Tangled Up in Princes (Royal Romances Book 1), page 9
"Wonderful, the cashmere silk blend is here."
"What? I didn't order a Cashmere and silk blend."
"I know, but you'll love it. Everyone will love it.”
Carrie unpacked a skein from the box.
"It retails for $49.99 a skein."
"If you want quality, you have to pay for quality."
"There's a difference between wanting quality and being able to pay for a cashmere silk blend. My customers just aren't going to pay that price. This is Spring Valley, Kentucky, not Beverly Hills. How many of these skeins did you order anyway?"
She pawed through the box, the frighteningly large box.
"Seventy-five."
"What! You bought seventy-five skeins of this?"
"If you buy in bulk, the price per individual item is cheaper. Everybody knows that. Plus they were part of a close-out sale."
Carrie felt a headache building behind her eyes.
"Let me guess, that means they're nonrefundable."
Without warning, her mother burst into tears, great hiccuping sobs that had the students getting out of their chairs to come and see what was wrong. One little girl even started crying herself. Carrie shoved a travel pack of tissues at her mother while she broke out the granola bar and juice box snacks early. She had no hope of her mother being so easily placated.
"I was just trying to bring in some extra money. It isn't fair that we should have to pay for that wedding," her mother sobbed.
Not only was it unfair, it was impossible. Her parents just didn't have that kind of cash.
"I know Phillip's mother is angry, but surely she doesn't expect you and Dad to reimburse them for the wedding expenses. I mean, it isn't like you, or even Phillip and Amanda were consulted when the decisions were made."
"It's your father. He's so stubborn! He says we owe them after how things ended."
Carrie could see her father doing that, but he could leave retirement from the university and take on tutoring jobs from now to forever, and he'd still never make enough to pay Phillip's parents back all the money they sank into that wedding.
"I admire Dad's sense of propriety, but I'm not sure it's practical.”
Her mother retrieved a compact and mirror from her purse beneath the counter.
"I was hoping you could talk some sense into him. He'll listen to you. He never listens to anything I say."
So that explained the water works. Carrie was just about to refuse, in no uncertain terms, to get involved, when Marybeth Jude pushed through the door of the shop, her fake smile set to stun.
"Carrie, it's lovely to see you. Kind of quiet in here today isn't it?"
She might have been speaking to Carrie, but her gaze roamed all over the store.
"Hello, Marybeth, what brings you in this afternoon?"
"Just a friendly call, one local business owner to another."
Marybeth owned the town's quilting supply shop. Hers was far more profitable than Carrie's shop since quilting was a hobby usually enjoyed by older women, and older women tended to have more disposable income. Marybeth had recently acquired Sue Ellen Mackenzie’s interior design store, and it was no secret that she wanted to add Carrie's yarn store to her fiber arts empire.
"I guess you still need some time to adjust to all that business that went on before."
Was she even trying to seem concerned? If so, she was failing.
"Hello there, Janet," she said to Carrie's mother, "I can only imagine what you've been going through. One daughter publicly jilted and one”--her gaze flicked to Carrie--"well, it was an unfortunate business."
She laid a newspaper on the counter.
"At least, the press over there has moved on to other things. So has that prince of yours by the look of it."
Carrie knew from the smugness in her voice this wouldn't be good, but she had to know. She snatched up the tabloid against her better judgment. There, on the cover, was a picture of Edward, so gorgeous it made her heart flutter. The sight of the woman next to him, looking up at him with adoration in her eyes, had her heart doing less happy things than fluttering. The woman was tall and blond and perfect. Carrie skimmed the caption. And she was a princess. Crown Princess Astrid of Sweden, to be precise. She looked perfect next to Edward. No doubt, she was the kind of woman Edward deserved.
She slid the paper back across the counter. She would not cry.
"It does seem they've moved on. I never thought it would be otherwise."
She'd just let Marybeth wonder if Carrie meant the press or Edward. Or both.
"Is there something I can help you with today, Marybeth?"
All business. She had to keep it together.
"Oh no, like I said, just being neighborly."
She walked around the store fingering the merchandise, looking for all the world like a woman inspecting a horse she was thinking of buying.
"I can't stand that woman," Carrie's mother whispered as they each pretended to be tidying up the counter, "It'll be a cold day in July before I'll see that woman's name over this store."
Carrie appreciated her mother's support, such as it was, but Carrie couldn't help thinking, as she grabbed up the insanely expensive yarn for display, that Marybeth wasn't the only one who wanted to have control of the shop. It was Carrie's name on the deed after all. She'd been the one to take the leap, to start a business. In those early days, people had wondered in because of Jeannie's free cookies more than for the knitting lessons and yarn. Back then, Carrie had spent sixteen hours a day knitting because people had seemed more interested in buying hand-knitted items than in making their own. Eventually, though, the idea of knitting as a hobby caught on. Carrie went to 4-H meetings, women's clubs, even to bingo night at the VFW in an attempt to convert people to the joys of knitting. And it had worked. It had taken seven years, but here she was, owner of a store with so much business she'd been able to offer her mother part-time employment. It felt good.
