New York City, USA
April 2011

Don't you know it's gonna be alright?

"And you're sure he didn't suddenly go vegan?" Joy asks me, sounding as frazzled as she looks.

"Reasonably," I deadpan, thinking back at how Ken devoured three and a half rashers of bacon just this morning (with half a rasher snuck to an imploring George behind my back).

Joy rubs her forehead, leaving a light dusting of flour when she lowers her hand again. "And you promise he doesn't have any allergies? Or intolerances?"

Hopping down from the kitchen counter, I walk up to my sister, take her by the shoulders and turn her to look at me. "Joy. He regularly drinks my coffee. Complainingly, but he does. I'd say that after that, he can stomach anything you cook up for him today."

Slowly, Joy nods. "You do need a stomach lined with lead to survive that awful dishwater stuff," she concedes reluctantly.

What's betting that if I drop dead tomorrow, someone will write that instant coffee into my obtiuary as the customary light, funny moment?

Still, anything to calm her down. "See?" I encourage. "It'll be fine."

My sister takes a deep breath. "But what if he just doesn't like it?"

"Then you will never know. He learned manners at his grandmother's knee," I relate with a shrug.

"His grandmother…" Joy swallows heavily.

"Queen Alexandra," I nod. "I don't think he ever consciously met his mother's mother. She might even have been dead by the time he was born."

"Right," murmurs Joy. A beat, before she adds, "Queen Alexandra did not look like a woman who'd let her grandson get away with not finishing the food on his plate."

From what I gather, Queen Alexandra was a woman who didn't let her grandson – or anyone, really – get away with anything at all, but there's no use complicating matters by pointing that out now.

"It'll be fine, Joy," I promise. "It's just dinner."

Truth to be told, I'm not as calm as I pretend to be either. Unlike Joy, I'm not at all worried that her dinner won't be a rousing success – it's Joy, after all – but still… I want this to go well. It might be just dinner, but it does feel meaningful in a way. Not only are the Raines the first members of my family I get to introduce Ken to, it's the first time Ken and I will go anywhere at all as an official, well, couple.

But alas, looking at how frazzled my usually so composed sister is by the upcoming meeting, I do my best to keep my own nerves under control. Someone here has to remain calm, after all, and Dan is still finishing up some work in his study.

"I know it's just dinner," Joy remarks weakly. "But he isn't just anyone."

"No," I reply firmly. "He isn't. He's my boyfriend and I'd be really grateful if you could treat him as such."

"He's a bit more than just that," mutters Joy.

I give her shoulders a squeeze. "Not tonight he isn't. Just pretend he's any of my previous boyfriends, if it helps. I mean, you never fretted this much about having Tristan or Eric over."

Shaking off my hands, Joy turns to the stove instead, stirring a pot or two, and I know it's because she's annoyed at her own nervousness.

"I hadn't picked you as making such a deal out of royalty anyway," I point out to her back. Joy's all about equality, after all. The mere concept of a few people singled out by birth to sit above all others must go against most – if not all – of her principles.

"I don't agree with the concept of hereditary transmission of power, if that's what you mean," Joy replies, turning to look at me again.

"Yeah. Let's not make that a topic of discussion during dinner, alright?" I ask drily.

Joy opens her mouth, no doubt to say something sarcastic, but is cut off by the doorbell ringing.

Closing her eyes for composure, Joy takes a deep breath. "Here we go," she murmurs quietly. Then, opening her eyes and squaring her shoulders, she makes her way to the front door. I follow on her heels, though not without making sure to firmly close the kitchen door, the better to hide the utter mess inside. (Joy's cooking is delicious, but it isn't an orderly process.)

Before opening the front door, Joy takes a moment to steal a glance at the mirror hanging next to the coat rack and pat down her hair. Thus, when she finally does open the door, Ken is already on the other side, currently winding off the scarf he just about gets away with using as a disguise in a still fairly chilly April.

"Mrs Raine," he greets and offers Joy a hand. "Thank you for having me tonight."

"Thank you for being here, um…" Joy breaks off, clearly at a loss as how to address him.

Thankfully, if there's one thing Ken's used to, it's putting people at ease in his presence. "Just Ken, please," he asks with a charming smile and I can see Joy's shoulders relax slightly.

