

"None of this matters, old chap." Edouard leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "Love isn't going to save us now. Because when she sees the condition I'm in, she's going to kill us both."

Somehow, he was pretty sure he'd known that, too. They looked at each other and laughed, then by some miracle, stayed upright as they made their way into the palace.

-0-

The King was gone, and so was the Crown Prince. Joseph still remembered Rupert's instructions, but now he was in uncharted territory.

When Mia left - more like made a dash for freedom, poor girl - after the wango lesson, and Clarisse slipped her glasses off, she looked drained. Lovely, of course, but drained.

He had been waiting, as always, for her to come to him. Well, to come back to him. Sometimes, after Rupert, she'd needed comfort. Sometimes she had needed time to herself. Sometimes she had simply needed him.

But then they lost Philippe as well.

Joseph had given her space, as he had done for much of their shared life. He had been certain she would know to come find him whenever she needed him, needed anything at all. In the meantime, he made sure she ate and turned in at a decent hour. Made sure she had someone to hold her or to sit on the opposite end of the sofa while she kept company with her own thoughts. Now he feared it had been a mistake, not interfering with her emotional well-being, because there was more than loss and grief. There had been a reconnecting with her granddaughter.

A girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to her father. Innocently - overwhelmingly - the child encompassed all that had been lost and found in the past year.

What would Rupert want him to do with all this? What would Philippe have wanted, for his mother and for his daughter? What did Clarisse want that she might not know how to ask for?

Don't let her wear black too long.

It was quiet in this moment, and they were alone. He reached across her to turn the music back on.

Sometimes, he would have to be the one who made the first move in order to take care of her. And when she looked at him as the music started again, he knew that it would be alright. He was not overstepping. It didn't count as pursuing.

Sometimes he might even forget himself, and make the first move because he wanted to. He might cut it on a prime minister during a dance, or dismiss her guards with a flick of his wrist, or make plans to smuggle her into a garden for a secret make-out session - when the time was right. And when the time was right, she would laugh at him, and smile, and be glad he was there. She would even be up for a make-out session.

And she did all those things while wearing colors.

-0-

It had been the worst night of his life.

He had pushed her, pushed her too far. What else was she going to say, but no? She had been happy, dancing with him an empty room. He realized that now - what a luxury empty rooms with stolen dances in them were, had always been. She had even tried to hold on to him, to get him to stay, after he had pushed too far.

He had failed to comply with his King's directions. He had asked for too much. He had made promises to them both, and had failed them both. The only thing he deserved now was complete and utter self-destruction.

Even worse, he had made the most stupid series of decisions of his life with a completely respectable blood alcohol level. He couldn't afford to drink too much. His own destruction could not interfere with the protection of the royal family, and there was a wedding coming up. He wanted to protect her person, her throne, her country, her granddaughter; even as he hurt them.

He had dashed off the letter after only one drink. He hadn't even delivered it in person. He had left it propped up on her desk in her room when he was certain she was out.

It hadn't been cowardice. He couldn't face her because he knew despite his mistakes she still loved him, and she shouldn't love him. She should be hurting, like he was. They had been doomed from the beginning. Hell, he didn't even know where the beginning was, only that it was ending, and mostly by his hand. He needed to feel it fall apart. He needed to suffer the consequences of violating Rupert's trust in him. He needed to fulfill the wretched prophecy she had made all those years ago.

He would leave her someday. It had been unfathomable to him at the time, but she had known.

Now it was the light of early morning, and he watched her walking with Maurice. What was he going to do, but watch her? What could he do, but love her? What had he done?

He should have gotten drunk - too drunk to write stupid letters of resignation, too drunk to walk straight and leave them places to be discovered. Maybe, if he had been incapacitated, sequestered in his room for one miserable night, he would still be able to find something of them now, something of himself, to salvage.

All because he had pursued.

He caught a memory like the flash of dark sunglasses and the whiff of an expensive cologne tinged with cigarettes, and waited for a new wave of shame to crash over him. Curiously, it didn't come.

He saw her lean down to Maurice. He knew she would be talking to him. Her voice would be like music, and she would look calm and gracefully poised for whatever the day held. She had things to do, after all.

And so did he. He hadn't left yet.

It was strange how there could be something like peace even in the absence of hope. He would succumb to the reassurance of routine and responsibility. He would watch her and love her.

What could he do but watch her and love her? What else could he have ever done?

-0-

She asked him to marry her.

She kissed him. In front of everyone. He had started to kiss her, but stopped himself and let her finish the leaning.

It took awhile for the feeling that he might break everything she was giving him to go away. When he was sure of what she offered, of what was his to accept, he held on tightly and promised to never let her go again.

-Present Day-

She came to him one more time before the reception.

He opened the door and she slipped in from the hall.

"You don't have to knock, you know," he told her.

"I know. But it's still your apartment. This has always been your own space."

"What's mine is yours now."

"I came to offer my help. There is a grand reception with a rollicking crowd waiting for us. You should have a valet, but I doubt you would appreciate that."

"Hardly. I don't think I'm ready for things like valets."

For all his previous grinning like an idiot, and all her casual jocularity in the church, they now faced each other almost shyly.

"I wasn't sure what you would say," she told him.

"You were asking me to accept everything I had ever wanted. What else would I have said?"

"We left things so...unfinished the other night. There were things I needed to tell you."

"There were things I should have let you say," he admitted. "Do you still need to tell me?"

She shook her head. "No. They were excuses, born out of my fear."

"Do I make you afraid?" He still smiled now, but it was a smaller smile, and there was sadness in it.

"No," she replied thoughtfully, drawing the word out for a few long beats. "I promised to spend my life with you this morning. But until this morning, I had spent my life with a million other people. For the first time, it's just me and someone else. Just us, Joseph. I've never had a more intimate relationship than the one we have."

"Really?" he breathed. He forgot himself and took a step closer to her. As he reached out to her, he remembered his promise to his King that did not seem quite overridden yet by the promises Clarisse and Joseph had publicly made to each other; and he let his hands drop to his sides.

"Are you afraid of me?" she teased.

"A little."

"Don't be afraid, Joseph," she whispered. "Won't you kiss me?"

"Come here," he said quietly, almost pleading.

"I'll meet you halfway," she suggested.

He held out his hands. She slid hers into them. They each pulled on the other until they met in the middle.

"I love you, Joseph."

"I love you, Clarisse." Damn squeaky voice, he thought.

It didn't seem to matter to her. His emotion was constricting his voice, but hers was shining in her eyes.

For the first time, he couldn't say who kissed whom. It just happened. He supposed they finally were kissing each other. And it was wonderful.

The End.