New York City, USA
June 2011

Yesterday came suddenly

A car door is opened just as I pass and I grind to a halt.

I don't know the green station wagon, but I do know the face of the man sitting behind the wheel, now craning his neck backwards to look at me.

"Hello Miss," he greets.

"Hello Hanson," I reply with a smile as I slide onto the backseat and close the door behind me.

It still feels ridiculous to have Hanson pick me up when I could easily take the Subway, but apparently, the underground garage is the most inconspicuous way to enter Ken's apartment building. He doesn't have reporters hanging around his front door daily, but you can never know when one turns up and decides to snap whoever enters the building. Thus, it has been decreed that I am to be picked up by an ever-changing rotation of cars whenever I stay at Ken's place, even at times when it would actually be faster to walk.

"Did you do some shopping?" asks Hanson as he merges the car with the slowly-moving traffic again (traffic in New York always moves slowly, if it moves at all).

I glance at the shopping bag sitting next to me on the backseat, then back up at Hanson, who's looking at me through the rear mirror. "Just groceries. Candies, specifically," I clarify with a shrug. "I'm babysitting my sister's children for the weekend. It'll be nice to have them just to myself for three whole days, but it's always better to come prepared."

Not that I'd ever tell Joy, of course, but when Izzie throws a tantrum, a bit of chocolate sometimes goes a long way. And as you never know in advance which particular sweet the young lady prefers at any given time, I have long learned to bring an entire arsenal for her to choose from. (Jake, while generally being much more easy-going, is also not known to decline a candy or five. And since I'm still making up for neglecting him during all those months, he's likely to get them, too.)

"Is your sister out of town?" Hanson enquires politely, smoothly switching lanes as he speaks.

"She's attending a conference of sorts in San Francisco and since I'm available for child minding duties, her husband decided to accompany her," I explain.

With classes over for almost a month now and exams long past as well, I have plenty of time for it, too. Normally, I would have left New York weeks ago for Halifax, but, well… if it's between spending time with your parents or your handsome boyfriend, who could honestly say they'd chose the parents? Even parents as nice as mine. That it also allows me to make up to Jake and Izzie how little I saw them this year is an added bonus.

(Plus, me staying longer this year didn't make a difference financially, because poor Beckett actually started to twitch when he learned that I usually sub-let my apartment during the summer months. Apparently, that's absolutely out of the question. Mum was thankfully quite understanding about it, which is good, since it's her and Dad paying the actual rent.)

"San Francisco is a lovely spot," remarks Hanson. "My wife and I went there for holidays two summers ago."

"I'll take your word for it," I answer easily and see him smiling in the mirror.

He's nice, Hanson is. Most of Ken's PPOs don't take much notice of me at all and Beckett seems to consider me a riddle that needs to be solved (or else, a problem that needs to be dealt with), but Hanson is actually nice to me. He's one of the younger ones, too, which might play into it. I've had other PPOs pick me up when he's not on duty, but when he is, it's usually him ferrying me around. (And yes, I totally mentioned to Ken that he's the friendliest of them, if only to ensure that it stays that way.)

We make some relaxed chit-chat until Hanson finally pulls the car into the garage. As usual, he gets out with me to punch in the mysterious code that opens the elevator doors. I did once suggest he could just tell it to me, but he just shrugged awkwardly and mumbled something and ducked away. (I'm suspecting Beckett's influence.) At least I'm allowed to ride the elevator on my own now, Hanson taking his leave with the customary gesture of touching two fingers to his temple.

As the elevator zooms upwards, I check my appearance in the mirror, idly considering that if Ken had his way, we'd spend much less time at his place than we do. He still argues that my place is cosy and his isn't, while my stance is that my place is run-down and his is anything but. Still, even he can't deny that it's more convenient for me to sleep over at his when I have things to do in Manhattan early the next day – even if it's just shepherding Joy's kids.

