Coming home was the right decision. As soon as I was sitting at the dinner table in our family kitchen, with my mother bustling around making me dinner and my father sitting across from me, listening to my sad tale, I knew it was right. My heart was still broken, and I knew it would be for a long time, but my family would make it bearable, they would take care of me.

I spent a lot of time crying that day, and my parents spent a lot of time handing me tissues and giving out hugs. On the second day, after a particularly ugly bout of sobbing and the subsequent calm that often comes after something like that, I decided to take up my mother's offer to go grocery shopping with her and we headed down Harwood Street, down a route I could walk in the dark it was so familiar to me, and arrived at Kingsway Market. It was surreal, being home.

"It's so strange," I said to my mom as we walked across the parking lot. "I thought it would look different. I don't know why."

"It's because you're different," my mom replied, as quietly wise as ever. "You're not the same little girl that used to beg me to come here for cupcakes after school, are you? You're still Eva James, but you're grown up now, you're going through the things we all go through, the things that make us who we're going to be."

I looked up at her, a fresh lump forming in my throat. "You're so smart, mom. You always know just how to put things."

My mom shook her head and smiled. "I'm just older than you, sweetheart. It hurts seeing you in so much pain, but I think it's worse for you because you don't yet know how strong you are. You don't know – not the way I do – that one day you're going to look back on this time in your life and smile. Actually smile."

It didn't seem possible that I would ever look back on that feeling of heartbreak and loss, so fresh and present it made my body ache, and smile. But I trusted my mom, so her words helped. So did her love, a love I knew in my bones was anything but conditional.

"And your boss said you should take all the time you need, didn't she? She's not doing that out of kindness, you know. I'm sure she is a kind woman but she's running a business – she wants you back because she values you, she needs your skills. There are going to be more boys, sweetie. Maybe not princes, but after this experience I think you know a little more about the reality of princes, don't you? But more boys, that's for sure. And no matter what, no matter how many boys there are in your life, you'll always have your craft. That's yours, Eva."

I linked arms with my mom and rested my head on her shoulder, just for a moment. "What's on the list?" I asked. "I want to help cook dinner tonight. Something you and dad like."

"Hmm, I don't know. I'll make my cornbread – you and your father never could get enough of that."

An idea popped into my head. "I know! I'll make a roast chicken. One of my friends in the Capital used to make roast chicken on the weekends and invite all of us over to drink wine and gossip. It looked easy enough, I think I could do it. We'll need some vegetables too."

"Green beans? Glazed carrots? I've got some of the summer peaches in the freezer, I could make a cobbler for dessert."

"Yes. Good. Perfect."

It's funny how something as simple as a trip to the grocery store, walking the aisles with a loved one, picking up ingredients and chattering about regular chickens versus grain-fed chickens can somehow be more useful than months of therapy. The pain doesn't go away but it does recede into the background in such a way as to convince you it won't always be there, as bright and sharp as a fresh wound.

By the time we got home I felt almost cheery. My dad came into the kitchen to check out what we'd bought and my mom tried to shoo him out.

"Out, Charles!" she affectionately admonished. "Your girls are in charge of dinner tonight, and we don't need you underfoot."

"You're cooking?" my dad asked, putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head. "Good. Is there dessert? I hope there's dessert, I'm starving."

"I'm making a roast chicken," I said proudly. "I learned how to make it from my friend Jane. Well, I watched her make it, anyway."

My dad laughed. "Well, if you take after your mother I'm sure it'll be excellent."

My mom and I got to prepping – peeling carrots, defrosting peaches, washing beans. I managed to rinse the chicken myself.

"Look at that," my mom commented. "You always used to run away from raw chicken when you were a kid. Do you remember that? Always standing beside me, making faces?"

I was just going to bring up the now-confirmed fact that, despite all her warnings about the wind changing and my face getting permanently stuck in one of those positions, I'd managed to avoid it, when the doorbell rang.

"Got it!" my dad yelled as my mom looked up at the clock on the wall.

"It's after six, I wonder who that is? It might be Mrs. Greenley – remember the Greenleys? Her husband isn't well at the moment, she sometimes stops by to borrow some sugar or something but in truth I think she just needs a break. I'll invite her to stay for dinner if she has the time."

