Glen St. Mary, Canada
July 2012

And now I guess we're home

"So, Rilla, when's Prince Charming making his grand entrance?" asks Jem jovially and pokes me in the ribs.

Turning to glare at him, I snap, "Don't call him that!"

Jem just grins. "Why not? Isn't he charming?"

"More charming than you are, for sure," I tell him darkly. "Not that that's much of a feat."

My brother, however, is not to be deterred. "That's my point. He's charming and he's a prince. Why would I not call him Prince Charming?"

"Because," Faith chimes in from his other side, "we could call you Doctor Strange on those very same grounds and yet, you don't see us doing it either."

To his credit, Jem reacts to that by bursting out laughing. "Good one!"

It is, too. Not that I have any idea who Doctor Strange is, but if mention of him makes my big brother shut up, I'm prepared to feel charitable towards him.

Leaning around Jem, I mouth a quick "thank you" to Faith, who winks in returns.

"If I'm Doctor Strange, Rilla has to be Scarlet Witch," declares Jem in that moment. It's clear the he's trying to hassle me for his own amusement, but God knows I've been called a red-headed witch by the press too often to care anymore.

"Who's that?" I ask Faith instead, making a point to appear unruffled.

"A comic book character," is her reply. "One of the X-Men. She has the power to change reality at will."

Ah, would that I could really do that…

"I'll take it," I decide with a shrug and turn back towards the window.

As I let my eyes roam the street for any kind of movement, I am vaguely aware of Jem and Faith bickering about who she is in this odd comic book line-up we appear to have going. He seems to make a case for someone called Night Nurse, which Faith protests most vocally. (She's right, too. She's no less a doctor than he is!)

Letting their voices fade to become part of the general background noise, I allow my thoughts to wander.

It's been weeks since I've seen Ken and, though I'd never admit it to Jem, I'd also like for him to arrive soon, please. He managed to come to New York for just a few days in June, between Trooping the Colour and Garter Day. Even before that, the press had been giving him an increasingly hard time about his, and I quote, "Big Apple sojourns" and they sure as anything didn't hold back their opinions about this visit. And while it was a very lovely few days for the two of us, it wasn't nearly enough. (How odd to think that soon, I will wake up next to him every morning!)

With Ken returned back to England and his royal duties, I spent June and half of July with Jake and Izzie, as promised. We did all the weird tourist-y things we could think of and even went to see Merida in cinemas, despite Ken having left Izzie the DVD. Still, she insisted and Izzie always gets her will in the end.

In more mundane matters, I also spent too many days clearing out my apartment and carting my furniture off to be donated to charity. (Personally, I would have liked to have sold it on to the next tenant. But Ken said to de-personalise the apartment as much as possible before handing it over, to minimise the effect of the "How the royal girlfriend lives" stories. It's not something I could argue with, either.) A memorable Monday and Tuesday was spent overseeing Ken's people as they replaced the bulletproof windows with breakable ones and the blastproof door with one that doesn't weigh two tons.

Once the apartment was emptied, I lived at Joy's for another week or so, which ended up involving many late nights and too much popcorn and wine. I finally headed back to Halifax one the very last day before my visa ran out and made it with two days to spare before Betty's wedding. Which I know makes me a bad bridesmaid, but Betty was first too stressed and then too blissed out to notice anyway. (Mollie gave me a bit of grief over it, but Mollie also talked to a reporter. It wasn't anything controversial, but it provided me with a way to shut her up.)

The press, of course, found out about the wedding and turned up for it. They barely took half a dozen pictures of bride and groom, but I can live secure in the knowledge that the world has seen my bridesmaid dress from all possible angles now. One paper even printed a picture of me at the wedding next to one taken at Mrs Weisz's funeral and headlined it, "A wedding and a funeral", which is just tasteless in the extreme.

The wedding successfully over and Betty and Liam waved off to their Caribbean honeymoon, I accompanied my parents to the Island, with my siblings trickling in during the next few days.l. Which brings me to this moment, standing by the window, waiting impatiently for my boyfriend to finally make an appearance.

But the street still remains frustratingly bereft of life. There aren't even any reporters there, though that, I admit, is a most welcome change. I only had a reduced contingent follow me to Halifax and those few that decamped to the Island with me disappeared after two days. I reckon they realised that the chances of me drunkenly falling out of a nightclub were rather slim here and, with no juicy story in sight, decided to spend their time elsewhere. (Well, joke's on them, right?)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Hanson stepping out from under a copse of trees and turn my head to look closer. Doesn't it look like he's talking into a mobile phone?

