This story is written by two friends who met through their shared admiration for Dame Julie Andrews. Our names are Janet (from the Netherlands) and Martina (from Sweden). This is our second work together and we have a lot of fun doing it. We hope you'll enjoy it too!

The story is set after the first Princess Diaries movie.

Chapter One.

His hand was drifting, roaming dangerously close to the edge of the silky fabric, and tracing her neckline. Teasing, soft fingers inched underneath the garment, sliding lower still and she sighed deeply, arching towards the touch.

She knew she should stop him, but her mouth was dry as sandpaper, her body pressing back against his on its own accord.

"They are waiting for me."It should have made him pull back but she heard herself how she sounded, breathless and intoxicated by his scent, by his touch. He took no notice, breathing softly in her ear as he brought his mouth down to her bare shoulder, humming appreciatively at the very inviting cut of her dress. His stubble grazed her skin and she shivered.

"I really have to.." She paused mid-sentence and bit her lip, her eyes drifting shut as his hand inched lower. It was with great effort she snapped her eyes open and straightened up, away from him. "…go."

"Then go."

His voice wasn't angry, not even a trace of disappointment in his voice but in an instant his hands were no longer on her body, his warm presence behind her gone. She whirled around in confusion, searching for his face but instead her eyes landed on the door at the far end of the room.

She could hear voices drifting towards her from the other side and she instantly knew they were waiting for her, and that she had no other choice than to go.

She didn't even look back, her feet moving of their own accord, a seemingly invisible force drawing her towards the dark, wooden door.

She reached a hand out, hearing the unmistakable clicking of the handle pressing down echoing in the candle lit room.

As the door swung open and she stepped out, she was overwhelmed by the compact mass of people standing before her, her senses unable to take in the bright light blinding her eyes and the loud noise in her ears.

Her first instinct was to turn around and head back into the room but the very second the thought crossed her mind she heard the door close behind her, loud and definite.

Cameras were flashing in her eyes everywhere she turned, her name flying through the air and creating a loud, almost echoing cacophony.

"Your Majesty, look this way!"

"Your Majesty, a little closer!"

"Your Majesty…….!"

"Your Majesty…….?"

"Your Majesty? We have landed."

Slowly a voice was creeping into her consciousness, low but insisting. It pulled and tore at her, forcing her to focus and slowly she began to take in her surroundings; the low humming of an airplane engine shutting down, the bright afternoon sun shining in through the small window and striking her in her eyes.

"We've landed, Your Majesty. We've just pulled up to the gate."

"Oh, I'm sorry," her voice was drowsy and her mind still slightly disoriented as she sat up straight, making a small grimace as her back complained at the strange angle she had been slumped in. "Could you give me a moment?"

"Certainly, Your Majesty."

Clarisse watched the young man walk away, for a moment just sitting and contemplating where she was, trying to shake herself from her strange and unnervingly vivid and disturbing dream. Although she had just slept for what must have been hours she felt drained, like she had just been running a marathon; sticky and bone tired.

The thought that she might look as bad as she felt made a wrinkle form on her forehead, her hand reaching for her purse and powder box. She swiftly went through her touch up routine, noticing the young guard that had awoken her already walking down the aisle towards her. A moment alone indeed…not even a second longer than that.

"This way Your Majesty, if you please."

An elaborate wave with the hand and an eager smile directed her towards the now abandoned exit at the front of the plane and she bowed her head down, hiding the flicker of amusement that crossed her face at the very obvious direction. She was holding up the waiting court of guards and aircrew, she was sure, and now they were anxious to get her to where she was going so they could go on with their business for the day. Not that anybody would be as discourteous as to tell her to get a move on, she could see the guards circling the front exit and the stewardess hovering around behind the curtains. She couldn't help but wonder if the quite good looking, dark eyed guard would have been as charming and tactful if she had been the lady before him in line for the bus, instead of a visiting head of state.