We waited for the sound of either Mrs. Greenley's voice or the door closing and it didn't come. Finally my mom grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe her hands on. "I'll just go see who it is. Can you get started on that carrot glaze? Just put half a stick of butter in the small saucepan on very low heat, I'll be right back."

I did as instructed, unwrapping the cold butter and cutting in half before dropping it into the saucepan and grabbing a wooden spoon to stir it with. I could hear voices from the direction of the door, but nothing clear, as I watched the butter melt.

"Eva."

I looked up from the stove to see my mom standing there with a strange look on her face.

"What is it?" I asked. "I melted the butter, but I wasn't sure how much sugar to –" I stopped, suddenly getting a glimpse of the person standing behind my mother. Killian. Killian Chatham-Hayes. The Prince of Rhenland. In my parent's kitchen. I turned back to the saucepan, fully convinced I was losing my mind. There was no way. But then he said my name and I looked up again and yes, it was him.

"I –" I stuttered. "Killian, I, um, what –"

"Eva," he said, walking up to me like he was going to hug me and then holding back. "I need to talk to you. I'm not sure if you want to talk to me but I just flew here – well, I flew into somewhere, and I took a three hour taxi trip to get here and –"

"You what?" I asked, baffled and unsure of what to say – or feel. "You took a – Killian, you took a three hour taxi trip?"

"Yes," he shrugged. "I did. I would have taken a thousand hour taxi trip if it meant seeing you, Eva, because there are some things I want to say to you. And all I ask is that you listen. Please."

My parents were standing behind him, listening protectively, like they would happily throw his ass out if I asked them to do so. I looked at them as they waited for a signal, and then back to Killian, still not quite believing he was there. It was like seeing a lobster on a mountaintop, seeing the Prince in our kitchen in Oshwego.

"OK," I said, because everyone was waiting for me to say something. "OK. Yes, we can talk. I don't know where we can go –"

"Use the front room," my mother cut in. "I'll close the door so you can have some privacy, your father can help me with dinner."

So Killian and I did just that and as soon as the door was closed he broke into a smile that just made me want to throw myself into his arms and slap him at the same time.

"Eva," he said, shaking his head. "Goddamnit. I – why did you leave? Why didn't you even call me? I'm sorry about being an ass about being so sure it was your friends who leaked to the press. I'm sorry. And for good reason, because it turns out it wasn't one of your friends – it was one of mine. Well, a friend of friend, anyway. But you just left! I didn't even have a chance to –"

"I didn't leave because of that," I cut him off. "I mean, I was upset about that, but that's not why I left."

Killian looked confused. "So why did you leave?"

"Are you really asking me that?"

"Yes! Eva, what the hell? I'm so confused. I – it felt like you liked me. It felt like you were into me. I know the whole media thing is a huge deal and very stressful for you, but I was working on it, I thought we could deal with it together, you know?"

Killian's apparent confusion about why I had left irritated me. "I left because of something I read in the Sentinel," I told him.

"The Sentinel? What did you read?"

"Oh Killian," I sighed angrily, because the truth was the anger was the only thing keeping me from crying. "Were you ever going to tell me our relationship could never lead to anything? At what point were you going to admit that it had an end-date, from the very beginning?"

Killian closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "Fuck. You read that in the Sentinel? That's – that's pretty much why I'm here, Eva. I just didn't know you already knew about it."

"Yes, I did. They had a whole story on the royal family and royal protocols, relationships, that kind of thing. It was very clear that you can't marry someone who isn't Rhennish and from a family like your own. As you may have noticed, I'm neither of those things. And it just hurt so much to feel all the things I feel for you, and to have those memories of the party, and the night out in the Capital, the trip to Woaden – all of it – and to know that you let me feel them. You encouraged me to feel them! At no point did you say oh yeah, hey, maybe don't fall for me because it can't end well. It was careless of you to do that. And it made me feel like shit that you would be so careless with my heart."

"Oh, Eva." Killian's voice was quiet. He put his head in his hands for a moment. "I didn't – this isn't how I wanted you to find these things out. I'm such a fucking buffoon, I really am. Can I tell you something? Can I just tell you the truth and you can be angry at me if you want, you can throw things at me or punch me, but can I just tell you?"