(Hanson was sent ahead, together with a new agent called Butcher, which is really an unfortunate name for a police officer, if you stop to think about it. They set up security measures at Ingleside, prepared the garden shed for their own accommodation and hired all rooms at Miss Cornelia's B&B for the agents not on duty. As Ken said, it's quite an operation.)

I take a step back from the window. Vaguely, I am aware of Jem and Faith both turning to look at me questioningly, but decide to leave them to their comic book-related bickering.

Before I get any further though, I feel someone come up behind me and peer over my shoulder. "Is he coming?" asks Mum.

"I think so." And indeed, when look out of the window again, I can see two dark SUVs pull up in front of the house.

(I once told Ken that he could move around much more inconspicuously in an orange Clio, but he just smiled and nodded in a way that left me wondering whether he even knew that Clio wasn't just a Greek muse. I guess it's not the kind of car that registers on his radar.)

"Prince Charming has arrived!" Jem announces helpfully, rocking back on his heels and grinning at me.

Briefly, I consider telling him off, but then decide to leave it to Faith and make my way over to the front door instead. By the time I've opened it, Ken has already climbed out of the first SUV. When he looks up and sees me, his face immediately lights up.

His security people swarm around him, while Beckett hurries over to confer with Hanson. None of them make any attempt to follow Ken up the steps of the veranda though. Instead, one takes position near the gate and two begin circumnavigating the house, which I guess is all the privacy we could possibly hope for.

"Hey," I greet Ken and reach out both hands for him to take. The moment he does, I tug to draw him closer.

"Hey yourself," he replies, briefly bending down to press a chaste kiss to my lips.

It's all I can do not to throw my arms around him. However, acutely aware of his officers behind him and my family behind me, I settle for beaming at him and lightly swinging our clasped hands between us.

Not that we would have gotten much of a chance for a proper greeting anyway, because all too soon, there's someone pointedly clearing their throat right behind me.

Dad!

I turn to glare at him, but he looks right past me. (At least he isn't wearing a sparkly #TeamRilla t-shirt again, like he and Mum did at graduation? Those were so embarrassing!)

Letting go of one of my hands, Ken stretches out his for Dad to shake. "Hello Gilbert."

"Ken," acknowledges Dad. Beside him, Mum is rolling her eyes and I have to suppress a smile.

"Hello Ken," she greets much more warmly, grasping his hand between both of hers for a moment. "How was your flight?"

"Uneventful, if delayed a bit," Ken replies. "I'm sorry for not being on time."

Mum waves the apology aside with a flourish of her left hand. "Nonsense. It's hardly your fault. We all know how stressful long-haul flying can be. That reminds me – do you need a moment to refresh or rest before we let the rest of our brood loose on you?"

"Where are they anyway?" I wonder, peering past my parents into the suspiciously empty hall.

"Your mother sent them to wait in the garden," explains Dad.

Mum nods, adding, "They were hovering."

They would have been. They've been pretending to act all suave about this, but I know they're curious, the lot of them.

"I'm alright," Ken assures Mum in that moment, circling back to her earlier question. "If I could just drop off my luggage somewhere…"

I want to ask what luggage, but then he signals towards one of the PPOs, who produces a suitcase from one of the cars and carries it over. "Where do you need this, Sir?"

But Ken merely stretches out his hand for it. "Thanks. I'll take it from here."

The PPO nods respectfully before withdrawing again, taking up position by one of the cars.

"How many protection officers do you have with you?" asks Dad with a nod towards the men in question.

Ken looks a little uncomfortable, but answers anyway. "There are eight here with me right now. I never have less than three accompany me whenever I go outside. More, if circumstances call for it."

The curious part of me would like to ask what 'circumstances' means, but the sensible part knows it's not a subject he wants to talk about much longer, so I tug at the hand still firmly wrapped around mine and suggest, "Shall I show you upstairs?"

"You do that, sweetheart," replies Mum in Ken's stead. "I'll tell the others that you will be down shortly."

Nodding, I quickly lead Ken past my parents and along the hall. It's only when we're at the top of the stairs that, upon hearing Dad's voice, I hesitate briefly. Putting a finger to my lips, I signal for Ken to remain quiet, then lean over the banister a little, the better to catch what is being said.

"Do we really need to put him up in her room?" Clearly Dad's voice. "We couldn't have put him with one of the boys."

Mum's reaction is to break out into peals of laughter. "Don't be ridiculous, Gilbert!"

Dad makes a grumpy sound. "I'm not being ridiculous!"

"Yes you are," declares Mum. "They've know each other for almost two years and anyway, she's had boyfriends before him."

