"2 claimed assaults in 1 year—"

"Shows just how dangerous society is becoming for men," agreed the other broadcaster just as I snatched the remote and jabbed the power button.

"You shouldn't listen to this rubbish," I grumbled as Emma ignored me on the couch and reached for her phone. "Seriously, Ems. It isn't good for you."

By the state of the disarray of empty cracker tins and cheese wrappers decorating the tea table, I could only imagine how much of her day had been wasted watching this so called 'news'.

I signed and loosened my tie in preparation as Emma's phone pinged twice more. Her brows drew together in a frown.

"Cynthia says I should," she murmured.

"I don't give a—"

"The BBC..." She blinked up at me in confusion. "She says to turn on the BBC?"

"Christ, what now?" I muttered as I handed her back the telly's remote. I swung over the sofa's arm, landing on the cushion beside her. Instinctively my arm stretched behind her, but I paused before touching her. "May I?"

She glanced over at me and nodded, her dimples punctuating her smile. "Course."

I grinned back at her and moved my hand to clasp her shoulder. She shifted toward me and both of our bodies slowly leaned into the other... until we both nearly jumped out of our seats in shock at the figure who appeared on the screen.

"What the bloody—"

"Shhh!" I exclaimed admittedly more loudly than Emma had spoken.

"But she never does interviews!"

I snatched the remote from the floor, where it had fallen, and cranked the volume up.

"So," prompted the interviewer with a saccharine smile, "Nothing's changed?"

"Heavens, no." Margaret practically trilled. "It's not like she's responsible for any of this."

The interviewer—a middle-aged woman who donned a maternal haircut and a disarming pastel skirt suit—nodded as in agreement, but still followed up by asking: "Then who is?"

Given the angel of the camera and the zoom of the lens it was impossible to tell where exactly the interview was being done, but I had no doubt in my mind it was one of my aunt's private rooms in Buckingham Palace.

Despite the regal looking background, no other member of the family appeared on screen. Though clearly Cynthia had played a role in arranging the event and Aunt Catherine in lending her room...

Margaret pursed her lips in thought as she appeared to deeply consider the question. "The media," she finally answered. "Society."

Before she could be asked another question, Margaret shook her head in reproach. "Truly, the way women are objectified and picked apart for public entertainment... it's abhorrent."

With any further queries drawing Emma's character into question effectively squashed, the interviewer moved on to more palatable lines of conversation.

"If you could say one thing to Ms. Henderson or women going through similar trials to her, what would you say?

Margaret laughed politely."Well," she teased good naturedly. I may be biased but, I think there are very few women or men on this planet who have been through what she has been through."

"Damn she's good," I mumbled, to which Emma promptly shushed me.

"My in-laws are a most extraordinary family," Margaret continued. "And it's a gift to be allowed a part of it, but it can be a beast of a transition... But to answer your question, Emma and I are quite close friends and speak rather frequently, so I don't have a 'message' per se to give her. In fact, my words of encouragement would be a quote from her."

At that the interviewer perked up. "Oh, and what would this be?"

Margaret winked in the camera's direction. "We're in this together."

* * *

When the program finished, it was Emma to take the remote and flick the set off. She twisted in my arms and craned her neck to meet my gaze.

"Why would she—"

"Because she likes you," I smirked at first and then sobered. "And she's protective of the people she cares about."

"She's not the only one," Emma teased.

"No..." I agreed before clearing my throat and shifting to face Emma. I released my arms around her shoulders, allowing her to sit up as well, and then reached for her hands again.

"Tom?"

"You knew this was coming, Ems."

Her eyebrows lifted in confusion. "Knew what was—"

"I had a meeting with the security team today."

"Ah," she moved to lean back but I tugged her hands forward.

"Look this is a conversation we should have had ages ago when the press first took an interest in you. And maybe if we had you never would have gotten hurt in the first place!"

"Tom—"

I shook my head adamantly. "Before you argue with me, just hear me out—"

"I don't need to. I—"

"Emma, I'm serious. That prick is still out there and—"

My lungs seized momentarily gasping for air as Emma's mouth covered mine. I had just begun to breathe through my nose when Emma pulled slightly away.

"I agree with you," she murmured against my lips. "It's a good idea, at least until things settle down."

I leaned my forehead against hers as I tried to process what she had said, or more to the point all of the things she had not said. "That's it? You just... agree?"

The breath of Emma's laughter tickled my lips. "Yes."

I leaned back to look at her, still not fully understanding. "I was prepared for a fight."

"Well, if you're so keen on having one..." she teased.

"No! No, no... I'm good." I assured her, but cocked an eyebrow in what I hoped was a dramatic rendition of suspicion.

Emma smacked my arm. "Tom!"

I opened my mouth to continue teasing her, but the trill of Emma's phone cut me off. She glanced down at the screen before mouthing "sorry" in my direction.

"Hey Mum..." She said into the phone's microphone.

I pulled myself up, off the couch and planted a kiss on Emma's head on my way to the bathroom. I leaned against the closed door and pulled out my phone, debating which of my female family members to text first in thanks.

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