With a polite smile in the young man's direction she rose to her feet and smoothed the fabric of her well-pressed pants, unconsciously making sure that the soft, cream-colored fabric showed no trace of wrinkles.

"Thank you."

Her heels clicked against the metallic floor of the tunnel as she made her way away from the plane and into the airport, a small army of suit clad and expressionless men swarming around her like mosquitoes around a lone lantern. The security arrangements were even more excessive than she had expected and she felt the slightest flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

This kind of watching over her always reminded her of the cruel reality that there actually might be something to watch out for. There was a time when that thought never even would have crossed her mind. Breathing deeply she turned her head slightly to catch the eye of her dashing young guard, instantly feeling calmer at the sight of a familiar face in this hoard of people assigned to ensure her safety. Every day she put her well-being in the hands of people with whom she never spoke. More and more she found herself wishing there would be at least one man among them who, besides daring to take a bullet for her, dared to offer her a piece of gum when they passed the pack around.

They were nearing the entrance to the airport and she straightened her back, holding her head a fraction of an inch higher as she put just a little more stride in her steps, one hand coming up to swiftly comb through her blond strands.

She knew there were reporters waiting for her only a few feet away, standing behind the gates and stomping like an impatient herd of cattle with anxiety to get the best shot of her as she arrived, write the best description of her appearance and then make up the most imaginative assumptions and gossip to go with it.

Nothing sells as good asi 'the queen arriving looking horrible after being bedridden with the Ebola virus for six weeks' or 'the queen arriving blushing and flustered after a royal encounter in midair with unknown man'/i.

She wasn't even sure which one she would prefer people buying into and the prospect of what she might read in tomorrow's newspaper still had the power to unnerve her like nothing else. She fought the her uneasiness with the only weapon she had; doing everything she could to look and appear flawless.

She wasn't vain about her appearance, far from it. Her mother had shaken her head in worry about her big feet and the way her nose tilted up just a tad too much, distorting an otherwise perfect profile, enough times for her to know where her flaws lied. But over the years she had learned something that was more important than all that; the power of illusion.

As she stepped into the a little too brightly lit arrival hall in her cream white pants suit, a soft pink scarf placed around her neck in a way that came off as the perfect mix of just being thrown on and being specifically designed for the occasion, she knew what people would see.

The high heeled sling backs, sparkling and dazzling enough to excuse their lack of practicality made her even taller than she was and made her unconsciously straighten her back and mind her carriage, even after sitting down for seven hours on a plane.

Her makeup was never extensive but she had applied an extra layer of powder, giving her skin a freshness and glow that without trouble concealed any nausea she had felt during the flight. Her last lifesaver was the designer sunglasses safely perched on her nose. Their light, peach colored glass were bright and see-through enough not to seem like she was hiding a black eye underneath, but distracting enough to mask her tired eyes.

What they would see was a well-rested and smiling queen, fashionably dressed and perfectly composed. She was open, friendly and warm, and yet utterly unreachable. It was an illusion that had been carefully constructed and practiced to perfection, and it was safer than any armor could ever be. It protected her in a way that the swarm of security guards around her never could.

Over the sound of her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor she could hear the increasing sound of voices, moving toward her as a great wave and washing over her as she reached the terminal. For second it gave her a strange feeling of déjà vu, images from her dream flashing before her eyes. It was a compact mass of people greeting her, lining all the exits and creating a traffic jam of sorts. Stressed and unimpressed business men and jet setters tried to move past the seemingly unmovable crowd. She was an airport efficiency nightmare, she was sure.

In a city as big as New York one would think that there were a lot bigger fish in the pond than her, but the cameras clicking insistently and the people waving at her put up a good argument. She could have requested that the airport set up the private arrival lounge that was typically at her disposal for just such an occasion. It would have saved her from having to move through any public area whatsoever, but she had declined it. She was in Genovia's service, her people's service. It was her job to represent them, to be seen. How could she do that if she became a Greta Garbo of royals, constantly fighting to hide away from the people that raised her to such heights? It was her duty to meet the people that wanted to see her just as if there was nothing in the world she would rather do.

