Montreal, Canada
March 2016
Let's do some living after love dies
"Bunch of businessmen at four o'clock," Nia mutters, just loud enough to be heard over the music.
I turn my head slightly to the left so I can see the men she's indicated from the corner of my eye. There are five of them, they are well-dressed and they're looking at us.
"Could be worth our while," I murmur back.
Di shakes her head. "Listen to you two! It sounds like you're planning a covert mission or something."
"Shhh," Nia hushes her. "Not so loud!"
In reply, Di just rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink. Nia looks at me and grins.
"It's not so much a covert mission as… a game," I correct.
"A game?" repeats Di, raising both eyebrows as far as they will go.
"We used to do it in New York," Nia explains. "We used to try and see with how little money we could get through an evening out."
"Sometimes, we never took any money at all," I add. "Just to up the stakes."
Nia laughs. "Fun times!"
"It doesn't sound fun so much as dangerous," Di points out. "What would have happened if you had found yourself stranded somewhere without any money at all?"
"Seraphina had an emergency credit card," I tell her, patting her shoulder to reassure her.
"Seraphina had many a credit card," muses Nia pensively.
"That she had," I agree. Neither Nia or I ever envied Seraphina her family's money and we never allowed her to bankroll us, but her credit cards did occasionally come handy in a pinch.
Di considers us sceptically. "We have money to buy our own drinks now though," she remarks.
"I don't!" I protest with more outward cheerfulness than I feel. "I'm unemployed and homeless."
My sister grimaces and I know she didn't consider her words before saying them. Nia slings an arm around each of us.
"You have a home with us," she points out matter-of-factly. "And lots of other homes besides."
"The advantages of a big family, you mean?" I ask, smiling wryly.
"There's got to be one, right?" Nia replies practically.
"Indeed." I nod.
Di looks at me with interest. "Any idea who you're going to stay with next?"
That makes me laugh. "Already looking to get rid of me?"
"I didn't say that!" Di objects. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Isn't she, love?"
"Sure," agrees Nia easily.
"Relax, Di." I squeeze her arm, smiling. "I was just teasing."
My sister gives me a withering look in return, but it doesn't do anything to cow me. I've been on the receiving end of that glare far too often in my life to still feel its effect.
"I figured I'd work myself southwards," I answer her earlier question, smiling amiably to signal my wish to make peace. "First to Ottawa to spend some time with Walter and then to Toronto to impede on Nan."
I understand that Walter, at least, has a guest bedroom, which I'm secretly looking forward to quite a bit. Di and Nia's couch pulls out, but it's not the most comfortable place I've ever slept on. And that's saying something, considering I've spent several nights at Balmoral Castle, where they have horse hair mattresses dating back to Queen Victoria's time. Let no one say the royals live a life of constant luxury!
"Having settled that," remarks Nia as she knocks back the rest her drink, "I need a refill."
"I like the way you think," I reply and give her a conspiratorial grin.
This time, as I look around at the group of businessmen behind me, I make sure to do it in a way that allows them to notice. It's been a while since I had reason to do the gazing-coquettishly-over-your-should thing, but apparently, that's something you don't forget, because when I do, one of the men raises his glass to toast me. I lower my lashes and turn back around.
Di, I notice, is watching me with her head cocked to the side. "And now?" she wants to know.
"Now we wait," Nia tells her.
"They'll buy us drinks just because she looked at them?" Di as dubiously and points her thumb at me.
"Sure they will;" replies Nia matter-of-factly. "Just you watch. She's good."
"I still got it," I inform Di with a wide grin. She rolls her eyes at me.
But sure enough, moments later, someone clears their throat behind me and when I turn, I see the man who toasted me earlier. Behind him hovers one of his friends, while the other three watch us from their table.
"Yes?" I ask the first man, making sure to lower my chin and look up at him for maximum effect.
"Good evening," he replies with a polite smile that includes Nia and Di as well. "I hope I'm not too forward, but my friends and I are wondering if we could buy you a drink?"
"Oh, do you? That would be very nice." I bestow a smile on him for his effort, which makes his own smile widen.
He invited us to come to their table with a motion of his hand and I nudge Di to follow him. Nia, meanwhile, attaches herself to the heels of his friend, who already makes a beeline for the bar. I discreetly nod at her in passing to express my thanks. Not only does she know what to order for us, she's doing it to fulfil the first rule of engagement and that's that you never touch a drink you didn't see the bartender pour.
