Caen, France
August 2014

Most of the sour grapes are gone

"But I want to ride!" whines Persis and tries to get up from the gurney.

Leslie pushes her back down with more decisiveness than you'd expect from her. "Absolutely not!"

"I'm feeling fine!" insists Persis through sniffles, sitting back up and folding her arms in front of her chest. "See? I can sit!"

"Sitting up isn't quite the same as riding over a whole obstacle course," reasons Leslie. (She's got a point, too, though I'd never admit that to Persis.)

Persis pouts. "Alix will be doing most of the work. I just have to sit and show her the way."

"You fainted on us half an hour ago," Leslie reminds her. "What if you faint again while riding Alix and fall off?"

Persis shakes her head, trying to hide her sniffles. "I'd never fall off Alix! She looks after me!"

"I hardly see how that is possible," Leslie replies coolly. "Alix is a horse and if you faint, there's preciously little she can do."

She looks at her daughter and there's something steely in her expression that instinctively makes me draw my shoulders up and take a step closer to Ken. Persis, however, is not so easily cowed. She pushes her chin forward and meets her mother's gaze – or would, if she weren't overcome by a coughing fit in that very moment. Leslie clucks her tongue as if to say that this proves her very point.

"It's just a stupid cold!" argues Persis, once the coughs have subsided. "These are the World Equestrian Games. I have to ride!"

"I fail to see why you have to do anything," counters Leslie.

Persis swings her legs down from the gurney, letting them dangle in the air, and looks at her mother imploringly. "We're sitting in second place and are still within striking distance of the Germans. We're almost guaranteed a medal and we could still win this!" she insists. "But after… after what happened with Wild Lone, we're down to three pairs. If I back out now, the entire team gets disqualified and we get nothing!"

I'm reasonably sure Leslie knows all of this. I'm also reasonably sure she couldn't care less.

"You're not risking your life over this," she tells Persis and her tone doesn't invite any further protest.

Persis tries anyway. "But –"

She gets no further, because in that very second, the entrance to the first aid tent flutters open and Susan Baker charges in with a loud, "No buts, Miss Persis!"

Susan Baker is the now retired long-time nanny of Persis and Teddy. She's practical, forceful and, to be honest, a hoot. Having met her, I have little doubt that the somewhat stable childhood of Ken's siblings was in a large part down to her. She still cares deeply about her former charges, too, and, refusing to miss this highpoint in Persis's riding career, has been cheering her along all weekend.

Now though, there's not much cheerfulness about Miss Baker. Instead, she looks like a woman on a mission, her expression matching Leslie's. (Next to me, I notice Teddy ducking his head, even though neither mother nor former nanny are even looking in his direction.)

"Listen to your mother," Miss Baker tells Persis sternly.

Persis juts her chin forward. (The effect is somewhat ruined by her having to wipe her nose on the back of her hand mere seconds later.)

"I'm an adult!" she insists. "I can make my own decisions!"

Beside me, Ken leans down somewhat and mutters, "She's not exactly helping her own case by being so petulant."

Well, no. She is acting a bit childishly, even if I must admit to seeing her point as well, at least in parts. It must be frustrating to see a probable world championship medal slip through your fingers just because of a cold. And after what happened to her teammate's horse…

"Kenneth." Leslie has turned to look at us, apparently alerted by Ken's mutterings. "Would you mind coming over here for a moment?" She doesn't wait for a reply, just turns forward to face Persis again.

Ken grimaces, looking pained. "Why me?" he murmurs, barely audible.

"Dad's not here," answers Teddy, equally quiet. "You're the next best thing."

Owen, it must be explained, is absent in order to prevent a constitutional crisis. Apparently, whenever he leaves the UK, he has have two Counsellors of State stand in for him. Eligible for that position are the monarch's spouse and the first four people in line of succession who are over the age of 21, which means that with the exception of Uncle Al, all potential counsellors are currently in this draughty first aid tent. Had Owen come to France as well, that would have left the country in Uncle Al's hand, which would have been ill-advised, even if it had not also been illegal. I know both Ken and Teddy offered to stay behind so Owen could go, but in the end, he decided to stick around in London to rule his own country, promising to watch the tournament on TV.

His absence means that Ken is indeed the next best thing, so he reluctantly walks towards the gurney. He wouldn't deny his mother's wish, but his every fibre resists getting involved in that argument and I can't blame him. He can only lose this, no matter what he does.

