New York City, USA
March 2011

To say 'I love you' right out loud

"You're mad at me."

Whatever gave him that idea?

But I bite my tongue, instead moving my head in a way that is neither confirmation nor denial.

Ken shuffles his feet slightly. I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the doorframe.

"Can I come in?" he asks carefully.

Pursing my lips, I think this over for a moment.

"You can't just turn up unannounced on my doorstep at any given time and expect to be invited inside," I inform him.

"I tried to call you," he immediately points out.

He did. I didn't pick up.

"I told you not to," I remind.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm not allowed to call and I'm not allowed to come. What else will you have me do? Send smoke signals?"

Funny.

(Not.)

"You could have texted," I argue.

"Would you have answered?" he shoots back.

Hm. Maybe not.

But he's here now and I think that's the front door I hear being closed downstairs, so I take a reluctant step backwards, allowing him to follow me into the flat and shut the door behind him.

He sets his helmet down before facing me, and for a moment, we just stand across from each other. I have my head turned to the side, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"You're mad." It's not even a question.

I turn to look at him. "Why would I be mad? I have bullet proof windows and my door has more locks than sodding Alcatraz. What girl doesn't dream of that?"

Ken pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Could we talk about this seriously? Without the sarcasm?"

Oh? Because the smoke signals were meant sincerely, were they?

"Sure." I fold my arms across my chest. "Let's talk."

For a moment, I see a sliver of annoyance pass over his face, but really, I'm the annoyed one here! Who does he even think he is?

"You're mad because security took over your apartment like that," he states, sounding quite reasonable.

There's another sarcastic comment just on the tip of my tongue, but I gulp it down with effort. Instead, I nod. "Yes. I am mad they did that."

"Which you have every right to be," he acknowledges.

So he realises that, yes?

"It was insensitive and uncalled for to force you out of your home and install all these measures without your permission," Ken continues. "They were wrong in doing so and I apologise for it. Had I known in advance, please be certain that I would have prevented it."

Well. I already did suspect that they hadn't asked his permission either.

I incline my head slightly to concede the point. "A warning would have been nice. I understand the need for security, but to have them basically break in…" I trail off.

Ken blinks. "What do you mean, 'break in'?" He sounds genuinely confused.

"They drilled open the lock, didn't they? While I had classes," I explain, not quite sure how to take his confusion.

He curses softly. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry. God! That was…"

But words seem to have left him, for he leaves the sentence unfinished, instead staring into space for several seconds, a deep frown on his forehead.

I just wait, unfolding my arms and folding them back into place.

With a sigh, Ken comes back to life. "Looks like some more phone calls are in order."

"Some more?" I question.

He shrugs. "I made some calls after I heard your voice message and confirmed what happened, though they conveniently kept the bit about the lock drilling from me. Even without that information I already had the head of Royal and Specialist Protection over to read him the riot act, but knowing what I know now, I might have to have a word with the Met Commissioner himself."

I'm sure this would sound more impressive of I knew who or what a 'Met Commissioner' was.

Ken seems to have noticed, for he explains, "The head of London police, basically. The Met is the largest police force we have and incorporates our Protection Command. The Commissioner is considered the highest-ranking police officer in the country."

"And you can just order him to speak to you so you can snap at him? The top police officer in England?" I ask, not doing much to mask my scepticism.

He smiles faintly, but it's resigned, more than anything. "He's a civil servant. There are a limited number of those who I can't order around and snap at, especially if their underlings messed up."

Of course. Just another part of his life I couldn't possibly fathom.

"I also had Pilkington recalled and put to duty guarding Sandringham," Ken adds as an afterthought, his tone leaving little doubt that 'guarding Sandringham' is the PPO's equivalent of the naughty step.

"By Pilkington, you mean Mr Eeyore?" I ask, frowning slightly.

"Mr Eeyore?" Ken repeats, sounding more than a little surprised, though I also see one corner of his mouth edge upwards in a smile.

"The man who lead the works here. He wore a Sexy Eeyore costume back on Halloween," I explain, keeping my own expression carefully level.

Ken laughs softly. "Yes, that was a supremely bad costume, wasn't it?"

He looks towards me for conformation, but when he sees my face, the laugh slips from his lips.

"You're still mad," he realises.

I shrug. Then nod.