Knowing the routine by heart, she lifted her hand and waved gracefully as she started to move along the path that the men around her created, for just an instant focusing on the cameras clicking everywhere as she passed them, giving each a brief smile before she moved on. Well accustomed to the noise around her, she ignored the sound of photographers calling her back, requesting a few more shots and moved along swiftly with her goal well in mind. They were nearing the exit, and as the crowd thinned out slightly, she searched for the one person she knew she would find waiting for her there.

She could have met up with him at her hotel of course, but he had insisted he come pick her up, and she had willingly obliged. She smiled to herself, recalling how back in the days, he could always make her laugh until she cried; how he was able to turn the world inside out with the ideas he put into her head. She told herself that the official reason for this trip was charity and good will but, at the heart of it, she knew better. It all came down to the opportunity to relive some dearly missed and treasured days of happiness with a man whose special friendship she held dear. Chatting with him on the phone periodically over the years just wasn't enough. She was truly looking forward to seeing him again.

She could see the discreet sign directing her towards the VIP exit now and still he was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes scanned the crowd that had migrated after her, hoping to catch one last glimpse.

"If he forgot the time I swear to God I will…" she murmured to herself but cut herself off as her eyes finally landed on the person she had been seeking, her polite smile widening as she took in the familiar form before her. The hair was a little grayer and the lines a tad deeper since last she laid eyes on him but the all business 'I am thrilled to see you but it is not very manly to jump up and down about it' smile was familiar and so was the twinkle in his eyes as she came close enough to greet him.

"If you wanted a big welcome wagon you could just have told me you know, I would have put up an add," he chuckled, nodding towards the very annoyed and non patient airport employees that were trying to convince people to leave and stop obstructing the arrival hall.

People had warned him that creating attention for a new theater opening on broadway these days were harder than getting a street named after you. None of those people had ever been blessed by the support of Clarisse Renaldi. A woman who just happened to hold the world in her hand with no greater effort than a smile.

"Jack," she admonished him with a ripple of laughter in her voice as he was let past her guards and walked up to her, giving her a light kiss on her left cheek. "With the money you have invested in this project, the least you could have done is close down Kennedy for me."

"My dear they wouldn't have done that even for Elvis," Jack pointed out good naturedly, silently amazed by the way the people lining her path beamed back at them as Clarisse turned her head and gave them one last look. He had been told by airport security that people had started to gather well over two hours ago and yet they were content with this fast glimpse of the queen, seemingly ecstatic to have been standing in the same room as her if just for a few moments. "But if we get a big a turn out as this at the opening you may very well be worth the money."

"Jack…" Clarisse raised a brow at him as she walked through the glass door that was held up for her and stepped out into the bright and sunny New York afternoon "You are not paying me one cent."

---------

The briefing room of the New York Police Department was always crowded at this time of the morning. There was the constant sound of doors being opened and closed, shifting of chairs, phones ringing, the rattle of keys being thrown on desks and loud conversations of people who hadn't seen each other over the past weekend. But the most common sound of all was the non-stop buzzing sound of an old coffee machine, filling endless cups of strong coffee.

At the far end of this room, a man was sitting at a cluttered desk and he didn't seem to participate in the activity that surrounded him. He was writing something on a notepad that seemed to be filled with loose statements, reminders of chores to do and little drawings that weren't easy to solve. He was about 6 ft tall and wasn't wearing a police uniform like most people in the building. In stead he was wearing a black suit with a light blue shirt underneath, a dark blue necktie tied correctly around his neck and black shiny shoes completed the pretty picture. His face was serious and concentrated and he didn't seem to hear the young, blond woman approaching him. But he spoke to her before she could even try to drag his attention.