"In that case, please call me Joy," she invites. "And please come inside."

Ushering Ken inside the hall, Joy points to a rather large package he's holding. "Shall I take that? And Rilla will take your coat."

Rolling my eyes at how quickly she's back to bossing me around, I nevertheless reach out to take Ken's coat from him. As he hands it off, he briefly bends down to brush his lips against my cheek in greeting, winking as he straightens again.

"It's for you," he then informs Joy and nods towards the package she is already holding. "I was informed I owed you something."

What on earth…?

I mean, he didn't just…?

He did.

When a somewhat puzzled Joy gingerly opens the package, the does, in fact, reveal a 100% polyester kangaroo costume.

"To replace the one I had a hand in ruining," Ken explains needlessly. Joy just stares at the costume in her hand, blinking rapidly, as if doubting her eyes.

Looking from Ken to Joy and back again, I notice that he's fidgeting the slightest bit and realise that he, too, is nervous. Nervous about Joy not appreciating the joke of his gift and, perhaps, nervous about this entire evening.

Who would have thought?

Thankfully, Joy seems to have processed what is happening around her, for she gives a surprised snort of laughter and turns to look at us. "Well, better late than never, right?"

Ken inclines his head with a smile, and though he outwardly doesn't show it, I sense his body relaxing slightly. It might have been unusual, but the costume proved a better ice breaker than a bunch of flowers.

"So, that really was you in one of those cars back in Geneva?" Joy enquires curiously as she carefully places the costume down in a side table.

But before Ken can reply to that, there's the sound of quick footsteps and a moment later, Izzie speeds into the hall. (We told her Ken was my friend, but refrained from mentioning anything about him being a prince. Chances are that anyone she told of her aunt being friends with a prince, would dismiss it as a little girl's fanciful tales, but it seemed better not to risk it.)

Sliding the last meter on her be-socked feet, Izzie comes to a halt right in front of Ken.

"And you must be Izzie?" he asks, bending down slightly to be closer to her height.

Izzie, never one to be shy with strangers, puts her hands on her hips and scrutinises him closely for several long seconds. Then, "You look like Flynn Rider. I like you."

Says it and races off again.

For a moment, Ken remains in his somewhat awkward position, before straightening, a frown of confusion etched between his brows. "I don't know… was that a compliment?" he asks, helpless at the reference.

"Not necessarily," answers Joy, catching my eye and supressing a smile.

"Hmh," Ken nods slowly. "More of an insult then?"

"Not necessarily that either," I reply, keeping my straight face for a fraction of a second before being overcome by a laugh. Joy joins in immediately.

Ken looks from one to the other, clearly not understanding a thing. But then, I didn't really expect him to.

Joy takes pity on him before I do. "You see, um, Ken, when I had a daughter, I promised myself she'd grow up free of the stereotypical expectations foisted on young girls these days. Most especially, I promised myself she'd grow up without Disney princesses. Unfortunately, I didn't reckon with my sister here."

Both turn to look at me and I nod innocently. "Guilty."

"Disney princesses, eh?" teases Ken and raises an eyebrow.

Flipping my hair over my shoulder in an exaggerated gesture, I explain earnestly, "Oh yes. They made a few good ones recently. Usually, the princes in them are bumbling idiots and the princesses kick –"

"Rilla!" Joy sharply interrupts.

"– behind," I finish with my sweetest of smiles.

Joy rolls her eyes at me, but Ken laughs. "Of course they do."

"It's not just princess movies either. George's favourite is Aristocats."

"Aristo-cats?" Ken repeats, his brow knitting back into a frown.

Taking a deep breath, I mean to explain, but then catch sight of Joy's expression – one eyebrow carefully and meaningfully arched – and decide against it after all. "You know what? I'll show it to you sometime."

"Good idea," commends another voice and I turn my head to see Dan enter the hallway. Stretching out a hand towards Ken, he introduces himself. "Daniel Raine. I'm Joy's husband. You can just call me Dan, if you want."

I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I can always rely on Dan not to overcomplicate matters needlessly.

"Ken," answers Ken and takes the proffered hand.