"Because of Tatty," he adds.

Which is at least good enough to draw a reaction from me, if one of incredulity. "Tatty?"

"The woman I was photographed with. We call her Tatty," he answers.

We call her Tatty.

But of course they do.

"That's not a name," I point out. "And if it is, it's not a very nice one."

Ken raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. "We've always called her that, ever since I can remember. She's really Henrietta, but that's too long for everyday use, don't you think?"

Truth to be told, I don't really have an opinion either way. They could be calling her Hephzibah, for all I care.

"So… you two go way back, you and Tatty?" I ask instead, keeping my voice conversational on the surface, but feeling anything but.

To his credit, Ken picks up on it immediately. "Our families are close. She's always been around in some way or another."

Do I even want to know what 'or another' entails?

"You sure looked cosy together in that magazine," I remark archly, raising both eyebrows to emphasize my point.

Ken sighs. "I understand how those pictures might have looked like to you and I admit the text made implications that it shouldn't have. You mustn't read anything into it though. Best just to ignore it. It's what I do."

He couldn't have just ignored Tatty, could he?

"That's easy for you to say! You weren't the one having to explain those pictures to your mother!" I argue.

Because of course Mum called the day after I discovered that magazine. And of course I tried to laugh it off (no easy thing to do when your head feels like it might burst from the hangover) and of course she did not believe a word of what I said. She's no fool. She totally knows I've been avoiding her in general and the subject of Ken in particular for a good two months now.

"Your mother," Ken intones carefully. His features are schooled into an expression that I can hardly read.

"Yes. I told her. I had to tell someone," I reply, knowing fully well how defensive I sound. "And then I had to come up with an explanation why the people at Hello! have you close to proposing to another woman."

Ken makes an impatient hand movement. "Because the people at Hello! are morons."

"Maybe. But that doesn't change the facts." Almost unconsciously, I move my arms so that instead of folded in front of my chest, I am now hugging them to myself.

"What facts?" he asks and for the first time, I see his composure slip. "There are no facts. I promise you this is nothing. Tatty is a friend, nothing more."

"And yet, she gets to go to gallery openings with you, while I remain hidden like your dirty little secret!" The words are out before I knew I was going to say them. Maybe even before I knew I was even thinking them.

Ken frowns. "This is nonsense, Rilla. You are no dirty anything."

Funny. It still feels like that most of the time.

"But I'm a secret?" I ask, quietly now, because I don't trust my voice anymore.

He doesn't reply.

"I am." I swallow heavily. "I am a secret."

"It sounds bad the way you say it," he replies gruffly.

My mouth twists into a smile that isn't really a smile. "Call it whatever you want. These are the facts. Semantics won't change them."

For a long moment, Ken just looks at me. "This is what this is about, isn't it? Why you're really mad. This isn't about your apartment or about those pictures."

"I'm not mad," I counter. "I'm not mad."

"Could've fooled me," he mutters.

I wait for a snippy answer to cross my lips, but there is none. It all just feels strangely hollow.

"I'm not mad," I repeat and find that I mean it. "I'm just… horribly tired."

And I am. Tired. I've been tired for weeks, running on nothing but nervous energy and fear of being found out.

"Tired of what? This? Me?" Ken asks and I have to silently commend him for how calmly he says it.

"You, no. This… yes, maybe." I shake my head slightly. "It's all… it's hard. All this secrecy. I'm lying, Ken. Constantly. Sometimes, it feels like this is all I do. To my family, to my friends, even to my three-year-old niece! I have to hide an entire part of my life from them and yes, it feels awful. I hate all the lies, and I hate how afraid I am that one day, I'll slip up and it'll all just come crashing down."

Ken nods slowly. "I understand. I know it's not easy."

"But do you?" My voice, far from being calm, rises as I speak. "For you, this is normal. You've done it all your life."

"Just because I'm used to it, doesn't mean I don't dislike it," Ken remarks, but there's no challenge in his words. "I realise this isn't easy for you, but you must believe me that keeping this quiet is the best way."

"It doesn't feel very good sometimes," I whisper, feeling suddenly strangely strangled.

There's a tear, unbidden, hanging in the corner of my right eye. I wipe it away quickly, but not before Ken has seen. As if out of instinct, he reaches out a hand for me, but drops it when I shift backwards the slightest bit.