"Is that coffee in your hand or is this another subtle attempt to poison me?"

The woman smiled, she should have known that he had seen her coming; he was one of the most alert people she knew. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have a few days off?" she asked, tilting her head to see what he was writing down.

He looked up and removed his reading glasses that revealed his sharp, blue eyes and he accepted the coffee with a brief smile. "Yes well, I can't seem to leave you, Erin."

She grinned, her blond hair falling loosely over her forehead. She reached into her pocket to take a few hairpins out, sticking them between her teeth. "Words, words, words…" she murmured, putting her hair up in a seasoned act.

He chuckled as he watched her expression. "You do know I was originally hired as an advisor, don't you?" he asked, picking up his cup of coffee. He shook his head and took a first careful sip, cringing at the taste. "Why I let myself get sucked back into the game is beyond me anyway."

Erin smiled and sat herself down on the edge of his desk. "Because you can deny it all you want Joe, you're still a cop," she said softly. "And a damned good one if I might add. You're not one to sit behind a desk all day anyway."

He grinned. "There are people who would disagree with you."

"And they would shut up if they ever saw you into action," she replied and reached out to brush a piece of lint off his shoulder. "Why are you dressed as if you have to attend a funeral? That suit can't be comfortable."

He smirked. "I have an appointment later today."

Her blue eyes narrowed and a curious look appeared on her face. "An appointment…..or a date?"

He was about to reply when the loud voice of Commander Eric Wilson sounded through the room, announcing that day's briefing.

"Never mind," Erin said and winked at him as she got up from his desk, "I'll ask the other ladies, I'm sure someone here will know!"

Joseph watched her move away from him, her movements steady and secure. She was a lot younger than he was although he wasn't quite sure of her age and somehow he never asked her. He estimated her close to her forties but he could still beat her when they jogged, a newfound hobby they had recently taken up together. Erin had always been there, ever since he joined the force. They had developed what he would describe as a case of mutual understanding, although someone else would simply state it as friendship. Moving to New York City hadn't been an easy decision but, he had to admit, finding this job had eased the transition a bit. In a way it felt like coming home to something he had been doing for the better part of his life. But even so, it was a strange realization that one could go back to a job and find out not that the job had changed, but the man doing it had changed. It wasn't his age, his physical condition or his expertise but something else that made it hard for him to fit in here. He couldn't put his finger on what it was though but now wasn't the time to ponder it. It was time for the briefing and he overheard the first announcement of the day.

"To all officers: please do not book vomit into evidence, as it is extremely unpleasant for the evidence techs. Photograph the vomit, book the photo into evidence, and dispose of the vomit appropriately."

Cop humour, lovely.

Half an hour later he was the one to sit on top of a desk, listening to the final instructions handed out to each and every police officer in the room. People were being assigned to specific cars and tasks and now they were waiting for the last details. Usually there was no real need for him to be there but his uncontrollable curiosity in the whereabouts of his colleagues always pulled him in. For over a year he had succeeded in doing just what was expected of him, giving advice about security issues, promoting the use of security cameras in public places, giving workshops concerning high stress situations to police officers in training and so much more. He enjoyed the ease in which he could rely on his knowledge but bit-by-bit he noticed that even he could get a little rusty with just working from an office. So to keep sharp and alert, he had offered his assistance to the force and, as it turned out, it was a perfect combination of both worlds. So on a day like this day, when work pressure was higher than usual and the force needed all the help available, he went back to his old job and yes, he relished every second of it.

Around him rumour got louder and he picked up his pencil to write down his assignment for that day when the dark voice of Commander filled the room.

"Tonight, increased patrol is required on 42nd and Broadway for the grand opening of the Grand Majestic Theatre…"

Joseph pressed his lips together as he wrote down the instructions.

"…Since the Queen of Genovia and her party will attend the premiere."

With a snapping sound, his pencil broke.