Geez. Thanks for the reminder, Mum.

"But we never had to put them up in our house. In her room, no less!" protests Dad.

"Then there's a first time for everything, wouldn't you say?" Mum replies mercilessly. "And now, out with you! Don't forget to ask Jerry to fire on the barbecue."

That conversation over, I silently point Ken towards my bedroom. The moment the door falls shut behind us, I am caught up in his arms and kissed as thoroughly as he probably intended to do from the beginning.

Mmm.

This is nice.

But then the faint sound of laughter wafts up through the opened window, pulling me back into reality again. Moving my hands from Ken's hair to his shoulders, I lightly push him back an inch or two.

"I must warn you. Someone will come get us in ten minutes, tops." My voice is still a little breathless and I'm perfectly aware that I'm doing little to back up my words.

Ken considers me for a moment, before breaking out into a devilish grin. "Is that a challenge?"

Laughing, I duck out from beneath his arm. "Hardly! Just the opposite, actually. Behave!"

I can feel his eyes following me, but he himself stays put. "I will. Even more so as your father already doesn't like me."

"Oh, he likes you fine," I reply with a shrug. "He just dislikes me not being twelve anymore. I'm the youngest girl and I guess that makes it a little harder for him to adjust than with the others."

Ken nods thoughtfully. "So long as he does adjust…"

"He will," I promise. "In the meantime, we have Mum to keep him in check."

"Thankfully," agrees Ken. Then, with a look around the room, "Do I get a tour?"

That draws a laugh from me. The room is cute, but it does not hold any hidden surprises and is hardly what you'd call sizeable either. (Another disadvantage of being one of the younger children – you don't get a say when it comes to room distribution.)

"Desk, chair, shelves, door, bed, wardrobe, window" I point out, turning on an imaginary axis as I point towards the individual pieces of furniture. "Anything else you'd like to know?"

But before he gets a chance to answer, there's a knock on the door.

"That wasn't ten minutes," points out Ken quietly as he takes a step backward, further into the room.

"I said, ten minutes, tops," I murmur back, before calling out, "Come in!"

"I'm not sure. Is everyone decent?" comes Shirley's muffled reply.

With an exasperated huff, I cross the room in three steps and rip open the door. "Everyone most certainly is! And besides, do I really need to remind you of that time when I stumbled upon you and Mina Wood below the bleachers?"

Shirley grimaces. "No, let's not recap that."

"Thought so." I nod briskly. "And now shoo. We're coming."

But instead of leaving, Shirley looks past me to nod at Ken. "I'm Shirley."

"Prototype of all annoying younger brothers anywhere," I supply.

Ken smiles. "How do you do, Shirley?" Then, as if just remembering, "I'm Ken."

"Yeah." Shirley nods. "I kind of knew that."

"Excellent," I remark a little sarcastically. "Could we please get moving now?"

My brother raises an amused eyebrow at me, but thankfully remembers he's not actually a man of many words and turns around to trudge down the stairs without complaint.

Looking at Ken, I ask, "You up for meeting the rest of them?"

"Can't wait," he smiles. (Which might be a tad naïve of him, but I'm not about to point that out.)

The smell of the barbecue gets stronger as we make our way downstairs, causing me to lean towards Ken and remark, "I hope you're in the mood for meat? Mum organised a barbecue as 'a relaxed way for everyone to mingle'. And yes, I'm absolutely quoting."

"I was taught early to eat everything appearing on my plate," answers Ken and shrugs. "There's nothing more awkward than being guest of honour at a state dinner and having to let the Finnish President know that reindeer meat isn't really your thing."

"Reindeer?" I repeat, wrinkling my nose. "You mean you've eaten Rudolph?"

"Maybe," replies Ken. "I didn't ask them for the name of the animal I was eating. Might as well have been Dancer or Prancer."

As I lead Ken into the kitchen, I ponder that for a moment. "Well, I'm not feeling sorry for them. They were mean to poor Rudolph."

"Serves them right to be eaten," agrees Ken with a grin.

"It does," I nod, before pushing open the back door leading out to the garden.

Dotted around the lawn are all members of my immediate family as well as assorted Merediths. The moment they see Ken and me, they all fall silent as if on cue.

Talk about awkward.

Clearing my throat, I raise a hand to indicate the man by my side. "Everyone, this is Ken. Ken, this is – everyone."

There's a collective murmur in response, but no-one comes closer. Wanting to ease up the situation (though with no earthly idea how to), I open my mouth to say something, but Ken beats me to it.