"I tell my friends I'm with my sister and her children. I tell my sister I'm with my friends. To the children, I am only ever apologising anymore," I recount quietly "I tell my father that there's nothing much going on in my life, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. I tell my mother that everything is just dandy, when it's starting to feel anything but. And my siblings, I just don't tell anything anymore."

For a long moment, Ken just looks at me. Then – "Alright. Tell them the truth."

Wait.

What was that?

Startled, I open my mouth to speak. But no words will come.

"I never asked you to keep this from everyone in your life," Ken elaborates. "I mean, there'll always be an element of subterfuge involved, because secrecy is the price we pay for privacy. But that doesn't mean you can't tell anyone. You already told your mother, didn't you? That's fine. Tell your sisters, too, or your father. Maybe even a friend or two, if you're absolutely sure you can trust them."

Well… this is not what I expected.

I mean, he's right, I guess. He never did tell me to keep this a secret. But on the other hand, he's always making sure that no-one finds out about us, what with the ever-changing cars and the motorcycle helmet and everything. I guess I just assumed…

"Don't get me wrong. I'm still asking you to keep it very quiet," he adds after a moment of thought. "You shouldn't have to lie to people close to you, but it is still… of vital importance that the circle of people in the know stays very small and is limited to those absolutely trustworthy. Maybe stick with just telling your family for the time being?"

"Does your family know? About us?" I blurt out. And while I could claim that the question was spontaneous, let us be honest – I've been wondering that for weeks.

Ken looks thoughtful for a moment. "I didn't specifically tell them anything, but they probably suspect there is someone in my life." A pause. "Besides, security knows about you and so does my staff – if this does get out, they need to be prepared – so there's no way my parents' head staff don't know. And if they know, so does my father."

What weird world is this, in which he tells his staff but not his parents?

Unless…

I wrap my arms tighter around myself.

"Can I ask you something?"

He inclines his head slightly and gives me an encouraging smile. "Sure, go ahead."

"What would happen, if someone found out about us? Someone we don't want to find out, I mean." I am, I have to admit, still a bit hazy on who that 'someone' might be. Press, maybe?

The smile turns from encouraging to wry. "Everything would change overnight. And it can't ever be undone."

Hm… that's not exactly very specific, is it?

"And that would be bad?" I clarify, trying to get closer to the core of the matter. His need for privacy is so intent that I never questioned it before, and I still don't, just… I'd like to understand this better, I think.

Ken pushes a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in thought. "You have to understand that people are interested in my life. And by extension, in the lives of those surrounding me. If the press got wind of what you mean to me… they'd find you and they'd try to find out everything about you. They aren't known to be squeamish about their methods either."

I nod slowly. "And that would be bad."

"Look, I'm saying this with the utmost respect for you, but you can't imagine what it's like. No-one can," he explains, and it's not so much the words as his tender gaze that tells me he's sincere. "I've had more than one girlfriend leave because they decided they couldn't deal with the intrusion into their lives. And that's despite some of them being more or less used to a certain level of public interest. The pressure is just… it's a lot."

"So you keep me hidden," I reply slowly.

A small smile appears on his face. "Ah, but 'hidden' is a strong word. Last time I checked, I hadn't locked you in a high tower and thrown away the key. Your hair might be long, but not that long."

He takes a step forward and reaches out to lightly run a hand through my hair. This time, I let him.

"Are there dragons involved?" I want to know, eyeing him speculatively. "I might not mind the tower if it comes with a dragon attached."

A grin replaces his smile. "No way you're getting control over a dragon!"

I hmpf in protest, but he just laughs, drawing me closer. I, too, feel my body relaxing. This, here, feels more like us. We're better at joking than thrashing out all the weighty matters.

Absent-mindedly I raise a hand to straighten his coat lapel – only then realising that he is, in fact, still wearing it.

"You should take this off," I suggest, tugging at the lapel.

Looking up, I can see the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "Just the coat?" he quips.

Rolling my eyes, I nod. "Yes. Just the coat."

For as much as I prefer this light, joking version of us, there are still questions left unanswered. Questions that I think I need answers to.

Silently, I watch Ken take off his coat and unwrap his scarf, hanging both from their accustomated spot at the back of the door. When he's done, he reaches out a hand for me, pulling me towards him when I take it.