Teddy smiles wryly, clearly sympathising with his brother. Raising his eyebrows questioningly, he silently asks me whether we should go with Ken to support him. I nod, so we both make our way to where the others are grouped around Persis.

"– go back to your hotel and I will make you a hot milk with honey," Miss Baker is currently suggesting, evidently trying to sooth Persis.

Not that Persis looks particularly taken by the idea. She pushes her lower lip forward and looks all set to say something especially petulant, when her gaze lands on me and her face suddenly lights up. "Rilla!" she exclaims.

I desperately try to make myself invisible (I am no more inclined to get involved in that discussion than Ken is), but to no avail.

"You must go to Molly and help her with Alix," Persis continues. "You need to warm her up for me, so that when I'm out of here, she's ready to compete."

Immediately, both Leslie and Miss Baker swivel around to look at me. To say that neither is pleased with Persis's suggestion would be… an understatement. A severe one.

I feel myself shrink under their warning glances and am grateful when Ken steps in front of me and draws attention to himself. "It won't hurt for Rilla and Teddy to go check on the horse," he remarks smoothly. "Just to make sure Alix is well after yesterday."

"Sure, we can do that," Teddy confirms quickly. "Right, Rilla?"

"Um, yes. Of course." I nod, before daring a look over Ken's shoulder at the three women gathered by the gurney. Miss Baker has narrowed her eyes in warning. Leslie looks mostly resigned, keeping her gaze lowered. Persis's eyes bore into mine, her expression beseeching, as she's trying to silently communicate me all sorts of things, only half of which I can decipher.

I don't get much of a chance to make progress either, because Teddy tugs at the sleeve of my jacket and jerks his head towards the flapping tent door. Obviously, he's eager to get out of here as soon as possible, even if it means getting close to a horse. (He hasn't said so, but I think Teddy has… a strong respect when it comes to horses.)

Ken gives me a gentle push, his hand warm on my back, and with a parting nod at the three women, I find myself being propelled out of the war zone. (Sorry. Tent.) As I stumble through the tent's exit, I hear Teddy breathe an audible sigh of relief.

"I'm not sorry to be out of there," he declares once we're out of earshot. "Even though Ken's excuse was weak. That horse will be perfectly fine."

"Yes," I agree. "She will be."

Yesterday's cross-country course was trying for horses and riders, with conditions being less than ideal after weeks of heavy rain, and even saw the horse of one of Persis's teammates collapse dead afterwards. (Though they say it's premature to assume there's a causal connection, it's hard to imagine it being completely coincidental.) Alix, however, is tough as nails and it only needed one look at the cross-country course to realise why the British eventing trainer nominated Alix as Persis's equine partner over Tommy, who's the better all-around tournament horse.

It might be surprising to the casual spectator, but most eventing competition are won and lost during dressage right at the beginning. (It appears to be the German team's standing modus operandi, to pull ahead early with clean dressage rounds and keep hold of said lead during the cross-country and the jumping phases.) It goes so far that, no matter how good a jumper your horse is, if you can't get a decent result in the dressage part of the competition, you never even get close enough to smell the medal ranks.

Therefore, under normal conditions, it would have made more sense for Persis to bring Tommy, who's a superior dressage horse compared to Alix, and thus would have likely gotten the better result in the overall competition. He is, however, also more prone to injury and more susceptible to outside influences, which is absolutely not true for Alix.

Being small, wiry and temperamental, she lacks both the patience and the stature for getting top marks in dressage, but she's unbeatable in the cross-country part. She's a sure-footed as a mountain goat and her jumping skills put a flea circus to shame. They see her taking obstacles higher and wider than herself, on any ground, in any weather. She doesn't falter, doesn't tire and is afraid of nothing. Given how difficult the cross-country course was, Alix was definitely the best choice to get Persis safely from start to finish.

They both did really well yesterday (and even put in a decent show in dressage the day before) and now a common cold is set to ruin their chances at a medal. I can see why it's so frustrating for Persis, even as I also understand Leslie's point. It was pretty scary to see her just faint and collapse without warning! Ken barely had time to catch her before she hit her head on something.

"Who do you think will win?" I ask Teddy as we walk to the area where the horses are stabled, alluding not the equestrian competition but the argument going on in the first aid tent.