As we follow the man over to his table, Di hisses in my ear, "This feels like fraud."
"How so?" I murmur back.
"Clearly, neither Nia nor I will go back with them," Di points out, voice still low. "And I sure as hell won't let you either."
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," I whisper, biting back a smile.
Di pokes a finger in my upper arm, which is the physical equivalent of a glare.
"Easy," I murmur, the smile breaking through. "I promise I won't do anything stupid. I already had to swear it to Nan, anyway. She was very worried I'd do something funny to my hair."
Once more, she pokes my arm, harder this time. We've almost reached the table.
"And as for those men," I continue, now extra quietly, "they're buying us drinks out of their own free will, aren't they? Or did you hear anyone promising them anything in return?"
"They might think it's implicit," Di remarks, pausing briefly.
"If so, that's too bad for them, isn't it?" I reply and flash her a smile before crossing the final steps to the table.
The men have shuffled to stand closer together, so there's a decent amount of space for Di and me. I look at each of them in turn, making a mental note that the one who came to fetch us is the best-looking of the lot. Not, of course, that I'll be doing anything with that particular information.
"I'm Paul, by the way" the man introduces himself, before rattling off the names of his companions who raise their hands in turn.
"I'm Di," replies my sister.
I just smile at them. "Hi. Nice to meet you."
I have no idea whether they've recognised me in the dim light of the bar, but on the off-chance that they haven't, I don't want to point them towards it. Unfortunately, with a rare given name such as mine, that can hardly be avoided, so it's best just to stay quiet on the question of names. I could always gamble and call myself something mundane like Jane or Mary in hopes of staying undercover, but if they have recognised me, that'd just be awkward.
Thankfully, I'm saved by Nia and the fifth man coming back from the bar, each carrying a tray of drinks. Nia wedges herself between Di and me and distributes our drinks. Di immediately takes a long sip from hers.
"So," asks the second man from the right, clearly wanting to strike up a conversation, "do you live around here?"
It's Nia who takes it upon herself to answer yes, before volleying the question back at our new acquaintances. It's a tried and trusted tactic, because if you want to find out whether the guy in front of you is a creep, it's a good idea to make him talk about himself at first.
The men are pleasantly talkative and keep a conversation going nicely, but are also polite enough to ask questions of their own. When they do, Di and Nia jump in to deflect the questions away from me, which I'm grateful for. Even if the men have recognised me – something I'm still not sure about, which at least speaks to their good manners – the last thing I want to talk about right now is my past. (Or my present or my future, to be honest, both of which are still hanging very much in the balance.)
After a good half hour of talk and another round of drinks (this time, Di goes to help fetch them), the man named Paul puts his glass down and smiles at me directly. "I'm curious – what do I have to do to get you to dance with me?"
I tap my finger against the rim of my own glass and return his smile. "I don't know. You could always try asking me though."
Paul laughs. "Touché." He takes a step back from the table and offers me a hand. "Do you want to dance?"
"Sure." I let my smile widen and take his hand, allowing him to lead me to the already well-filled dance floor.
He's a good dancer, moving rhythmically and without any awkwardness. The music is louder over here, so we don't talk much, but he keeps his attention firmly on me anyway, smiling whenever our eyes meet. He has quite a nice smile, I must say.
After the song ends, neither of us makes any move to return to the others. We just keep dancing and when a slower song comes on, he looks at me quizzically. Briefly, I consider my options and their possible consequences, but then shrug it off and smile in reply. I'm here to have a good time, after all, and the days when I always had to keep up appearances are thankfully over. Paul, thus encourages, puts a hand on my back and moves a little closer but not uncomfortably so.
Di and Nia, I notice, have found dance partners of their own, though theirs appear to rotate – and they always find each other in between –, whereas I just keep dancing with Paul. Or, I do, until I finally feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see my sister.
"We're ready to go," she tells me. She doesn't say it, but I know she wants me to leave with them and not just because she said so earlier.
I nod to tell her I understood and she takes a few steps back. I look back at Paul with an apologetic smile. "That's my cue, I think. Thank you for a lovely evening. I had fun."
"So did I," I immediately assures. A brief moment passes, before he asks, "In fact, may I ask for your phone number?"
"Even better! You may give me yours," I reply with a disarming smile.
He laughs. "I feel honoured."
I know better than to hand over my phone to anyone I don't know, so I make him dictates his number and punch it in myself. When we're done, he reiterates what a great time he had and that he hopes to hear from me again. I just smile, not wanting to make promises I don't know I want to keep, and give him a brief hug goodbye before walking to where Di and Nia wait for me.