As she walked past the counter for another armload of yarn, she carried the tabloid to the recycling bin. She'd made her own dreams come true and didn't need some playboy prince to make her happy. Still, she allowed herself one last look at Edward's face before tossing the paper in to join the empty juice boxes and napkins.
***
"There they are," Edward said through a forced smile, "to your left."
Astrid matched his smile with a forced one of her own.
"You owe me for this," she said.
He put his hand on the small of her back as they exited the restaurant. Once they were in the open, the paparazzi swarmed en masse. Astrid looked surprised and leaned into him.
"Have you ever considered a career in acting?"
Edward made as though to shield her from view, but not before making sure the press got the money shot they were after. That done, he gave the signal for his own security detail to intervene.
A black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the restaurant. An agent hurried forward to open the door for them. Before Astrid got in, she looked up at Edward with unabashed adoration in her eyes. He barely got the door closed behind him before he started laughing.
"What was that?"
She shrugged as she slipped out of her insanely high heels.
"You said, be convincing."
"Anyone who knows you at all, knows that you would never look at a man like that."
"Like what?"
"So utterly besotted."
"Just because I typically don't look at men that way doesn't mean I couldn't. Perhaps I simply haven't met the right man."
"Haven't you? I have to say that I'm glad to hear it. Maybe there's hope yet."
"Hope for you? Why, Edward, I had no idea. Is this a declaration of love?"
"You know of whom I speak."
"It's been such a delightful evening. Must we end it by speaking of such unpleasantness?"
"You do realize, don't you, that you are very possibly the only woman in all the world who considers my brother unpleasant."
"Yes, I am fully aware that women everywhere go into spasms of ecstasy at just the sight of James. They might be less delighted if they had to face the very real possibility of marrying him. Marrying him, in fact, with full knowledge that they were doomed to a lifetime of pretending not to notice as he engages in one indiscretion after another."
"I know how Jamie seems, but you're wrong about him."
"Really?"
Astrid settled back against the supple leather and challenged Edward with a look.
"Tell me that whatever this farce is you've asked me to join in doesn't somehow involve Jamie?"
He tried not to squirm in his seat. He failed.
"It's complicated."
"It always is. I know you, Edward. I've known you and Jamie since we were all babies. You have been getting your brother out of trouble the entire time. The only reason you would ever court the paparazzi like this, not to mention involving me, is to divert their attention from Jamie."
"You're half right. I do want to draw their attention, but it isn't away from Jamie."
"Oh? I'm intrigued."
"Did you see the most recent round of gossip about me?"
"Something about an American, as I recall. The Skanky Yankee, I believe they called her."
"Bastards."
"Edward, this woman--this American--is she important to you?"
He thought of his father. What was the majestic way to answer that question? How did one admit to one's feelings in a dignified manner? Now that he thought on it, perhaps that's why he'd never seen his father expressing any authentic emotions. Maybe it was just impossible to be a king and have feelings. If so, he felt a pang of sympathy for Jamie, who loved life and lived it to the fullest. In the end, Edward scrubbed his hands over his face.
"Yes. She is important to me."
Astrid squealed. She beamed with a smile that was nothing like the one she'd put on for the photographers. She bounced in her seat and clapped her hands.
"Edward has a girlfriend. Edward has a girlfriend," she chanted.
"I have sisters for this sort of immaturity, you know. Plus, that sounds positively bizarre with your accent."
"I don't care. I've never known you to have a woman you really cared about. I'm thrilled for you. But, Edward, won't seeing these pictures of us together be difficult for your American? It can't be easy for her."
"She isn't my American, and I doubt it'll matter much. My intention was only to free her from being badgered by the press. I think our performance tonight will have done that."
"You don't want a relationship with this woman?"
"Carrie. Her name is Carrie."
"Carrie, then. Don't you want a relationship with this Carrie? Because it's clear that you have strong feelings for her. Have you spoken to her about a relationship?"
"Our acquaintance has been nothing but a source of difficulty for her. She'll be better off once she can forget she ever met me."
Astrid muttered something in Swedish. He didn't understand it, but the gist was disapproval. That came through clearly enough.
"What?" he asked.
"Men are all the same. Swedish, American, French, Dutch. You all believe you know what's best. I might be tempted to appreciate your efforts if you were ever once, just once, correct in your assumptions. Shouldn't it be Carrie's choice whether or not she's willing to endure the difficulties that come with you?"
"You don't understand."
"No, I understand nothing. It isn't as though I am uniquely suited to sympathize. Being the princess of a country that allows female accession to the throne, that wouldn't put me in a position to understand anything about the particular difficulties you face!"
She rolled her eyes at him.
"You're right. You know who might understand what you're going through? Maybe someone who is also destined to head a monarchy one day. Hmmm. Do I know anyone like that?"
She threw her shoe at him.
"I love the Swedish people too much to inflict your brother on them. As for Great Britain, God alone can help them."