Stepping out of the elevator, I quickly cross the hall and knock on Ken's door. He takes a moment to open and when he does, his face is strangely tense. For a moment, that throws me, but then I see the phone he's holding up to his ear. He makes the effort of a smile for my benefit, reaching out to squeeze my arm as he does, but it's clear that his attention is with whoever is on the other end of the line.

He gestures for me to come inside and pulls an apologetic little grimace. When I smile to indicate that it's quite alright, he quickly withdraws into what I know to be an office, never once saying a word to whoever he's on the phone with, save for the odd non-committal 'hmm'-sound.

I remain standing in the living room for a moment, until my gaze falls on the half-open bathroom door. I try to sample the very roomy bath tub whenever I'm here (a tub being what I miss the most in my Shoebox), and right now, a long bath sounds like heaven. And with Ken busy anyway, who am I to pass on that opportunity?

Choosing a water temperature that's so hot it's only just bearable, I quickly divest myself of my clothing and slide into the tub, my skin prickling from the heat. Still, it's glorious. Closing my eyes, I relax, revelling in the feeling of the warm water, and try my best to push away the niggling thought at the back of my mind, the one that has me wondering whatever is the matter with Ken and his phone call.

Minutes pass and I just feel myself getting drowsy, when there's a sound from the door. Opening my eyes again, I see Ken sitting down on the side of the tub.

"Sorry for that" he apologises, lightly tapping a finger against my raised knee.

I quickly shake my head. "It's fine. I put the time to good use, as you can see. I needed a good, relaxing bath."

"Why's that? Anything the matter?" he asks, looking concerned.

"Nu-huh. Not really, anyway," I answer with a shrug. "Just gearing up for a visit from Aunt Flo, which always puts me out of sorts a bit. That, and I finally looked at my exam results earlier today."

He rubs his hand over my knee comfortingly. "Sorry to hear that. How did the exams go?"

I grimace slightly. "They're over. That's one point in their favour."

Because, let's face it, I knew fully well why I put off looking at them for a good two weeks. I was right to do it, too. Had I been clever, I wouldn't have looked at them at all.

Ken raises both eyebrows to indicate for me to speak further, but I quickly shake my head. "The less said about it, the better."

"If you prefer," he replies after a moment, sounding slightly dubious but, thankfully, backing off. The last thing I need right now is a discussion of my scholarly success (or, lack thereof, if we want to get precise). For one, I'd prefer just to forget about it, thank you very much. For another, my parents will have it covered between them anyway, once I show my face in Halifax.

Ken lapses into silence, which gives me an opportunity to study him for a moment. Despite his concern over my wellbeing, the impression I had of him when he opened the door wasn't wrong. There's a deep frown etched between his brows and his mouth is set into a thin line. Whoever he talked to, something about that phone call clearly upset him.

Raising a wet foot, I gently nudge him in the side, reclaiming his attention from whichever complicated thoughts have him distracted.

"Join me?" I ask with a lopsided smile when he looks at me. "It's very relaxing and you look all tense."

For a moment, I think he's going to decline, but then he gets up abruptly, undresses with mechanical movements, and climbs into the tub in front of me. He stays sitting upright, his back straight and his shoulders tense, the knotted muscles easily visible under his skin.

Whatever's the matter, it obviously has him pretty worked up. There's nothing left of the easy joviality I so often see in him. Instead, he's a bundle of nerves and strain.

With nothing else to do but wait for him to open up, I reach out to slide my hands up his arms, digging my fingers into the knots of muscles in his shoulders when I reach them. At first, he doesn't react, but after I've worked for some minutes, I feel him slowly start to relax, his shoulders sinking down as his muscles loosen up.

Silently, I keep massaging for a while longer, only drawing my hands back when my fingers start to hurt. "Feeling better?"

He sighs heavily, finally letting himself sink backwards, his head coming to rest against my chest. "Much," he answers quietly. "Thank you."

The tenseness is gone from his body, but it's clear that whatever is bothering him wasn't magically chased away by a massage. Part of me wants to ask, but I can see that the last thing he needs right now is for me to start probing. For now, I guess the best thing I can do is just be there.

