Tangled Up in Princes (Royal Romances Book 1), page 10
"What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. There's nothing you can do. Maybe pour me a glass of milk. Milk would help."
He ate a cookie, which Carrie knew was for her benefit alone. She poured the milk, covered the plate of cookies with plastic wrap, and decided her dad could use a little alone time. She picked up her purse and stopped dead in the foyer when she saw Amanda, tears streaming down her face and silent sobs shaking her shoulders. Carrie pulled Amanda outside to the driveway.
"He can't stand the sight of me," Amanda cried.
"That's not true. Everybody is just adjusting. We thought we'd be celebrating your wedding and Skyping with you from Bora Bora now. It's just an adjustment for everybody."
"I heard it all, Carrie. Don't try and spare my feelings. I don't deserve it."
"Come on now, this isn't going to help."
"Nothing will help. Unless you can get help from Edward. He's a prince. Surely he can help. He can talk to Mrs. Rhys-Cooper. She'll listen to him. A royal could ask her to strip naked and run the length of Downing Street and she'd probably do it."
"I don't even know how to get in touch with Edward. After all the stuff the tabloids said, I'm sure he wants nothing to do with me. Besides, I've seen the papers. Edward has moved on."
"Then there's nothing we can do. I've ruined everything. I broke Phillip's heart. I embarrassed you and ruined your chances with Edward. Mom cries all the time, and Daddy can't stand the sight of me.”
"Listen. You were wrong to try and seduce Jamie. You know that already, so I'm not going to flay you for it. As for Phillip, if you didn't love him enough to marry him, then you absolutely did the right thing by calling off the wedding. A year from now, what happened in Scotland won't sting nearly as much for either of you, but if you'd gone through with the wedding out of some sense of obligation, you'd both be miserable, probably for the rest of your lives. As for mom and dad, it'll just take time."
She'd meant to make Amanda feel better, but even she didn't believe what she'd said. Her father was a stubborn man, but it was a quiet stubborn. He was never one to go on and on about how busy or stressed he was, he'd just retire to his study immediately after dinner and work until late in the night. He had an ethic, and that ethic was that you did what you said you'd do. If he told his students he'd have their papers graded the next day, then he'd make good on that promise. If he'd signed a bank loan to have the car paid off by a certain date, then it would be paid off -- even if his wife had gone to the dealership and upgraded to a newer model without consulting him. And if you said you'd marry somebody, then in his world, you married him. He wasn't cruel or uncaring toward Amanda, he just didn't speak her language. And if he said he'd pay back Mrs. Rhys-Cooper, nothing would stop him from doing it, not even the pesky fact of not having the money to do so.
"Do you want to come home with me? You're welcome to crash on my couch?"
Amanda had three weeks off from her job for her honeymoon, and her boss at the museum didn't really expect her to return to work. Mrs. Phillip Rhys-Cooper would hardly need to have her own income. To Carrie's knowledge, Amanda hadn't yet decided whether she'd return to London or not, so when Amanda turned down her offer, Carrie couldn't help but feel relieved. Because she was so relieved, she was also ashamed of herself.
when Carrie got home to the little house she rented with her best friend, Jeannie was lounging on the couch watching The Real Housewives of wherever was fashionable today. Jeannie clicked off the television.
"Jesus, you look like hell."
"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."
"Your mother or your sister, which one? Only one of them can put you in this kind of mood."
Carrie sat down on the couch beside Jeannie.
"Both actually. And Dad too, just to change up the routine and keep me guessing I suppose."
"There's a part of me, an admittedly small minded and petty part, that's a little bit glad to see your perfect family struggling with the trials that the rest of the unwashed masses experience all the time. It's not pretty, and I'm not proud of it, but there it is."
Jeannie, your mother is the mayor and your father owns a successful Toyota dealership. I hardly think you can call your family the unwashed masses."
"Yeah, but I got pregnant out of wedlock and disgraced my family's good name."
"You gave them a beautiful grandson they adore. Truly disgraceful, you hussy. To hear you talk, you'd think nearly naked photos of you were published and seen all over the world."
Jeannie threw a throw pillow at her.
"I get your point. But that doesn't change the fact that you look like shit. What happened?"
Carrie gave Jeannie the boiled down, minus the tears and histrionics, version of events. Jeannie had known Carrie and Carrie's family long enough to realize that where Amanda and Carrie's mother were involved, tears and histrionics were a given.
"And now you're going to fix things, white knight fashion?"
Carrie fell back against the couch.
"Yep."
"How?"
"I don't have many options. I only have one thing that will get that kind of money."
"Carrie, you can't. It would kill you."
"It might not be so bad. Maybe Marybeth would let me still work there as a knitting instructor."
She had to do it. She knew that. But she couldn't talk about it. Before she became the third MacCallum of the day to end up a blubbering mess, she hugged Jeannie and locked herself in her bedroom. Okay, so she was going to be a blubbering mess anyway, but she preferred to do it without an audience.
When she got herself marginally under control, she pulled her phone from her pocket and began searching for a commercial realtor in Spring Valley.