(Sometimes I think it must be weird not to have a last name at all. According to Wikipedia, when King Victor did away with the old, German-sounding name of the royal house back during the first world war, they just became 'of the United Kingdom', no other name required. In school, Ken was filed under Kenneth England, much as that apparently aggravated the Scots.)

"I've shepherded our offspring into the dining room," Dan informs Joy after having shaken Ken's hand. "I won't vouch for how long they stay inside it though."

"Best to get ourselves to dinner then," Joy decides with a long-suffering sigh at the thought of her children.

But when we turn towards the dining room, Joy quickly reaches out a hand, laying it on my arm to stop me. Allowing the men to walk ahead of us, she bends her head closer to me.

"What?" I whisper.

Joy shakes her head. "Nothing. You. You're glowing."

Quickly, I throw a look over my shoulder, but the men are thankfully already out of earshot. "Look, whatever you've got into your head, I'm not – not – not –" But the word won't pass my lips.

Joy grins. "Looks like someone napped during sex ed! But I assure you that no-one ever got pregnant from saying the word."

"Are you really going to lecture me about napping during sex ed?" I shoot back pointedly.

"Touché," concedes Joy, slightly inclining her head.

Folding my arms across my chest and tilting my chin forward, I look at her challengingly. "I'm really not, though. Just to make that clear."

"Never thought you were," Joy placates. "I just meant… you're glowing with happiness when you're around him. I haven't seen you like this ever since –"

"Can we not talk about that right now?" I interrupt, feeling annoyed. "Please?"

Joy nods, sighing softly. "Sure. It's just… I'm happy for you, and anyone can see he's smitten with you as well, but… when I think of last time…"

"It's not like last time. I'm not who I was last time," I reply when she trails off. "Look. I'm happy. He's happy. Let's just leave it at that, alright?" But the annoyance is gone. I know it's just because she cares.

It takes a moment, but finally, Joy nods, reaching out to briefly touch my face as she does. "Alright."

"Great. Now let's go eat," I request, looping my arm through hers and pulling her along into the direction of the dining room.

Just before we enter it, Joy suddenly stops, forcing me into a halt as well. I just want to ask what's it now, when she leans her head close to mine once more and whispers conspiratorially, "He's even more handsome in real life."

"I know, right?" I murmur back, pressing my lips together to keep down a smile that is nevertheless breaking through at the edges.

Instead of replying, Joy just wiggles her eyebrows at me in a very meaningful way and when we enter the dining room, we're both still laughing.

"Care to share the joke?" Dan asks mildly.

With a challenging look in Joy's direction, I open my mouth to answer, but she beats me to it. "Not particularly," she answers breezily. "Now, who wants dinner?"

As it turns out, everyone wants dinner. Maybe with the exception of Jake, who I haven't seen before today and who looks rather subdued. As I take my seat next to Ken, I try to catch his eye, but Jake resolutely stares down at his empty plate.

Not able to shake a feeling of concern, but unable to do anything about it now, I sit down, accepting the glass of wine Dan hands me to go with the soup. (And suppressing a smile when I meet Ken's eye and he directs a tiny nod at the wine.)

Despite all the nervousness going around earlier, dinner proves to be a fairly relaxed affair. Jake remains quiet and Izzie seems somewhat bored, keeping herself occupied by offering random observation without any context once in a while, but Joy is naturally chatty and both Ken and Dan know how to keep a friendly conversation going, so we do without any awkward silences at least.

Nor do we enter any treacherous waters, or at least we don't until Dan makes an offhand remark about the police officers who had a look through their flat this morning. I know he doesn't mean anything by it, but Ken sighs anyway.

"I'm sorry for inconveniencing you like that," he apologises. "But when my PPOs deem it necessary, there's little I can say to stop them. And I have even less control over the US agents they make me take along on top of my normal protection detail whenever I'm stateside."

Dan quickly shakes his head. "It was fine. No trouble at all."

Joy, taking a bite of green beans, looks pensive. "Where are they now, by the way? These – what did you call them? PPOs?"

Ken shrugs. "Waiting outside in the car. One of them might be lurking outside the front door of your flat and they sometimes like to send another one up the fire escape."

He says it matter-of-factly, because to him, this is nothing but a fact, but I feel myself tense anyway. Because to Joy, it smells of exactly the kind of inequality she abhors.