"Did you have a good time?" teases Nia as we leave the club, emerging from its loudness and stuffy air into the quiet freshness of the night.
"I did at that," I confirm, not letting her get to me.
"Will you call him?" she enquires curiously and I just know that she'll discuss at length with Seraphina the next time they talk.
I hum thoughtfully. "I might." Paul wasn't the first man to give me his number on our nights exploring Montreal's nightlife, but out of all of them, I feel more inclined to call him than any of the others. Not, of course, that that necessarily means that I actually will.
Di waves down a passing cab for us and with some shoving and poking, all three of us settle on the backseat, with me somehow finding myself squeezed in the middle.
"You'll be careful though, won't you?" Di asks, picking up the earlier thread of conversation, as the driver pulls away from the curb.
"He doesn't even know my name, unless he happened to recognise me" I point out, smiling at her concern. "You can hardly accuse me of not being careful."
"He did recognise you," Nia chimes in. "At least his friends did and will be sure to tell him."
Well, figures. I can't say I'm surprised.
Di, however, frowns at me. "That's not what I meant. It's just… if you do end up calling him…"
"Not to do anything you wouldn't do?" I finish when she trails off and raise both eyebrows comically. After all, when a man is concerned, what she wouldn't do basically covers everything past talking and dancing.
Nia laughs at the joke, but my sister barely raises a smile. "Joke all you want, but I'm serious. I just don't want you to do anything you might regret."
I put an arm around her and squeeze her shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry for not taking you seriously," I assure her earnestly. "I promise that if I call him – and that's a big if – the most I will do is allow him to take me out for coffee."
She nods, though a little reluctantly. "You mustn't think I want to discourage you. Moving on is the best thing you can do and if you feel ready to dip your toe back in, I'm all for it," she clarifies. "I just think… look, you've just come out of a very serious long-term relationship and, well… tempting as it might seem, rebound sex rarely ever lives up to its reputation. Especially not with, you know, you being you."
No. Because me being me means that there's the very real risk of another Chad situation if I let my guard down with a man too quickly. I need another of these like a bad rash, especially seeing as Chad is still somehow riding out his moment of fame. For some reason, Ken and me breaking up led to a resurge of interest in him, resulting in the new low of an entire Playgirl spread. The only consolation is, I guess, that no-one ever actually reads that.
Sighing, I lean back against the car seat. "I will be sensible about it," I promise Di.
She nods and smiles briefly, but I'm not quite done yet. "Do you think there will ever come a time when I won't have to worry about men just being interested in me because of who my ex-boyfriend is?" I muse.
(Even after three months, it still feels weird to call Ken that.)
"On the contrary," interjects Nia, "I imagine quite a few of them will be scared off by that very knowledge. I mean, you know men and their ego. The knowledge of having to compete with an actual prince is sure to discourage them."
For a moment, I stare at her, before sighing even more heavily. "So, half of them will want me primarily because of who I dated and half of them won't want me for that very same reason?"
Nia shrugs, her expression sympathetic. "Pretty much."
"Well, aren't those great prospects?" I ask ironically, feeling more than a little disgruntled.
"There's a reason I don't bother with them, you know," Di remarks dryly from my other side.
I laugh despite myself. "Show-off."
Di grins and bumps her shoulder into mine. "Look, I usually leave the pep talk to Joy and Nan, but since they're not here, let me just say that there are over 3.7 billion men out there. One of them ought to be nice, right?"
"You'd think so," I reply, making my voice sound extra dubious.
"Statistically speaking, there should be," Nia assures me. "And in the meantime, the three of us will have a great time sans men. Does that sound like a plan?"
"Yes." I nod and raise my chin. "Yes, it does."
It does, too, and in my time here, we make sure to put our plan to action. Montreal is a great city with much to offer and Di and Nia make sure that I sample it all. They have to work during the day, so I mostly spend daytime by strolling through the streets – both above and below ground –, but in the evenings, we go out to restaurants, to clubs or to theatres. Weekends are mostly spent exploring the sights of the city or taking trips to get to know its surroundings.
My stay at Una's place in Thompson was mostly a quiet, reflective time that allowed me to recharge after some very stressful weeks (months, I should say, or even years). Nia and Di, on the other hand, are doing their best to distract me and to pull me back into a more active kind of life, and they're doing a very good job of it, I must say.
They're also doing their best to prevent me from seeing the interview, though to less success.