Teddy inclines his head thoughtfully. "Persis is darn stubborn, but Mum has an iron will if she feels it's needed. I honestly can't call it."

"It would be easier if the British team wouldn't get disqualified for having too few riders if Persis withdraws," I muse. "She can't get a podium finish as an individual rider anymore, but that team medal is a very real possibility."

(Despite her good showing so far, Persis is currently only sitting in 15th place in the individual competition, which means that a lot of people would have to have really disastrous rounds today for her to have a shot at the medals. As the show jumping part is rarely the deciding factor in an eventing tournament, that's not looking likely.)

"I think if that horse hadn't collapsed, they wouldn't be having that discussion in there at all," remarks Teddy and points his thumb at the tent somewhere behind us. "Part of why she's so hell-bent on competing is because she doesn't want it to have been for nothing. She doesn't want that team medal for herself, or at least not primarily."

I nod slowly, pondering his words. They make a lot of sense, really. Persis might also want to have a medal for herself, but even more so, she wants it for her teammate who lost his horse yesterday.

"I imagine it also feels like she's fluking, given that it needed the death of his horse for him to pull out, while she's being bowled out by a simple cold," I remark pensively. "I think it makes her feel weak."

"Very possibly," agrees Teddy, which means that I hit the nail on the head. After all, I'm pretty sure that there's no person on this earth who knows Persis better than Teddy – and vice versa.

We've reached the stable area, our accreditation as part of Persis's team letting us through the checkpoint, and I guide Teddy towards where Alix is stabled. Molly, her groom, already has her saddled and prepared for competition. When she (Molly, that is) sees us, she inclines her head quizzically.

"Where's Persis?" she wants to know. "She asked me to have Alix ready fifteen minutes ago."

"Persis was… held up," I answer, not sure how comfortable Persis would be with anyone, even Molly, knowing about her moment of weakness.

Molly frowns for a moment, but then shrugs and nods. "Well, Alix is ready for her." She indicates the mare standing next to her.

"Persis wants us to warm her up," I tell her, reaching out to stroke Alix's nose.

"That'd be your job," replies Molly cheerfully. "There's no chance in hell of me getting on her."

I swallow, eyeing the horse with trepidation. Me riding her was… not part of the plan.

"You know her much better," I point out, trying to sway Molly.

But she just laughs and hands me a riding helmet. "I'm the groom and she's groomed to perfection. My job here is done."

Ah, drat.

"Why does no-one want to ride her?" asks Teddy. "She looks very peaceful."

She does, indeed. Standing next to her stable, Alix slowly munches on some hay, observing us humans dispassionately.

"She's peaceful now," explains Molly. "Handling her is super easy. It's when she sees an obstacle that she wakes up. There's no holding her back when there's something to jump over."

Having been coerced into riding Alix a handful of times, I know this to be true. I also know for a fact that I don't want to ride her here, where there's an audience. I can only end up embarrassing myself.

But Molly is still holding out the helmet for me to take and Teddy has procured a protective vest that he now offers me as well. "Better take this one, then."

Double drat.

Taking a deep breath, I take both helmet and vest, before turning to Alix. She looks at me with an unimpressed expression.

She lets me get in the saddle without a fuss, but just as predicted, she wakes up when we enter the warm-up area where they have a few obstacles prepared for practice. Upon seeing them, a ripple goes through Alix and she raises her head, pricking her ears in anticipation.

I hold the reins tighter and close my knees for a better grip. (I'm wearing normal jeans and they make the saddle feel awfully slippery.) This can only go wrong.

Trying to keep Alix walking slowly, I steer well clear of the obstacles, but she keeps pushing in their direction, pulling at the reins and shaking her head impatiently. It's only a question of time before she disregards my feeble commands and takes matters into her own hand.

I sigh, unsure whether to pray for luck or courage or, preferably, both.

"Your horse is a bit of a hothead, non?" comments a voice to my right. A voice with a distinct French accent.

I freeze.

I know that voice. Even after so many years, I still know that voice.

With a jerk, I bring Alix to a halt. She stomps her feet in annoyance and chomps on the bit.

Turning my head slowly, I look down at the smiling face of Alain de la Buyére. The man who, almost seven years ago, broke my heart.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out without thinking.

"I know someone who owns a share in one of the horses on the French team," he answers, shrugging modestly and placing his elbows on top of the fence separating us.