***
Carrie had pulled it together. Mostly. She'd had another mini-breakdown over breakfast, so Jeannie had volunteered to open the store for her. Carrie had taken the luxury of a late morning to drown her sorrows in a bowl of Lucky Charms. Okay, two bowls. What did a waistline matter anyway? It wasn't like she'd be getting naked for anybody anytime soon. Still, she parked a block away from her store to give herself some exercise. Of course, she knew full well that one couldn't just exercise away an extra thousand calories, but—well, if you ate Lucky Charms for breakfast you walked to work. That's just how it was.
She regretted her choice of breakfast even more when she got to her store and saw Tonya Harlow, the realtor she'd called last night, putting a for sale sign in the window. She'd made the decision, but now, with the reality staring back at her from her own window display, she felt sick to her stomach.
"Hey there, Carrie," Tonya said and extended her hand.
"Wow, you work fast."
"Early bird gets the worm," Tonya said, her salesperson smile on full blast, "This is a prime location, so I don't expect it'll be on the market for long. I left the contract inside with Jeannie. Just look the papers over, sign, and drop them off at my office whenever you get a chance."
"Thanks. I will."
And she would. She had to. She started one business. She could always start another.
She went inside thinking about how Lucky Charms did not, in fact, bring one good luck. Not that she'd expected a breakfast cereal to change her life, but one could hope, right? Jeannie was at the counter cursing the credit card machine -- a regular occurrence -- and today's knitting club was clustered around the work tables, an island of snow white hair against a backdrop of brightly colored yarn. Today's club was the intarsia knitters. Intarsia was a knitting technique that used the yarn to create an actual picture. Intarsia was knitting at its most challenging. Most new knitters didn't have the patience, let alone the skill or time for it, so the intarsia club was made up of her most experienced knitters, those who liked to tell her that they were knitting sweaters when Carrie's mama was in diapers. They were a loud, opinionated lot who talked nonstop, all at once, the entire time they were knitting.
Usually. Today they were quiet, speaking in whispers even, strange indeed given that half of them wore hearing aids.
"What's going on?" Carrie whispered over the counter to Jeannie.
Jeannie pointed toward a display of needles. A man was there, admiring a set of Serenity rosewood straights. He wore a hat and sunglasses, but even so, Carrie could tell that he was absolutely gorgeous. And familiar. As a matter of fact, he was one of the two most gorgeous men Carrie had ever seen up close.
Under the guise of rearranging the merchandise, she stood next to him.
"Can I help you?" she said for the benefit of the women straining to hear.
"Actually, I'm here to help you."
He lowered his shades to blast her with his "none can resist me so don't even try" grin.
"Jamie, what are you doing here?" she whispered.
"I'm taking responsibility for my actions. Quite possibly for the first time in my life."
"And you're doing it in my store?"
"I could, but I'm afraid it might be more than they could stand.”
He inclined his head toward the now completely silent intarsia table, “Is there somewhere else we can go?"
With a vague wave to Jeannie, Carrie led Jamie out of the store.
"We can go to my apartment. I've parked a block over."
His brow creased as he looked from her to the row of empty parking spaces right in front of her shop, but he didn't ask. "Wait, let's go in here," he said when they passed Josephine's Diner."
"Oh no. If you want to keep a low profile in this town, Josephine's is not the place for it. You British have the tabloids, and here in Spring Valley, we have Josephine's."
"Brilliant."
Before she could stop him, he pushed through the door.
Stifling a groan, she followed him inside. Conversation died away the moment they entered. Instead of at least choosing a corner booth in the back, Jamie chose a round table smack in the middle of the restaurant.
"What's good here?" he asked, scanning the laminated menu, "Old-fashioned grits with bacon," he read aloud, "Do you know, I have never in my life consumed a grit. Don't even know what a grit is, actually, but I'm keen to find out. One should learn as much of the world as possible, especially if one is to someday be the ruler of a vast kingdom."
"Shhh. I don't know what you're playing at here, but you're getting in way over your head."
The waitress took their order, staring at Jamie the entire time. It was amazing really, how she managed to write, flirt, and drool all at once.
"Spill it," Carrie demanded when the waitress had gone.
"You first. Tell me how you are."
"I'm fine. What are you doing here? Did Edward send you?" She asked, her voice pathetically hopeful.
He took off his sunglasses and stowed them in the pocket of his leather jacket.
"No. Edward is --"
"I've seen the papers. I know what Edward is doing. Or rather, whom."
Jamie raised an eyebrow, a gesture so like Edward that it had her heart lurching.
"Are you talking about Astrid?"
"Tall, blond, busty Swedish Princess?"
"That sounds like her though I confess I've never heard her described in quite that manner. If you ever happen to meet her in person, I'd refrain from using just those words were I you. Astrid can be--proper."
"I wouldn't worry. I'm not likely to encounter Edward's princess. I'll probably never see Edward again. I'm not even sure why you are here."
"I told you, I'm taking responsibility for my actions. As for Edward, I suspect you will be seeing him again, likely very soon."