"Are you still mad?" he asks into my hair.

Sighing quietly, I lay my head against his shoulder. "I'm not mad. I told you I'm not. I just didn't know what to make of all this. The renovation works, those pictures…"

"If you want to, I can get Tatty on the phone. She can tell you there's really nothing going on," Ken offers. "And while we're at it, I could also call the Met Commissioner and make him apologise for what they did with your flat. Would that help?"

The latter bit is said in a lighter tone, suggesting that he's halfway joking, but I latch onto the first part anyway. "So Tatty knows I exist?"

Ken shakes his head. "No. But if I called her to confirm that she and I are not engaged without telling her your name, she'd be not much the wiser, would she? Besides, our families go way back. She knows better than to prattle."

Good. Somehow, I didn't like the idea of this laughing and champagne-quaffing Lady Tatty in her expensive dress knowing about me.

"You don't have to call anyone. If you say that Tatty is a friend, I believe you." At least I'm reasonably sure I do. "It's just a bit weird that she can accompany you to events where there are photographers milling about, while you and I never ever leave this place."

"It's not exactly the same," Ken answers with a shrug. "The yellow press has been trying to marry Tatty and me off ever since we were legally old enough. She's not the only one I've been wrongly linked to, but they like coming back to her. It's no truer now than it was then, but it's a reliable story they can pull out now and again. They don't really believe it though, not anymore. All reputable reporters know she's really just a friend, which is why in between those stories, they leave her alone. She never gets the attention any of my ex-girlfriends did."

"Hmh," I make. "I understand that. I still sometimes wonder…"

But my thoughts won't form into words, so I trail off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"What are you wondering?" Ken encourages, nuzzling his nose into my hair for a moment and making me smile.

"Whether, towers and dragons aside, it's still not true to say that we are hiding after all," I try to explain. "What I mean is… it feels a little surreal, you and me in this place. Like it's its own kind of world, existing parallel to the real one out there. I'm not doing a good job explaining this, but I wonder whether, out there in the real world, we could even endure. Or whether we really only exist in this place here."

A moment passes as Ken thinks over my words. "You want us to go out. Go to places," he remarks slowly.

I let go of a breath I was holding. "Not for the sake of going out, but… yes, in a way. I'd like us to be more normal, I think."

Ken leans backwards a little, forcing me to look up at him. "You do understand that's not possible?"

There's sympathy in his voice, but also firmness. This is one thing he won't be swayed on. Maybe because his normal is ever so different from my own.

I nod silently and there must have been something showing on my face, for Ken leans forward to give me a soft, closed-mouthed kiss. "And apart from everything else, I must say I like it here. Here, with you, I never have to be on. I can just be."

Blinking once, twice, I try to process his words. Never had I thought he actually likes spending time in my crappy little apartment.

"This is normal for me," he adds. "Normal in a way I never really get to be anywhere else. Certainly not back in the UK."

"Is that why you hardly ever call when you're back there?" The moment the words are out, I bite my tongue, but it's not use. I can't call them back anymore.

But the accusation doesn't even surprise him. He just sighs, resigned, and draws me a little closer. "My life over there is… very different from my life here. Here, I have that UN job, but it's mostly office work. I'm not on display. When I'm back home, however, it's completely different. There seem to be the belief making the rounds that with how little I'm available for royal duties, the time I have must be used to perfection. Some days, I hardly get a break between engagements."

Could it be this easy? That he simply doesn't have time to call?

"The only time I have for myself is early in the morning, but that's the middle of the night for you. I wouldn't want to disturb you when you sleep," he adds.

Part of me wants to tell him that I wouldn't mind having my sleep disturbed by his calls, but this isn't really the problem at heart here. Because it's not only how little he calls and texts when in England. It's how the tone of his messages, spoken and written, changes as well.

"That is sweet of you. It's just… even when we're talking or messaging while you're in England, I have a feeling that it's… different. Different from when we're together," I remark, choosing my words with caution.

I can feel Ken nod. "Because I can hardly ever be sure whether I'm on my own. My core team knows about you, because if this does get out, they need to be able to handle it immediately. But there's usually also staff around who don't know and who I don't want to know. Generally, they're trustworthy, but me having a new girlfriend is quite the story. I could imagine some papers would pay a pretty sum for that exclusive and I could imagine some people might be tempted."