Shifting slightly to move my hand up, I let my fingers lightly massage his scalp. He moves his head slightly so he's facing sideways and I can feel his breath on my skin as he sighs silently, his body relaxing against mine.

We stay that way for what must be half an hour or longer and I'd think he had fallen asleep if not for the fact that his eyes stay open throughout. It's only when the water starts to feel cool and his head heavy that I gently nudge his shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here. It's getting cold."

A moment passes before he rouses himself, climbing out of the tub with heavy movements, but making sure to offer me a hand for assistance as I follow. He holds up a scrumptiously fluffy bathrobe for me and I let myself be engulfed by it, silencing the tiny voice in my head that wants to remind me of the need to moisturize after a bath as long as this. (It's not like I can't already feel my skin drying out, but it's a small sacrifice to make.)

I do take a moment to pull a brush through my hair, because I know that otherwise, I won't stand a chance against the tangles tomorrow. Then, following an impulse, I put my golden necklace back on and slip it beneath the collar of my bathrobe, before walking over to the bedroom, where I find Ken sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space. For a moment, I consider joining him, putting on a movie to while away the hours and then trying to coax him to sleep, in hope that tomorrow will be a better day, but then decide that whatever is bothering him, it won't likely go away overnight.

So, turning, I quickly go back to the living-room to pick up my shopping bag, emptying its contents on the bed next to Ken after my return.

Slowly, he turns his head, blinking confusedly at the array of sweets spread out next to him. "What the…?"

"Comfort food," I declare confidently. "I bought it earlier today to bribe Izzie, but you look like you have more need for it." Shifting through the pile of plastic bags and paper boxes, I hold some of them up for his perusal. "We've got Reese's and Milk Duds here, for the chocolate kick. Starbursts, of course, and Lifesavers – the gummy kind, because I like them better. These here are candy corns – I'm not wild on the taste, but Izzie likes them and anyway, it's soothing to stack them – and Red Vines, which are, of course, much superior to Twizzlers. Oh, and Twinkies for when you're actually hungry."

One second passes, then two, as Ken stares down at all the candy on his bed and I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, waiting for him to react. When he does, he does it by giving a snort of laughter.

I pout. "I don't have to share my candy stash with you, you know," I point out, feeling slightly put out.

But when I move to re-collect the packages, he reaches out to still my hands. "No, please don't. Sorry for laughing. I appreciate you sharing," he assures, his eyes still crinkling in amusement. (And it's the fact that he's laughing again that, more than anything, makes me glad to share.)

Ken tugs at my hand and I allow him to pull me down beside him on the bed, folding my legs beneath me as I sit. He, after throwing me a quick smile, reaches out to pry open a box of Milk Duds, popping several of them in his mouth at one go.

Chewing, he moves his gaze back towards me. The laughter is gone from his face, replaced by what looks like pensiveness. "You're one of the most caring people I know," he informs me after a moment, appearing quite genuine.

"I'm no more caring than most people," I argue, frowning slightly.

But Ken shakes his head. "I say you are. Not only how you care for me, but the way you look out for your neighbour, how you try to support your colleague and, of course, how much you care for your sister's children."

I wrinkle my nose in thought. "That's hardly remarkable. Tracy needs someone in her corner and I get to do little enough for her as it is. And the rest of them give back as much as they get. Mrs Weisz keeps me in good coffee and good food, and Joy and Dan support me financially. I could never pay my bills just on what I make waitressing. I mean, my parents pay the rent, and tuition is paid by –"

But I get no further, Ken's finger on my lips silencing me effectively. Once he's sure that I have shut up, he leans forward to give me a soft, chocolate-y kiss.

"But you'd do it even without getting something back," he argues gently. "Because you do care."

I open my mouth, then shut it again. He's right. I totally would.

Judging from his expression, Ken knows he's correct. But as a moment passes, the little smile playing on his lips gets replaced by a frown once again.