The waitress brought their meal, and Jamie became involved in flirting once more, giving Carrie time to have all the feelings over what he'd just said. Alone again, Carrie ignored her B.L.T. In favor of giving Jamie the squinty eyes over her plate.
"What are you playing at?"
"What is that?"
He stuck a spoon in his bowl of grits.
"It's grits. You said you wanted to try them."
"They look repulsive."
“They're not, but you should have ordered them with cheese. They're better with cheese."
"You couldn't have told me that before?"
"I could've, but I'm not feeling particularly charitable toward you just now."
He put on his most innocent face, one that had doubtless got him out of many a scrape.
"Whyever not?"
"Seriously, Jamie? After the debacle in Scotland, you have to wonder why you aren't tops on my list of favorite people?"
To his credit, he grimaced as though the memory pained him.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" She asked.
"Nothing except I'm sorry."
Carrie stirred sugar into her coffee and studied him over the cup.
"Amanda said you didn't actually have sex."
"No, we didn't."
"I'd have thought you'd be defending yourself. Instead, you aren't saying anything."
"What's to say? Regardless of particulars, I behaved badly. I should never have let it get as far as it did."
No arguing against that, but he did look truly penitent. It was probably an act, but she believed it anyway.
"It wasn't all your fault. Amanda was mostly to blame."
She sipped her coffee during the silence.
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
"No, I'm not. I'm not going to besmirch your sister's reputation."
She nearly spewed her coffee, "A little late for that."
"It is never too late for chivalry."
"You weren't looking real chivalrous when I caught you in bed with your best friend's bride."
"Ouch. And to think, I came here to do you a favor."
"What favor is that exactly?"
"I'm going to help you get your prince back."
She shook her head, "If he wanted me, he could find me. You did."
Jamie gave a humorless laugh that was at odds with his usual jovial demeanor.
"You don't know much about being a member of the royal family. We are every last one of us, the property of the British people. Having our own wants, plans, and desires is something to be overcome, a weakness like drinking too much or biting one's nails. Edward was not at liberty to pursue you. I know my brother well, better than anyone, and he wanted you more than he ever wanted anything."
"I don't want to be pursued. I just want --"
She just wanted Edward. She wanted to be back on that rooftop laughing and talking with him. Sure, she wouldn't mind being alone in a bedroom with him either. Jamie reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
"The press and the cameras, that's all part of Edward's life. You were drawn into that without understanding the ramifications. Edward won't forgive himself for that."
"I knew what I was doing when I took off my clothes and hopped in bed with him. I knew that horrible Dinah person was right behind us. It wasn't like I was some damsel in distress waiting on Edward to save me. I made a choice, just like he did. I knew what I was getting myself into."
"Did you? Did you really?"
"No. You're right. I didn't know it would be as bad as it was. I didn't know the press would treat me with such disdain."
"They're sharks. They're vicious beasts who thrive on destroying lives. That's what Edward wants to protect you from. But I think you can handle it."
He tried a spoonful of grits, looked pleasantly surprised, then took another bite. She folded her napkin and laid it atop her barely touched plate.
"It doesn't matter what you think. Apparently, it doesn't matter what I think either, because Edward certainly never asked me."
"It's a character flaw, perhaps his only one. He's the family fixer. When one of us starts a press fire -- and Lizzy and I alone have fanned more than our share of flames -- Edward is the one who rushes in to put out the blaze. By now, he just can't help himself. He probably didn't even realize he was treating you like he treats his siblings. It's become such a part of who he is."
"I don't want someone to fix things for me."
"Of course, you don't, because you're a fixer, too. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you. I think Edward knows it too, deep down. Kindred spirits and all that."
"It doesn't matter what I am if every time there's trouble Edward vanishes. If that's part of what he does, then ..."
"Then what? Then you don't want any part of him?"
She dug in her purse for money to pay the bill.
"Carrie, it's important. Would you rather be shot of him and all the difficulties that come along with him?"
Damn it. This was not the time for her to have another cry over Edward, and yet, a single traitorous tear slid down her cheek.
"No. I'd rather have him, press and overbearing tendencies and all."
"All right then."
He laid a hundred-dollar bill on the table and stood. He took Carrie's elbow as he led her to the door.
"Get ready."
He pushed open the door to the diner and immediately backed her up against the wall.
"Make it look convincing," he said, an instant before he covered her mouth in a crushing kiss and put his hand up her shirt."
What the hell? Over the buzzing in her head, she heard the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking.
***
"They've infiltrated us somehow. They have a plant among the staff. I know it."
Edward paced during his weekly security briefing with Martin.
"It isn't a coincidence that the press is always one step ahead of me or Jamie."
"There's no plant. I vet every candidate personally, and there's been no turnover in the staff closest to the principles in the last six months," Martin assured him.
"A bug then. They've planted listening devices."
"Don't be absurd," Martin said, then added a hasty, Your Highness. We sweep for bugs constantly. The residences and cars are all clean."
"When Jamie and I were in Scotland, the paparazzi kept turning up. Everywhere we went, they were lying in wait. How do you explain that?"
Martin started to speak, but instead he shifted uncomfortably.