It was difficult to see him like that. The part of me that never wanted to see him unhappy wanted to go to him, to wrap my arms around those burly shoulders and kiss his face and tell him everything was going to be OK. But I couldn't do that, because it wasn't true. So instead I just told him that yes, he could tell me the truth.

"Do you know why I didn't tell you? Because I was a coward. I know it looks like carelessness to you, Eva – I'm not even saying it wasn't, not really. But I did it because I liked you, not because I didn't. I did it because I just didn't want it to be true, that I couldn't be with you. I didn't want to face it. I couldn't stand the idea of not being with you."

"Well what am I supposed to say to that?" I asked, feeling myself getting emotional. "Oh, you did it because you liked me so it's OK? Everything's fine now, you can go back to Rhenland with a clear conscience and find yourself a proper girlfriend from a proper family and –"

"No. No, Eva. It's not OK, that's not what I'm saying. I handled it terribly. I'm an asshole. And, for what it's worth, I don't just like you. I love you."

There was no stopping the tears at that point. The three words I hadn't even allowed myself to fantasize about hearing from Killian had suddenly been spoken aloud, the only three words I thought I wanted to hear – and it didn't matter. Because we couldn't be together. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the warm tears rolling down my cheeks. Killian moved to get up, to comfort me, but I held my hand up. "No, don't. It's too much. I don't even know why you're saying that to me. Did you just come here to torture me?"

"I came here to tell you I love you," he replied, his voice clear and strong. "And to tell you that I want to be with you. Not for a little while, not until someone with a Rhennish passport comes along, but for as long as you'll have me."

"What does that mean?" I asked, fighting the urge to feel hope that was rising up inside me. "What about the rules? What about your family?"

"Fuck the rules. I mean it, this isn't me trying to weasel my way back in. I came straight here from Majorca, so I haven't had time to speak to my parents yet, but I'm going to the minute I get back. Even if you tell me to get out of your life, Eva, I'm done with the bullshit. And I'm going to tell them as much."

I felt my eyes widening. Was I hearing what I thought I was hearing? "But," I started, "what about your inheritance? What about your title and your place in the line of succession and all of those things?"

Killian got up and came over, sitting down beside me and turning my face towards his so we were looking into each other's eyes. That time, I didn't try to stop him. "Listen to me," he said. "Those things matter. They are all real and all meaningful and all important. But none of them – none of them, Eva – are as real and meaningful and important as you, and how I feel about you."

I couldn't speak – and even if I could, I wouldn't have known what to say. To go from utter despair to pure joy in less than a few minutes wasn't something I was prepared for. I just leaned against him and cried with relief and happiness. He held me tightly and it was only then, when I knew there was still hope, that I even allowed myself to feel the full weight of his loss.

"Are you OK?" Killian asked a few minutes later, as I showed no signs of stopping. "You're smiling, but you're also crying. Is that good or bad? Are you about to send me packing? Please just say something Eva, I'm –"

"I'm not sending you packing," I wept, wrapping my arms around his big, solid body. "I'm not."

Who knows how long we stayed there like that, clinging to each other? When I felt able to speak in sentences again I looked up at him. He gently wiped the tears off my cheeks and kissed them one after the other, like he had that night at the party.

"You know what, Killian?" I asked, searching his blue eyes for some sign that this wasn't all a dream.

"What?"

"I love you, too. I've never said that to anyone before. But I do. That's part of why I left. If I didn't love you, it wouldn't have affected me so badly."

He smiled and kissed me again. If we had been anywhere other than my parent's living room, with my parents themselves mere feet away, behind a flimsy door, I would have kissed him back. But I was going to have to wait. "You don't just have to say it because I said it, you know."

I smiled and sniffled. "I know. That's not why I said it."

"Good."

"What are we going to do? How are we going to handle this? I don't think I can deal with the media, with all of that."

"I don't know," he replied, smiling widely. "I don't know right now. But we're going to figure it out, Eva. I'm going to figure it out. The press will back off once you've been officially brought into the fold as the royal girlfriend."

"The royal girlfriend," I repeated back to him, giggling. "That sounds ridiculous, Killian."

