The Last Monarch

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It would be the his last photo op.

His wife had objected. Insisted that it would never happen as long as there was breath in her body. Her unyielding passion on the subject would have surprised many of her harshest critics. Even a few of their oldest friends would have been stunned by her determination that the photo op not take place. "It's not so bad," one had ventured. He had been a close family friend since the California days. His once sharp face now sagged with age. "It might even be good for him to get out."

"No," she replied with icy firmness. Sitting across from him in the sunroom, she sipped tea from a China cup.

"The kids think it's a good idea," he advised.

She laughed at this. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

He stiffened, embarrassed at her faintly bitter tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was all settled."

"It is." She sighed, setting cup to saucer with a tiny click. "It's just that they don't think things through very clearly. Everyone knows that."

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