It's a few days after the night at the club when I come back from my coffee date with Paul (which was perfectly pleasant yet also a little boring, thanks for asking) and of course I'm aware that the interview is about to air, though I did not plan to be home in time, not at all.
"Rilla!" exclaims Di as I let myself into the living room. "You're back already!"
"I was out for coffee," I remind her drily. "That is usually an afternoon endeavour."
Di has jumped up from the couch and now stands between me and the TV. Nia remains sitting, merely craning her neck to look at me around her wife's body.
"Yes, but –" Di starts to protest.
I interrupt her, though not in an unfriendly way. "I know what you're watching," I inform her patiently. "They're milking that interview for all its worth, after all. What with how aggressively it was advertised, there was no way for me not to know that it's airing today."
My sister considers me searchingly, before dropping back down on the couch. "We can watch something else. We only tuned in because we wanted to…" She trails off, not having come up with a good excuse in time.
"We wanted to see what the enemy is up to," Nia finishes for her.
I sit down in the single armchair and draw my legs up. "He's hardly the enemy," I correct with a sad little smile. "And I'm okay with watching it. You don't have to turn it off on my account."
Now it's Nia's turn to eye me dubiously. "Are you really?"
"Sure!" I assure with more bravado than I feel. "It's been over three months and anyway… I'm curious."
Their sceptical expressions tell me that they don't really believe me, but when I just meet their gazes calmly and placidly, they can't really press the point. Instead, they share a meaningful look amongst themselves, before Di holds up the remote to unmute the TV.
The interview hasn't begun yet and for a moment, we all quietly watch as an advertisement for foot deodorant plays in the screen. As it ends, Di turns to me and asks, "Did you get any interview offers?"
I laugh softly despite myself. "You could say that."
Nia sits up in interest. "Explain?"
"We-ell," I begin, smiling wryly. "Joy handles media requests – and denies each and every one, of course – but she's told me about the most remarkable ones. Apparently, I could pretty much have had my pick. Ellen, Oprah, the entire late night circuit…"
Di inclines her head and I know she's mentally doing numbers. "I imagine there would have been quite some money in it…"
"Quite some money," I confirm. "I was offered seven figure sums for a tell-all book and one Hollywood studio was so desperate for the movie rights to my life story that they basically asked me to name my price."
"And yet, you didn't sell," observes Nia.
I shrug. "It's not only my story to sell. And even if… I want people to butt out of my life, not invite them inside even further."
"Makes sense," agrees Nia as she settles back against the cushions and snuggles closer against Di.
"Why's he doing this interview then?" Di wonders as she slips an arm around her wife and waves the remote at the screen with her other hand. "I mean, why now? What's the occasion?"
I know why. Of course, I know.
"Today's the twentieth anniversary of his official investiture as Prince of Wales," I explain, not even having to think. It's one of these things I just know.
And sure enough, when the program starts, they lead with a reel showing scenes from Ken's investiture at Caernarfon Castle. He was given the title not long after his grandmother's death, but it was officially conferred upon him only three years later. As I watch him on the screen – eleven, lanky and impossibly earnest – I remember what he once told me about how nervous he was and how lonely he felt, despite his family and hundreds of guests watching. My heart does a painful flip.
I can't dwell on the feeling though, because the investiture footage ends and the screen cuts to present-day Ken. He's sitting in a small but ornate room (Windsor Castle, I notice absent-mindedly), opposite a popular, well-respected presenter who I know has earned the trust of the royal family in the past.
He looks… better. Earlier this year, when I studied photos of him in the news, he appeared drawn, pale and tetchy, like he wasn't getting enough sleep. Now though, he looks healthy, calm and rested. Of course, I don't know how much of that is down to makeup and clever lighting, but even factoring that in, he looks better and while some people might argue that this should bother me, the prevailing emotion inside of me is relief. I never wanted him to suffer.
The interview itself is a pleasant, polite conversation, as was to be expected. The royals don't agree to be interviewed without having full control of what gets asked and how they are portrayed, so everything that happens here is carefully curated. That doesn't mean it's a bad interview though. They start by talking about his investiture, before leading over to his royal duties and his role as Prince of Wales. Ken is friendly and engaging, though nothing of what he says is news to me.
I do prick up my ears when the presenter asks him about his time in Cyprus, because in the four months after his return, we only ever touched the subject briefly, both knowing that it had the potential to blow up in our faces before we even knew what was happening. Alas, he's not much more forthcoming with real information here either, mainly reflecting on how important it is to him to do his duty as a soldier as well as a prince and how he enjoyed being 'out in the field' as a part of his unit. It's perfectly uncontroversial and it's nothing I couldn't have predicted.