"I know, that's because it is. But I mean it, there's an agreement with the media in Rhenland, they're much more hands off when things are official, and I'll make it clear to them this is the case with you. I'll make sure there are no more scenes like that one outside your apartment. That's not going to happen to you again, Eva. Do you believe me?"

I looked up at him. I did believe him. "Yes."

"Good. I'm going to –"

It was at that moment that my mom opened the door and poked her head into the room. "I heard laughing, I hope I'm not interrupting. Dinner will be ready soon – I'm not sure if you're, um, if the Prince, er–"

"Killian," Killian replied kindly. "It's just Killian. And I would very much love to stay for dinner, thank-you."

So that's how the James's of Harwood Street in Oshwego, Michigan ended up hosting the Prince of Rhenland for dinner.

"I bet this feels very strange to you, huh?" I asked Killian, just before dinner was ready.

"A little," he replied. "But it also feels good. I've always wondered what it would be like, to experience a family that – well, that wasn't like mine. And whatever your mother is cooking smells damned good."

We walked into the kitchen and sat down around the dining table as my mother and father brought dishes and plates full of food and set them down in front of us. When they were seated, my dad turned to me.

"So, did you two work it out?"

"Oh Charles," my mother tried to shush him but I waved her away.

"No, it's OK. I think we did work it out." I looked at Killian, aware of how closely my parents were watching us together. "We did, didn't we?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "We did. I did a very stupid thing. More than one stupid thing, if I'm honest. But Eva seems to have forgiven me – after I explained myself."

"Well I hope you're not a man who's prone to doing silly things around my daughter," my dad said, his expression serious. "I'm aware of who you are, but this is my Eva we're talking about and at the end of the day I'm a father and it's my job to take care of her. You need to know that."

"Yes," Killian nodded respectfully. "I do know it. We're on the same page, sir. The more people in this world who care about Eva, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

It was wild, sitting there around the table as the Prince of Rhenland called my dad 'sir' and acted for all the world like a regular – albeit dazzlingly handsome – man meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time. As for me, I just wanted to take it all in, to bask in the happy glow of my family and the man I'd just admitted I loved all being there together.

When dinner was over Killian did the polite thing and said he had a hotel booked. At the front door, as we waited for a taxi and after he'd said goodbye to my parents, he leaned down and whispered in my ear:

"I want you to come with me, but I'm not sure your parents would be too happy about that – especially your dad."

"Yeah, he can be a little scary," I giggled. "Especially when it comes to me – and men he thinks might have hurt me."

Killian looked down at me. "But we've got that sorted out, don't we, Eva?"

"I think we do. I mean, I have no idea how we're going to actually, you know, do this. But yes."

"We'll manage, beautiful. You know I'm going to have to fly back home as soon as possible, right? I need to talk to my parents, and they're going to be losing it right now – everyone at court is going to be losing it, because no one knows I'm here."

I hadn't thought about that but he was right, he did have to go back to Rhenland – the longer he stayed out of contact the more it was going to worry people, including the media if they got wind of it. "When?" I asked. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, probably. I don't want to push you, Eva – I know that even without my being a total self-absorbed jerk that the past few days have been hard for you. But I miss you. I really miss you. Do you have any idea when you might come back? Have you spoken to your boss?"

I leaned into his chest, wanting more than anything to go back to his hotel with him. "Soon," I replied. "A few days, maybe? I think my parents are going to want to talk to me about this, get some reassurance that this thing with you is serious – and that I'm serious."

"Are you?"

Killian's eyes were so blue. It still hit me every now and again when I looked at him. "Yes," I told him. "Yes I'm serious. Of course I am."

"Good. Well turn your damn phone on, woman, and I'll message you in the morning with my plans, OK?"

He leaned down when the taxi arrived and kissed me, just a little longer than was appropriate, and then he left me standing there weak-kneed on the front doorstep, the blood rushing to my cheeks. I waved as the taxi pulled away and then went back into the house, smiling helplessly. He loved me. Killian Chatham-Hayes loved me. I knew there were difficulties ahead but I trusted him to guide us both through them, to protect me from the media – who would now have an even bigger reason to get in my face whenever they could – and possibly from his own family, who didn't sound like they would be at all pleased with their son picking a girl from Oshwego over a royal title and an inheritance worth billions.