Reaching out, he brushes my hair behind my ears with both hands, before dropping them back into his lap. Swallowing visibly, he finally remarks, "I don't want to lose you."

I frown.

Why would he…?

"But you aren't losing me," I assure quickly. "I'm not going anywhere"

Ken sighs heavily, moving his head to the side, so that he's not looking at me anymore. "But I am." A beat, as I feel myself freeze. "It's crunch time, Rilla. That was my father on the phone earlier. He ordered me home. Permanently."

I couldn't move or speak, even if I wanted to. Because if he goes back… where does that leave me? Us?

(In some distant corner of my mind, I realise that I have no right to be surprised. I always knew this was coming eventually. I mean, there's never been any doubt that one day, he'd go back. It's just that I thought we had more time.)

"I tried to make him agree to let me stay longer, through the summer at least. If not at the UN, then maybe at the British embassy in Washington. It was no use though," Ken adds, staring at his hands. "I'm supposed to start interning with the government at home come September and he wants me to catch up on royal duties in the summer. He gave me until the end of the month, but made it clear that he expects me home by July."

Beneath the panic locking my body into a vice, I feel an irrational annoyance at the far-away King. He's never been much more to me than a face on coins and stamps before, but now, his decisions are having a sudden and direct effect on my life and I'm not liking it at all.

Also, I guess, anger is just an easier emotion to feel than all the other feelings tugging my confused mind into different directions.

"The thing is, I couldn't even argue with him, much as I wanted to," adds Ken with a sigh, "Summers traditionally aren't busy times, but I haven't been pulling my weight this year. Plus, my mother is having a bad spell and they can't rely on her at the moment."

Swallowing, I find that I can speak again, though my voice sounds all wrong. "If your mother is unwell, it might help her to have you home."

He laughs, but in a way that is the exact opposite of humorous. It makes me shiver. "If having me near helped my mother's illness, we might not be in this mess in the first place. At least not this deep."

My mother's illness. I have an idea, of course, what he's talking about. I'm not that much of a fool. But he's never offered up anything more specific and I didn't pry.

Now though, he turns his head to look at me, the fingers of one hand absent-mindedly drumming against the package of Starbursts. "It's her mind. Not that she's crazy, but… she's mentally ill. Fragile, some might say. She has good times and when she's well, it's like the sun is up. She… she can be the brightest, most joyous person in the room. But when she's having a bad spell, it's all… bleak."

Bleak. That's exactly what he looks like as well. Bleak. If he was tense before, now he's just resigned. And so, I do the only thing that makes sense. Ignoring the voice in my head that wants to ask, 'What about me? What happens to us when you leave?', I lean forward, wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.

As is so common with people not used to being hugged, he needs a moment to settle into the embrace, but when he does, I can feel his arms rising to return it, clasping me closely. We stay like that for minutes, long past the point where my legs go numb, but I wait until he, of his own accord, draws back.

He doesn't let go completely, merely leaning backward enough so he can look at me, moving one hand to cradle my face. His eyes search mine and when he speaks, his voice is slightly hoarse. "I love you. God, how I love you."

He's said it before, of course, but never quite like this. Never has it been this direct. This raw.

Not trusting my treacherous voice to speak, I reach upwards to cover his hand with mine, moving my head to press a kiss to the inside of it. The ghost of a smile appears on his lips as his thumb brushes along my cheekbone.

"I love how caring you are. How much you love life. People, too. How you don't let anything deter you once you've made up your mind. How optimistic you are. Plucky, as our old nanny would say. And how just seeing you puts me in a better mood."

I open my mouth, though whether to return the sentiment or to set him straight (about how cranky and snippy I can get and how I'm not always optimistic and certainly not always brave), I don't even know myself. But I don't get even a word out.

"Don't. Please," Ken asks. "I'm not good with this feelings stuff anyway. If I stop now, I might not get to say all I have to say."

I take a deep breath. "Okay."

Part of me is terrified of letting him speak. Of course it is. Because listing all the things he loves about me doesn't sound like we're gearing up for a break up, but then, they could also be just kind parting words. Because he's going back into a world that has no place for me and who's to tell what that actually means?