I find myself nodding. With Alain, it was always about who he knew – and he knew very many people. (Very many women, especially.)

"And you're warming up the princess's horse," he observes. "Is she feeling better?"

How does he know that?

I frown at him and he grins, as if reading my thoughts. (I'd forgotten how annoying it is when he does that.)

Alix jerks her head forward, trying to make me loosen my hold in the reins. I just grip them tighter.

When I look back at Alain, I find him watching something behind me. Turning quickly, I just see Teddy retreating, followed at a discreet pace by his two PPOs. (Dawson, the new PPO on Ken's team, is still loitering around near the riding area. Looks like he's on Rilla duty for the day.)

"Where's he going?" asks Alain curiously.

"To get his brother," I answer without thinking. Seconds later, I bite my tongue. Because while I'm certain that Teddy is indeed going to get Ken (which means he must have recognised Alain, which in turns means he must have seen that TV special about my ex-boyfriends), it sounds stupid, said out loud.

Alain, accordingly, grins at me. "Am I so scary that you need your prince to protect you?"

"Hardly," I scoff. Alix tosses her head.

"Even better," remarks Alain, still sounding amused. "I'm pleased you're talking to me at all. You left in a hot fury when we last saw each other."

"That was many years ago," I reply dismissively. (I honestly don't much care for the reminder.)

Alain nods thoughtfully. "Many years," he repeats. "I always regretted how things ended between us."

"You mean you regretted that you slept with that Thérèse?" I supply coolly, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not that," Alain counters. "But I am sorry I didn't take more care to ensure that we were both on the same page about our arrangement."

Arrangement?

That's such a maddeningly French thing to say.

"I was just eighteen and you were only the second man I –" Breaking off, I instead making an impatient motion with my hand. (Alix shakes her head in protest at the ensuring jerk on the reins.) "Wasn't that a clue?"

"I imagine it should have been," agrees Alain. "But you were sweet and pretty and I suppose I didn't want to think too hard about it."

So, he preferred to just break my heart. Lovely.

I glare at him, poised to allow an impatient Alix to start moving again, when Alain adds, "In the end, matters turned out for the best for you, however. You did well for yourself."

"If you are suggesting that –" I begin, feeling indignation rise within me.

Alain interrupts me with a laugh. "The only thing I am suggesting is that your prince is very taken with you."

Hmpf.

I don't have an argument against that and I find that to be vexing.

"I think he and I are not unlike each other in some ways," Alain continues. His face is thoughtful, even serious, but there's a distinct sparkle of mirth in his eyes. (Seeing it, I almost forgive my 18 year old self for falling for him. Almost.)

"Are you saying I have a type?" I ask archly, holding his gaze even when Alix prances to the side a little.

"I'm saying we're similar enough that you should believe me when I say the man adores you," Alain corrects, now grinning outright.

I eye him sceptically. When did he become nice?

"You didn't adore me," I point out.

Alain inclines his head. "I liked you more than you would believe or than I was willing to admit." He raises both eyebrows, his expression amused. "But now that we're both older and wiser – who knows how things would have played out if we had met later?"

Now I'm the one laughing. "Not a chance in hell!"

To his credit, Alain smiles at this, but before he gets a chance to reply, I feel the presence of someone else at my other side. Even before turning my head, I know it to be Ken.

"Rilla," he says quietly. He's looking past Alix at Alain, but at the same time raising a hand to place it on my knee.

With a quick pull at the rains, I make Alix take a step back, causing Ken's hand to settle on her flank instead. Feeling the fur beneath his fingers, he looks up at me. When I raise an eyebrow meaningfully at such caveman-like behaviour, he, understanding, smiles faintly and lowers his head, shaking it slightly.

"How's Persis?" I ask, purposefully ignoring Alain.

"Still bent on riding," answers Ken (his eyes, I notice, repeatedly flit over to the other man). "She keeps jabbering about someone named Winkler and how he had it worse. She also assured us Alix was at least as good as Halla, whoever Halla is."

"A mare," supplies Alain casually. "Winkler was a German rider. He won an Olympic title after having torn a muscle. Halla, his horse, carried him over all the obstacles with minimal help."

"Trust Persis to take him as an example," I murmur. Ken smiles wryly.

Alain, meanwhile, leans over the fence and extends a hand towards Ken. (Alix, bless her, snaps at him and I briefly debate not pulling her head back, but then do it anyway.)