"Good afternoon, everybody," he begins, his voice strong and steady. "I'm really glad to be here and I look forward to getting to know you all. I realise that arriving with a gaggle of police officers can hardly be considered an everyday occurrence, but I hope we can all overlook that small fact. Please just treat me like you did any of Rilla's other boyfriends." (He's slipped into official mode, I realise, but I suppose given the situation, it's understandable.)

"We would," remarks Di drily and comes a few steps closer. "Except you're the first one she's actually bringing home."

"Oh, yes," chimes in Nan. "We never knew any of the others. Except for Carl, I mean, for obvious reasons."

"I knew them all," Joy points out. "At least the proper boyfriends." (Joy being, naturally, one of the few persons aware of both Jorge and Coyote Ugly Guy. She's never met either, but of course they can hardly be counted as "proper boyfriends," anyway.)

I make a point to glare at the three of them in turn, but Ken isn't so easily shaken. "In that case, we can all figure it out as we go along," he suggests.

No-one gets a chance to react to that though, because in that very second, Izzie bursts out from between Dan and Walter and charges at Ken, wrapping both arms around his legs.

"I want a movie!" she declares. (Joy raises an eyebrow and I quickly look away.)

Ken seems to be trying to crouch down on Izzie's level, but with her arms still wrapped around his knees, the mere attempt makes him sway dangerously and he immediately straightens again.

"I have one for you upstairs," he promises, even as he looks to me for help. I bite back a smile.

"Give!" demands Izzie.

"How about I'll get it for you later?" Ken tries, sounding a little helpless.

Izzie lets go of his legs and frowns up at him, evidently displeased. "Now!"

I take a step closer to intervene, but Dan beats me to it. "No, not now, young lady," he tells her, sounding very reasonable indeed. "Ken will get you the movie when he has a moment and your mother will decide when you can watch it." Then, not giving his daughter time to throw a tantrum, he picks her up and holds her upside down as he carries her off, causing Izzie to shriek with delight.

"Sure," mutters Joy, who's ventured closer as well, "make me be the bad cop again, why don't you?" But she's smiling as she says it, her gaze following husband and daughter.

"What movie did you get for her?" I ask Ken, hoping to infuse some normality into this entire situation. (A quick glance at the rest of the family tells me that they've mostly moved to stand closer to us, listening to the exchange with interest. My parents hover by the side lines a bit, though I suspect Mum of being ready to intervene whenever this shows signs of going badly.)

Ken shrugs. "An animated one. I think it's about Tinker Bell."

"Did you know that Peter killed the Lost Boys when they grew too old?" pipes up a voice behind me.

"Jake," sighs Joy, reaching out to draw her son closer to her. "That's hardly a subject for polite conversation."

"But it's true!" insists Jake.

Ken nods. "It is true. He's rather a vindictive fellow, that Peter." A moment passes, before he adds thoughtfully, "Did you know I attended the same schools as Captain Hook? First Eton and then Balliol College at Oxford."

"So did Lord Peter Wimsey!" Nan interjects happily, but no-one takes much note of her. (Probably because no-one knows who Lord Peter Whathisface is.)

Jake, meanwhile, looks up at Ken from beneath a shock of hair, at first distrustful, but then I see a slow grin spreading across his face. "On purpose?"

"Could have been," replies Ken conspiratorially.

"Are we allowed to call him Captain Hook then?" asks Jem, sotto voce, somewhere to my right.

I turn my head just in time to see Faith roll his eyes at him. "No, we are not," she declares, before stretching out her hand to Ken. "I'm Faith. This is Jem, Rilla's brother. If he ever calls you anything silly, you have my permission to call him Doctor Strange."

For a second to two, Ken looks bemused, but he catches himself quickly. "Thank you. I will make sure to do that."

Faith's approach seems to have caused a shift, for one by one, the rest of my siblings step up as well, introducing themselves and generally being more polite than I expected them to be. Usually, you can count on one or two of them saying something with the specific goal of embarrassing me.

But today, even Di shows manners that Grandmother Marilla would be proud of and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. (We spent a long evening talking it out last week and I'm pretty sure we're good. Di grumbled a bit when she heard that Dad had told me about Cambridge, but in turn I patiently listened to a ten-minute lecture on the outrageousness of Oxford's VIP places, so in the end, we agreed to call it even.)

Some fifteen minutes later, the line of introduction has moved on to Monday, who presses his snout into Ken's hand and looks up imploringly, which garners him a thorough ear scratch. (I feel a slight pang at the sight, but quickly push the thought away.)

"I bet the birds on his estates would like it if he were half as respectful of their needs," comments Carl darkly as he steps to my side. "Which would include, I don't know, not killing them, for example."