"What I'm trying to say is…" For a moment, he seems to grapple for words. He, who is normally never at a loss for an answer. "Everything is always… brighter, when you're around."

Slowly, I nod. My heart is a lump in my throat and I have to clasp my hands from shaking, but I promised to let him speak.

"I didn't come here intending to fall in love. In fact, just the opposite. But I did and here we are," Ken continues, shaking his head slightly. "I have to go back to London. I can't change that, much as I may want to. I know that I don't want to lose you either, but that's also not my decision to make. It's your call. It's up to you whether you want to try and give this a shot. I guess it's also up to you to name your conditions."

Is he suggesting…?

His gaze drifts to the side, becoming unfocused. "I realise that I'm asking a lot of you. Long-distance relationships are complicated at the best of times and even more so with a life as unusual as mine can be. But I don't want to lose you. I really don't."

"It won't be… easy," I demur, swallowing heavily. "Me here, you back in England…" We'd have an entire ocean between us and that's even without factoring in the craziness that is his royal life.

"I'm not saying it will be easy nor that we will definitely make it work," Ken replies immediately. "I just think that if we didn't try, I'd regret it. It won't be easy, but we could figure something out. We have phones and I can come visit. It's not the same, but it's not nothing either. And it's just a year. I mean, once you have graduated, that re-shuffles the cards anyway."

Unbidden, my mind flashes back to Jake, begging me not to move to England, but I push the thought away firmly. No-one is talking about me moving anywhere. Right now, we're discussing the exact opposite.

Not knowing what to say, I sit quietly, unmoving, as Ken moves his gaze back towards me. It is direct now, perfectly unguarded.

"I love you," he affirms, his voice not wavering. "I love being with you. I'd like to see where it could lead."

"I love you, too." Because of this, at least, I'm sure, even if everything else is a mess.

The smallest of smile tugs at the corners of Ken's mouth as he weaves our hands together and draws them up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of mine.

"What do you say, Rilla?" he asks carefully. "Are you willing to give it a try?"


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Yesterday' (written by Paul McCartney, released by The Beatles in 1965).


To wow:
Even for someone as clever and attentive as Seraphina, I think it's quite a reach to seriously consider that her friend might be dating a proper prince. But she sure will kick herself for not figuring it out!
Oh, I had much fun with Yseult ;). But yeah, she's a first rate snob. In her world, the Blythes don't measure up because they have professions at all. Yseult's parents just have money. In that sense, she's certainly giving Rilla a first taste of what's to come, because if Yseult already considers her "too middle class", there will be more than one person in Good Ole England sharing that belief. And those tabloids are just... ugh. (Tristan isn't as awful as his sister. He just has no backbone. When it became clear that he family wouldn't accept Rilla, he just acquiesced.)
Those are some terribly expensive studies, aren't they? Especially considering how lax Rilla is about them. But she will come to regret that attitude and I've worked out a financial scenario that means she isn't bankrupting her parents with her tuition, at the very least. Small mercies, I guess ;).

To Guest:
You're totally right! Like Anne, Rilla had to step out with a spineless man coming from a snobbish family to realise how awful these people can be. (Not all, mind, but some.) Alas, unlike Anne, Rilla's prince turned out to be a literal one, not just a figurative prince, so there's no easy escape for her. There will come a time when Yseult's brand of snobbishness will seem harmless to her.
As for the name, I think their mother just wanted the most unusual way to spell her daughter's name. She also might have thought that Yseult was the original spelling, as per the old tale. Which she'd be wrong about, but I don't see her as the kind of woman doing much research.
I'm German, so I can at least pride myself in knowing how to spell Brunnhilde ;). Or Brünnhilde, as the Wagnerian name goes in German. (We do like our umlauts.) It is not a name commonly given to children these days though, which makes me wonder - if you're speaking from experience, is it your own name or of someone you know? (Only if you want to tell, of course!)