Obviously having followed a similar train of thought, Dan reaches out a hand to gently touch Joy's elbow. She takes a deep breath. "Shouldn't we maybe invite them upstairs?" she suggests. "There's plenty of food left."

For a moment, no-one answers, but then Ken carefully places his cutlery next to his plate and turns to face Joy. When he speaks, his voice his perfectly amiable, but there's that sliver of steel concealed beneath it that I've encountered before and that I know to mean that he won't be swayed in his opinion.

"This is your home, Joy, and you can invite anyone you want," he begins. "Nevertheless, I must respectfully ask you to reconsider. For one, they are professionals and I can't see them taking you up on your offer. For another, you must realise that these men are not my friends. Some I like better and some not so much, but all of them are effectively employees. They are paid to do a job – and paid well, I might add – and a job is what they are doing. I wasn't asked whether I wanted them to follow my every step, but they do and in consequence, they know more about my life than I am sometimes comfortable with. I can escape them rarely enough as it is and frankly, the last thing I want is to share my dinner with them."

Joy nods slowly, blinking once or twice as she processes this. "Yes, I see. Under those circumstances, I won't invite them in."

"Thank you," Ken replies simply, taking up his cutlery again.

But Joy, being Joy, just can't leave well enough alone. Ignoring the glare I throw her over the table, she asks, "When you're at Rilla's place… do they also stay in the car all – well, the entire time?"

All night, she meant to say and I intensify the glare daggers I direct at her.

"This is hardly any of your –" I start, but Ken silences me with a short shake of the head and a reassuring smile.

"They did at first," he answers calmly into Joy's direction. "Nowadays, they have a small apartment rented out on the ground floor of a house across the street."

Huh?

I must say this is news to me.

Not that it matters, of course. I've always known they stick close to my flat whenever Ken is there and I suppose an apartment is a more comfortable place to be in than having to spend night after night in a car. I probably should have guessed they'd find a way to get out of those cars at some point.

But some of my surprise must have shown on my face, for Ken leans over to me to say something. What he meant to say, however, I will never know, for Jake takes just this moment to break his silence.

"And who pays for all of it?" he asks.

"Jake!" hisses Joy. The rest of us are too surprised to speak.

"It's a valid question," Jake defends himself. "I guess it's paid for by taxpayer's money, isn't it?"

Ken places the cutlery down again. "I didn't realise you paid taxes yet, Jake," he replies in a friendly tone.

Not that Jake responds well to it at all. Stubbornly tilting his chin to the side, he insists, "I don't. But many people do. I just wonder whether they know how their money is being used."

"Jacob!" Dan intervenes firmly.

His son throws him a rebellious look, his lips pressed together tightly. "May I be excused?" he asks, but doesn't even wait for an answer before he pushes his chair back and rushes out of the room.

We remain behind, all of us too stunned for reaction for a moment or two. (All of us except for Izzie, I should say. She has apparently repurposed her baby carrots into toys, playing with them quietly. If I caught that right, the mother of her carrot family has been blessed with the resounding name of Ernestine.)

The wordless conversation between Joy and Dan makes out Jake's father as the one to follow his son, while Joy turns to Ken to apologise. "I'm sorry for that. I don't know what's gotten into him."

Ken shakes his head. "It's fine. Don't worry. It's entirely possible that I said something to upset him. There's a reason why they usually roll out Teddy for engagements involving children." The last of which, he says with a self-deprecating little smile.

Joy, apparently thankful for this change of subject, latches on to it immediately. "You all have preferred sorts of engagements?"

"Sure, we do," shrugs Ken. "Teddy covers history-related things, all artsy stuff and anything that involves getting touchy-feely with people – children, the elderly or anyone in need, really. Persis gets sports, animals, nature and the outdoors. I have military, tech and science, business, and any political or diplomatic events that my father is either too busy or important to do or that, on the other hand, are too controversial for him."

"What do you mean by 'too controversial'?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Another shrug from Ken. "There are some people out there who are considered too politically controversial for the King to meet them openly. Bad press, you see? Sometimes though, they still have to be met and in those cases, they tend to send me. So, my father meets the President of France himself, but when someone is needed to receive the representative of some semi-dictatorial country, the choice usually falls on me."