"Alain de la Buyère," Alain introduces himself. "And I know who you are."

I notice Ken hesitating briefly, but then his manners win out and he grabs Alain's hand to shake it with perhaps a tad more force than necessary. I roll my eyes. Alix snorts and I can't disagree.

"Rilla was just telling me she and I wouldn't have worked out," Alain adds casually. "I believe she said there was not a chance in hell."

Ken looks from him to me and back to him. "Do I want to know what brought on that specific conversation?" he asks. He looks a little bemused, but I think I can see the corners of his mouth moving upwards slightly, possibly because of the sheer absurdity of the conversation.

"Not particularly," I tell him blithely.

He holds my gaze for a moment, before a smile spreads over his face. I nod approvingly. This is more like it.

Turning back to Alain, Ken asks, rather pleasantly, "How can we help you?"

"You can send me an invite to the wedding, when it happens," answers Alain without missing a beat. "I've always liked a good party."

Why that little…!

Gnashing my teeth, I narrow my eyes at him until they're little more than slits. Alain just laughs. (I'm so busy glaring at him that I can't see what Ken thinking.)

"Make sure he treats you better," Alain continues nonchalantly, not in the slightest bit impressed by my glare. (I wonder if he meant to say 'better than me', but I won't give him the satisfaction of asking.)

"If I wanted your advice, I would have told you so," I instead tell him haughtily.

But Alain just grins and when I peer over at Ken out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he, too, looks distinctly amused. Traitor!

I don't get much of a chance to glare at Ken though, because Alain choses that moment to ask, "Do you intend to ride that horse at all?" He reaches over the fence to pat Alix. When she snaps in his direction once more, I do nothing to prevent it and he has to quickly pull his hand back. It makes me feel a brief flicker of grim satisfaction.

Looking questioningly at Ken, I see him shrug. "I think you better start warming her up. There's still a chance Persis finds a way to compete."

Immediately, I tense up and grimace. "She's pretty spirited today. I'm not sure I can handle her over obstacles." Plus, I'm too chicken to jump over those obstacles in the first place. They're high and I never particularly enjoyed jumping.

"You just have to watch your hands," chimes in Alain.

I give him an irritated look (what did I tell him about unsolicited advice?), but on my other side, Ken actually choses to agree with him. "He's right. You tend to raise your hands too high, which means you lose leverage, making it easier for her to ignore you. Keep your hands low and apply constant pressure and you will be fine."

Are they ganging up on me?

"I'll lower those obstacles for you," announces Alain, already climbing through the fence and jogging over to one of the practice obstacles in the middle of the riding area. (How does he even know they're too high for me?)

I turn to Ken and growl, "You are not supposed to agree with him!"

Ken shrugs and grins. "He's not wrong."

As if that is even relevant!

Looking after a retreating Alain, then back down at Ken, I remark, "He said you and he were somewhat alike. I think he has a point." I try to make it sound cutting, but don't fully succeed.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Ken wants to know, his expression amused.

"Maybe a bit of both," I concede, feeling myself smile despite myself.

Ken laughs. When he reaches out to touch my knee again, I don't prevent it and even Alix stands still.

"How was it, meeting him?" Ken asks after a moment, now more serious.

I incline my head, considering his question. "I thought it would hurt," I answer slowly. "I was so hurt when we parted that I thought there'd still be some residual pain, but… there really isn't. I can see why my younger self was so charmed by him, but honestly, I mostly just wanted to bash his head in just now. He's aggravating."

"I will ignore the fact that you just called us similar and instead focus on you wanting to cause him physical pain, alright?" Ken jokes.

"You do that," I agree, smiling. The slight tenseness I felt since recognising Alain leaves my shoulders and I feel myself relax.

It only lasts for a second though, because when I look back at Alain, I see him working on one of the obstacle, despite the protest of another rider who apparently just wanted to jump over it. Struggling somewhat with the heavy wooden pole, Alain raises a hand and waves Ken over for help.

I swallow heavily.

"Come one", encourages Ken, sensing my trepidation. "You can do it. I know you can. Just remember to keep your hands low and apply pressure with your knees and you'll be fine."

"I'm not sure…" I eye the obstacle Alain is working on reluctantly. Alix, feeling my attention shift, starts pulling towards them and I struggle to keep her still. "If I do it and break my neck, I'll blame you," I inform Ken.