"Carl," I sigh. "Can we not?"

If I harboured any hope of Ken not hearing Carl's complaints, it is dashed when he turns to look at us and remarks, surprisingly amicably, "You're Carl, right? You'd get along with my brother. He's also no fan of hunting."

"Really?" I ask quickly, because as long as I am talking, Carl cannot. "I thought your sister would have more to say about it."

Giving Monday a last pat on the head, Ken straightens again. "Persis is easily the best shot of the family. She refuses to hunt deer, on similar grounds to you refusing to eat reindeer meat, but she's got not problems with birds."

"She has a point. Shooting deer is like shooting Bambi's mum all over again," I explain.

Ken flashes me a grin. "That movie has a lot to answer for."

"It does!" I agree eagerly. "It traumatised generations of children!"

"Didn't help the poor birds though," mutters Carl and it takes all I have not to hit him over the head with something.

Thankfully, Jerry intervenes before matters can turn violent. "Stop harassing unsuspecting people, Carl," he tells his brother, sounding somewhat weary. Then, with a nod over to the barbecue, "Food's ready, if anyone is hungry."

It's just the exit strategy I needed, so I grab Ken's hand and drag him over to where the food awaits, leaving Carl and Jerry behind. A hopeful Monday follows at our heels.

But I don't make it far before I spot my sisters huddled in a circle next to one of Mum's flower beds in a way that is most suspicious. And yes, when they see me looking, they all three proceed to wave me over.

I hesitate. The waving becomes more insistent.

Letting out a long breath, I roll my eyes at them before turning back to Ken. "Look, I'm going to need to speak with my sisters, over there. They won't leave me alone until I do, as I know from experience. Are you good on your own for a moment?"

"Sure," agrees Ken easily. "We're fine, aren't we, boy?" Monday wags his tail in agreement.

"Great!" Standing on my tiptoes, I give him a quick peck and feel him smile against my lips.

I'm already a few steps away when I hesitate and look back at him over my shoulder. "If anyone starts bothering you about vaccinations, please feel free to leave. No need to be polite either."

"Understood." Raising one hand, Ken playfully tips it against his temple. Monday thumps the ground with his tail and grins at me, tongue lolling out of his muzzle.

I'm still smiling when I reach my sisters, who immediately absorb me into their circle.

"Do you have any idea how surreal this is?" asks Nan immediately. "I knew you two were together, but to actually see you with him… I mean, there's a honest to goodness prince in our backyard!"

"Want me to pinch you?" Di offers with a grin.

Nan pulls a frightful grimace and pre-empts any pinching by poking Di in the ribs.

"Girls," chides Joy mildly.

"Yeah. Did you call me over for a reason or are you just out to heckle each other?" I grumble. (A quick glance back at Ken shows him in conversation with Walter, which makes me relax a bit. I can trust Walter not to harass Ken or embarrass me.)

Nan takes a few calculated steps away from Di. "You don't want to know what we think of him?" she queries, feigning hurt.

Truth to be told… yeah, I kind of do.

"Well?" I prompt, raising an eyebrow.

"He's dreamy," declares Nan grandly.

"He's tall," amends Di, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

"I prefer House to Grey's Anatomy," adds Joy pensively.

I blink at her. "How does that relate to this conversation?"

"She said dreamy," argues Joy and points at Nan. "Which made me think of McDreamy, which made me think of Grey's Anatomy, which made me think of medical dramas in general, which made me think of House. Though I must say it did get rather soapy after the characters discovered they had feelings."

For a moment, I just gape at her, before raising both hands as if in self-defence. (I half mean it, too.) "You know what? I'm having no further part in this discussion," I inform them. "You three are behaving like you've drunk entirely too much of Grandmother Marilla's currant wine and I have no patience to deal with this. Which means that… oh, whatever!"

Throwing my hands up in the air, I turn on my heel and march over to where I left my boyfriend. My sisters' laughter accompanies me the entire way.

Ken's sitting with his back to me at a table with Shirley and Walter, the latter of whom stands up upon seeing me and, with an apparent apology, melts away, dragging a protesting Shirley with him as he does.

As I come to stand behind Ken, I slide my hands over his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck. "If my family is being too much, you must tell me. I know they can be… a lot," I tell him, my voice muffled. "In every possible way."

He doesn't answer immediately, instead turning around (which dislodges me a little) and wrapping both arms around my waist. "Are you kidding me?" he asks, a wide smile lighting up his face. "They're brilliant!"


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Outside the Nashville City Limits' (written by Joan Baez, released by her in 1971).