On the other side of the table, Joy opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. "Jo-oy," I sing-song, keeping my voice light, but knowing that Joy won't miss the warning.

She doesn't either. Closing her mouth again, she nods slightly and raises both hands, palms towards me, in a show of deference to my request.

Ken, however, anticipated what she was going to say anyway. "It's politics," he explains. "I don't like some of the people I have to meet, but when I'm asked to by the government of the day, it's my job to go and do it."

"Ugh," makes Joy, not being able to help herself. (Izzie looks up interested at this uncommon way her mother chose to express herself.)

Thankfully, Ken just laughs. "Yes, sometimes, that's the only way to describe it."

Doubly thankfully, Dan choses that moment to enter again. When Joy raises her eyebrows at him questioningly, he shakes his head. "He won't speak to me."

Joy moves to rise, but I hold up a hand to stop her and scrape my own chair back. "May I?"

"Sure," she agrees, sitting down again. As I pass her, I give her a warning look that I know she knows to mean to steer clear of politics while I'm gone, and while her smile is accompanied by a slight eye roll, I decide to trust in it anyway. (And even if not, Ken's more than capable of holding his own. He rarely slips into diplomatic mode when just around me, but when he does, it's always apparent he's been schooled in it all his life.)

Softly knocking on Jake's door as I reach it, I wait for an answer, but none comes. When I open the door anyway, I am immediately met by an angry, "Get out!" Not that I listen to it, of course. I've been doing stubbornness both longer and better than Jake.

Slipping into the room and closing the door behind me, I walk over to the bed where Jake lies on his stomach, his face turned to the wall. When I gently touch his back, he swats my hand away.

"What's the matter, Huckleberry Jake?" I ask carefully.

"Don't call me that!" he snaps, turning halfway to look at me angrily. The tip of his nose is suspiciously red and his eyes look decidedly watery, much as he tries to blink it away.

I sigh softly. "Why are you sad, Jakey?"

"I'm not sad," he protests. "I'm angry."

It doesn't look like that to me, but at least he's talking, so I go with it. "Okay. Why are you angry then?"

Wiping his nose with a sleeve, Jake throws me another irritated look for good measure, but he does answer. "At him. I don't like him. He's smarmy."

He's said it to provoke me, I know. But the truth is, I can see how Ken, when he is on, might appear not very genuine to a boy like Jake. There's a controlled amiability about Ken that was no doubt honed in years of public service and it was partly on show tonight. For all that, I don't think that's Jake's only problem though.

"But I like him. Do you think you might try and be nice to him for my sake?" I ask him gently.

Snuffling loudly, Jake glowers at me. "No. He's stupid."

Okay. This definitely runs deeper than just Ken not connecting all that well to children of Jake's nature.

Once again, I reach out a hand to touch Jake and once again, he swipes it away angrily. Sighing, I pull my hand back. "Why is he stupid, Jakey?"

But instead of answering, Jake turns back to facing the wall. For a moment, there's silence, but then I hear him sniffing quietly. Feeling a little helpless, I start to gently rub his back and this time, he lets me.

"What is it?" I ask quietly.

Jakes takes some seconds to answer, and when he does, his voice is muffled by the pillow. "He's taking you away from us."

So, there's the rub.

I take a deep breath. "He's doing no such thing."

"Yes he is!" sobs Jake, still turned away from me. "You only come when Mum and Dad are both out and they need someone to look after us. You never see us because you want to anymore. And Mum said to Dad that it's because you're spending time with him."

Looking down at the crying boy next to me, I have no idea what to say. "I always want to see you, Jake," I try anyway. "It's just that I like seeing Ken as well and sometimes, it's hard to see both of you as much as I want to."

"You never stopped seeing us when you were with the others!" accuses Jake with a sniffle.

He's right, too. Tristan and Eric, I could incorporate into my life as it was. When I went out with friends, I took them along, or I met them in the dining hall for a quick lunch between classes. With Ken, I'm living two separate lives in the time allotted for one and much as I try to keep it all together, I can only ever be at one place at any one time.

But how to explain that to Jake? He's hurt and no rational explanation will be good enough to make the hurt go away.