"You, of all people, should realize that there's more to the lot of us than what we show on the surface."
"You are clever. You would make an excellent politician. I, however, would make a better one. I will not be distracted by your attempted change of subject. You are mistaken not to consult Carrie about what she wants."
"It's too late for us. She's already gone back to America."
Astrid pulled her phone from her purse.
"Amazing little devices they have now. It's a machine that allows for two-way communication, even across oceans. And there are these other things, perhaps you've heard of them -- airplanes?"
"You realize that your role here isn't as an advisor, don't you?"
"Yes. You could have chosen anyone to show up here tonight on your arm, but you chose the one woman in all the world with no interest in seducing you. So I’m wondering why that is. Why choose me? If you really want to finish with Carrie, why not call up one of the many women who'd be more than eager to be paparazzi bait and give you a little sport in the bedroom afterward?"--she leaned forward and tapped him on the chest--"right there. The face you made, it was like I'd just suggested something repugnant to you. Most men don't have that reaction to the idea of sex with models or actresses. But you're only interested in one woman, and your own misguided sense of chivalry is going to ruin any chance of happiness you could have with her."
Chapter Eight
Carrie was in her parents' kitchen making chocolate chip cookies with walnuts -- just like her dad liked them. She'd slipped in some cinnamon, just a pinch, because cinnamon reminded everyone of Christmas, and Christmas brought to mind thoughts of families at their best. Whether it was true or not (and it usually wasn't) Christmas made people believe that their families were normal, functional, and happy. Carrie figured it was a collective delusion, but she hoped it would work in her favor. She hated to think of what this Christmas would be like for her family. Would they even still be a family by then?
"Carrie, what are you doing here?" her father called before he'd even rounded the corner to the kitchen.
"How did you know it was me?"
She put the last batch of cookies on a wire rack to cool and he kissed her cheek.
I smell walnuts. Your mother and sister don't like walnuts, so when they bake cookies, which is rare, they bake them without the nuts. Which is why I like yours the best. What brings you here in the middle of the afternoon? Shouldn't you be at work?"
He filched one from the plate and took a bite, dropping a chocolate blob onto his shirt front. She used a spatula to slide the cookies onto a fresh plate. She should have spent some time rehearsing what to say.
"I wanted to check on you. You know, make sure everything is okay."
He sighed as he seated himself on a stool at the breakfast bar.
"No, kitten, everything is not okay."
She pushed the plate of cookies across the bar to him.
"How bad?"
"The amount of money they spent to rent that castle alone was more than I paid for both my daughters' college educations combined. And that isn't counting what they spent on top photographers, top videographers, top florists, and the like. It seems the Rhys-Coopers only go in for the top in everything."
"But you don't have to pay them back. You never agreed to do that. It's only their own vanity that made them spend so much money."
He picked up another cookie but only stared at it.
"I don't know what happened between Amanda and Phillip. I don't think I want to know for sure, but I can guess."
Carrie had never tried so hard in her life to keep her face impassive.
"The long and short of it is that Amanda mistreated Phillip. He was, still is, a good man, and I'm sorry not to have him as a son-in-law. He's not like his mother, not that I ever saw. He didn't deserve what happened to him."
"He also didn't deserve to spend the rest of his life with a woman who couldn't love him. I'm not saying what Amanda did was right. God knows, I wish she'd had better timing, but ultimately, she did the right thing, not going through with the wedding."
He brushed cookie crumbs from his shirt front.
"I know. I know you're right. That damn wedding, and not even a happily ever after to show for all the money."
"Dad, you don't have to pay for that wedding. You never agreed to pay for it, and you can't be forced to pay for it now."
"You don't think we owe them something? After the way Amanda behaved, you really don't think I owe that family something? If Phillip had been the one to act the way Amanda did, I'd be demanding a pound of flesh, you can be damn sure about that. I don't like the woman, but I don't blame Mrs. Rhys-Cooper for wanting revenge on us. Maybe it's something you have to be a parent to understand. God, I can't help thinking this is my fault. I know I overindulged Amanda. She's spoiled and selfish. I'm her father. Don't I have to take some responsibility for making her that way?"
"You are a wonderful father, the best. Don't blame yourself for any of this."
Carrie wrapped her arms around him.
"You were different. You were easy. You always had such a good head on your shoulders. When Amanda came along, I guess I figured that what worked with you would work with her, but she's different. I failed with her, and now that failure has consequences."
Carrie let that statement sit on the air. It would take more than a dash of cinnamon to fix this.
"Mom is worried about the money. I don't think I've ever seen her give finances a single thought, but she's worried now."
"She was against me taking another mortgage out on the house."
"What? The house was just paid off last year. You said it was one of the proudest moments of your life. We even burned the payment book. How could you take out another mortgage?"
"How could I not? What's done is done, Carrie. Your mother will just have to get over it."
Nope, not enough cinnamon in the entire world. She knew the tone of her father's voice when he'd made up his mind and wouldn't be swayed.