But my brain didn't really register anything he said after 'new girlfriend'.

"So I am that?" asks my mouth, always quick to speak without due thought. "Your girlfriend?"

Instead of answering immediately, Ken takes a moment to take a step backwards. Head inclined to the side, he looks at me quizzically. "Of course you are. What else would you call this?"

Feeling on the defensive and also cold without his embrace, I fold my arms. "I don't know. You never said I was. Your girlfriend, I mean."

"I didn't know it needed telling," he replies slowly, seemingly quite nonplussed still. "I mean, I realise the actual dates are tricky, but otherwise, I thought it quite evident that we are dating. I don't usually spend the majority of my free time and almost every night with a woman I'm not dating."

The way he says it, it sounds quite obvious. So much so that I feel almost foolish for doubting it.

"What would you call us? Because if this is some kind of friends with benefits thing to you…" He lets the sentence hang, unfinished.

I shake my head. "No. No. It isn't. I just didn't know… Look, this might be all clear to you, but for me there's that element of…" Frowning angrily, I clamour for the right words. "It's just that I'm only me and you are –"

"Only me as well," Ken finishes for me. His expression, now, is serious. "I know it's a stretch to call my life or my family or my position normal, but take that away and I'm just me as well. And with you, I've been me much more than in a very long time."

That… I mean, there's not much wiggle room left, is there? He's being quite clear, isn't he?

Taking a step towards me again, Ken raises a hand to brush some hair from my face. "I should probably have told you this sooner instead of expecting both of us just to miraculously be on the page."

"Or I could have asked," I sigh. To think that I spend weeks trying to figure this out, all the while putting off an ever more curious Mum, when it could have been so easy.

"In conclusion, we both should have talked more," Ken summarises. "Let's do it from now on, alright?"

I nod. "Yes. Let's." My head feels strangely light.

He leans down to peck my lips. When he straightens again, there's an almost roguish gleam in his eyes and I can feel the atmosphere shift. "If I told you I love you now, would that look like I was just trying to get you into bed?"

A laugh bubbles up within me of its own volition. "If it worked, would you even really care?"

Cocking his head to the side, he pretends to consider my question, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he tries to suppress his own laugh. "You know what… no, not really."

Says it and wraps both arms around my waist, picking me up and carrying me over to the bed, not swayed either by my surprised shriek nor my hand hitting his shoulder.

Not I really mean it, of course. Because, what can I say? If telling me he loved me was a ploy to get me into bed… well, it's working just fine, isn't it?


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Both Sides, Now' (written by Joni Mitchell, released by her in 1969).


To AnneShirley:
Sometimes, it's real work trying to find a good title, but last chapter's came together very nicely. The most important thing is that the line itself fits the chapter, but ideally, the corresponding song works as well. And if it's a song I truly like, that ticks all boxes. I'm thinking this chapter's song might be a bit melancholy for it, but it ticks box one and three at least ;).
What can I say? Sexy Eeyore was too good to pass up ;). Any more of these ideas, lob them my way, please. It's fun, including them into the story proper. And yes, 'smarmy' is absolutely right for him, because you just know that, no matter how rude he is to Rilla, he also regularly sucks up to Ken. But he got his just payback, undoing all his progress in becoming at least a low-ranking member of HRH's security team, and instead being forced to guard an empty castle in rainy Norfolk. It's Karma alright.
I don't know whether I've said it before, but something that always struck me as curious about RoI is Rilla's complete lack of friends. There's early mention of some girls at the party, there's some JRC members popping up at times and there's Miranda Prior, but none of them clocks as a true friend in my eyes. Even Miss Oliver, supposed friends, disappears for great stretches of the novel. And Rilla isn't even close to her siblings either, which leads to Susan character we see most of next to Rilla herself. I find that a curious narrative decision, hence why I made a point to give Rilla good friends here. She'll need them to, as part of her support network, and because she'll find that making friends was a whole lot easier before everyone knew her face.
Oh, we'll get to tackle past relationships! It's one of the scenes I've had in my head for quite a while and it's going to be glorious fun! (Not for Rilla and Ken, but hey... who cares, so long as I'm having fun, right?)
So... I'm curious. Did Ken rise to the occasion? What do you think? :)