"I'm sorry, Jake," I whisper. "I'm really sorry. Won't you look at me, please?"

Several moments pass and just when I think he's ignoring me, Jake suddenly turns around and launches himself into my arms, his own arms closing tightly around my neck. I hold him close, swaying him slightly and gently stroking his back as he cries into my shoulder.

We stay like that for minutes, until Jake's sobs slowly subside, his body relaxing against mine. I try to move slightly, to see whether he's alright, but he keeps his hold on me, his face burrowed against my shoulder.

When he does speak, his voice is so quiet that I almost miss it. "Are you moving to England, Aunt Rilla?"

Startled, I give a surprised laugh. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Jake moves back a little so I can see his tear-stained face. "He's from there, isn't he? And he can't move here forever. So, you must move there."

I open my mouth and, having nothing to answer, close it again. This, I repeat at least three times under Jake's watchful gaze, before finally coming up with, "I'm not moving to England, Jakey."

"Never? Do you promise?" he implores.

Swallowing heavily, I look down at his face. His sweet, dear, trusting face. "I promise that I love you, Huckleberry Jake. And I promise, no matter where I am, I will always be there for you when you need me. Alright?" My own voice is suddenly thick with feeling.

A long moment passes as Jake, in return, studies my own face. Then, finally, he nods. "Alright."


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Revolution' (written by John Lennon, released by The Beatles in 1968).


To AnneShirley:
Piece of my Heart is a good one! It's been covered so often that there must be a version for everyone out there, but mine will always have Janis Joplin on vocals. She had a difficult life, but her voice was absolutely unique.
I must confess to never having watched a single episode of either Games or Thrones or Lost. I don't watch all that much TV in general, but I think Rilla is someone to have several favourite TV shows, so I took myself over to Wikipedia and did research ;).
You're definitely right in that Ken is slowly getting closer to her family. He isn't a part of it yet, but they're generally welcoming to him and he's on his best behaviour. Which, of course, also skews things somewhat, as his family remains an absolute mystery right now, but one thing at a time :).
Whew, those are a lot of subjects! I would happily do English and History, but that's about that. And I totally feel you about your elective. Back during my last two years at school, I took Advanced Maths and, well... let's just say that it wasn't the best decision I ever made. I like maths, but it turned out that Advanced Maths was harder than Normal Maths. Who would have thought, right? ;)
Hoping those first exams went well for you! How long until you're done with them?

To wow:
Happy to know you're still reading :).
You aren't the only one who wants to whack Rilla over the head for how naïve she's being and how she tries to close her eyes to the realities of her situation. Count me in among the people who sometimes feel a need to shake her. But I'm trying to write this Rilla as being consistent with canon Rilla. Without the war forcing her to grow up, she still retains many of the more frivolous aspects of her nature at the point in the story. She loves life, but she doesn't much like planning it or thinking too hard about it - not even when she would actually be well-advised to do so. She's
definitely got a steep learning curve ahead of her, but for now, she's still the way she is. But that's actually a major point of this story for me. I don't see it primarily as a love story, but more of a 'coming of age'-one (though of course, Rilla already is of age, technically speaking). To me, this is really a story about a young woman finding herself under extraordinary circumstances. That there's a handsome prince involved is incidental ;).
I promise we'll get to the monetary aspect of Rilla's life and we'll also get to both her studies (which she isn't spending nearly as much time on as she should) and her professional future. Rilla herself might not care about that so very much at this point, but there are people who do care and who won't allow her to weasel out of that conversation just like that. (And yes, by "people", I totally mean Gilbert. Look out for him in 3-4 chapters' time!)
As you said, her family is going to have to shoulder a lot of backlash once that relationship becomes public, without getting any of the perks. And yes, that will lead to conflict. At present, they're supportive and gently concerned, but once it all starts to intrude on their own lives as well, not everyone will be as understanding (nor should they be!). For now, they have no reason not to be happy about Rilla being happy, but I also hope that this chapter gave you a bit more of the Joy you wanted to see ;). She is
trying to be supportive for Rilla's sake, but this entire concept of royalty does go against her inherent beliefs and she can't (and won't) hide it. And I do think she isn't the only one having an opinion on Rilla throwing in her lot with an institution as archaic as the British Royal Family.