"That's okay. You may do that" he replies, smiling now. "But look it as this way: You faced the Frenchman and you came out fine. This is peanuts." He reaches up to squeeze my arm, before setting off to help Alain with the obstacles.

He… he's right, isn't he? If I can face Alain, what are an overeager horse and some obstacles in comparison? Peanuts, that's what.

Watching the two of them work together to lower the obstacle, I take a deep breath and tighten the reins, before I applying light pressure to Alix's sides. She jumps forward as if stung. I briefly close my eyes, but don't have much time to collect myself, because we're already off and I'm left to hold on for dear life.

Here's hoping my luck hasn't run out.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Winds of the Old Days' (written by Joan Baez, released by her in 1975).


To AnneShirley:
No, your previous review wasn't swallowed by the Purple People Eater, or at least not long-term ;). It's a glitch that appears about once every month, but it's usually resolved within a day or so, so I don't break out in a sweat anymore. It's annoying when there's a review waiting and I want to read it but can't, but I resolved to be adult about it and show myself to be patient ;).
Reading your last two review together, I realised that both chapters show Rilla excelling at her job, both in a paid in an an unofficial capacity. Like you said, this is the girl who in canon whipped up an entire wedding with a day's notice, who helped organise (and then saved!) a concert and who raised a child when really just a child herself. Rilla isn't academically inclined, but she's good at planning and organising and she keeps her cool even when faced with difficulties. So far, in this story, she's mostly using her talent for more frivolous stuff like parties and wedding, but this enables her to see that she's actually
good at something (which, given her family's emphasis on academic excellence, she's never seen before) and build self-confidence, which will help her when the stakes go up.
I don't think Aunt Kim is in danger of developing schizophrenia, but she isn't exactly too happy with her lot. Uncle Al is harmless, but a bit of a buffon. She was drawn in by the glamour of the royal family, only to find herself married with a child by the time she realised that maybe this particular prince was a frog. (Aunt Caroline realised the same thing a few years earlier, but managed to make a break for it.) But the reader, at least, gets what they see with Uncle Al. There's no more to him than is apparent, whereas there's
definitely more to Aunt Mary. It'll be quite a while before we get to it (probably around 40 more chapters or something), but we will learn more about her backstory, about what shaped her into the person she is and about what makes her tick to this day. That doesn't excuse her snobbishness and her all around arrogant behaviour here, but I hope it will be interesting :).
I had so much fun with the Romanov connection! I've sat on that particular nugget of family relations pretty much since the beginning of the story and it was deeply satisfying to finally get to Aunt Tanya and have her reveal it all. As you said, Olga was considered as a bride for Edward, Prince of Wales, before WW1, but didn't like him, so I thought maybe she'd like my Prince of Wales better (at least for a while) and ran with the idea. It means that Aunt Tanya is really as royal as it gets, and it also means that she has very deep vaults to dig in to. Being a (half-)Romanov comes with lots of shiny, sparkly things!
Now, you were entirely right about the song I took the last chapter title from and I corrected it immediately, so thanks for that! I can't even blame the doc manager. What happened is that I usually copy that line from a previous chapter to keep the formatting and just switch out the relevant data. I did that with chapter 71 and forgot to change the song title. It's therefore all on me, but it was an honest mistake and not meant to be disrespectful to Bob! ;)
I think Tatty and Sexy Eeyore actually created a good balance in that last chapter. We have Tatty, who technically does outrank Rilla and has a far longer history with the royals, but who's happy and supportive to see Rilla strive. On the other hand, we have Pilkington, who is "just" one of the protection people, but puts on all kinds of airs and almost chokes when having to defer to Rilla. Shows who's the bigger person alright!
I'm super happy you like Di and Nia together. I've been wanting to pair them up for a long time, but never had quite the right opportunity to work it in, so I just decided "to hell with it" in last week's chapter and added the line of them being together. I think they're well-suited and, of course, they're both very clever and strong women, so you can be sure we will see more of them, individually and as a couple!
Sorry to hear about the situation you're in. It's scary how human rights and citizens' rights are being pruned all over the world because of the virus, even if it might in parts be necessary. I hope it will only be temporary, but in some countries, it won't be and that's a terrifying thought. As you said though, we will get through it, because we must. Stay strong, stay safe and stay healthy!