As I lean back in my armchair, I'm aware of Di and Nia shooting me furtive glances. They're trying to gauge my mood and to understand what it does to me to watch this interview, but the truth is, I don't even know that myself yet. It's something I will have to parse tonight, when I'm alone with my thoughts and my feelings. For now, I put on a calm expression and keep my eyes on the TV.
On the screen, the presenter leans forward slightly and asks pleasantly, "As we all know by now, you're recently single, so of course many young women all over the world are wondering what it would take to conquer your heart. Do you want to give them some tips?"
Ken smiles, but I can see a sliver of steel in his eyes as he draws up protective walls around his feelings. "I know there has been a lot of interest in my personal life as of late, but you'll understand that I prefer not to discuss it in too much detail. A lot has been made of my former girlfriend's refusal to talk to the press and how it's a courtesy to me, but the truth is that this is no one way street. Our relationship was part of her life as much as it was part of mine and I feel it is only right that I return her thoughtfulness and not talk about it publicly either."
"Well said," acknowledges Nia.
"Well rehearsed," amends Di.
She's correct, of course. The question was clearly no surprise to Ken and his answer was prepared in advance. If nothing else, it's clear in the way he avoided naming names in yet another nod to the privacy he is asking for – more for me than for himself, I think, which is a nice touch.
"And of course we respect that," replies the presenter, smiling kindly at Ken. "Moving on to less private matters –"
Ken, who looked to the side ponderously during his earlier answer, suddenly turns his head and interrupts her, "Excuse me."
The presenter blinks in surprise. Clearly, the interruption wasn't rehearsed. "Yes?"
"Let me just say…" Ken begins, the words coming out less smoothly and more haltingly now, "let me just say that the press got it entirely wrong when they wrote… Look, I really just want to say that Rilla is one of the kindest, most caring people I've ever know and I will forever be grateful for having met her. I truly think… I truly think I'm a better person for it and I'm so glad that we had this time together. She will always be a… a special person in my life."
If he had spontaneously transformed into a pumpkin, I couldn't have been more dumbstruck. I just sit there, stare at the screen and try to process what he just said – and what it means.
I'm dimly aware of the presenter catching herself and carrying on with the interview, but I don't hear what she asks next, because Di mutes the TV. Abruptly, I turn my head to look at her.
"Rilla…" Her voice sounds a little odd and the look she gives me is odder still. "I don't want to pry, but after this, I feel I have to ask… which of you was the one who ended things?"
"Excuse me?" I reply tonelessly.
Di gestures at the screen. "We all assumed he broke up with you, because you were so completely devastated, but after this… I mean, he basically just declared his love for you for the entire world to hear!"
"He didn't," I protest automatically.
"Of course he did. He couldn't have been clearer if he'd stared jumping up and down on a couch," Nia remarks drily.
My instinct is to deny it again, because of course he couldn't have gone and spontaneously declared his enduring love for me on TV, except… except it looks like that's exactly what he did.
Not that I have any idea what to say to that, despite the curious looks on Di's and Nia's faces. I feel completely taken aback and I haven't even begun to bring order into my treacherous, disorderly thoughts.
So, and because it's the best thing I can do, I just look at them helplessly and shrug. "It's… it's complicated?"
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Wild Horses' (written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, released by the Rolling Stones in 1971).
To Guest:
You have every right to laugh! I'm the first to admit what a lousy job I did estimating the length of this story in advance. When I started writing, I thought we were looking at some 25 chapters and 100.000 words. As is evident, that didn't work out at all. The story completely ran away from me and honestly, at some point, I just gave up fighting it. Basically, I decided to keep writing as long as it's fun to write this and up until now, it's been quite some fun. In a way, this entire story is an indulgence for me, but one that I hope others enjoy as well =).
I do also hope that this chapter won't leave you feeling like crying again! You wished for a bit of Ken and while it wasn't much (yet), I like to think he gave us a rather meaningful look at his feelings here. I promise we will see more of him from now on, too. It all takes a little bit longer with me, but even I get there in the end ;). And a story that starts with "Once upon a time..." doesn't usually end in heartache!
Last, but certainly not least, thank you so much for taking the time to review and for your lovely words! It always makes my day when readers get in touch and yours was a very special compliment that I truly cherish!
