it eventually.
* * *
Juggling bags, Camilla made it to the parking lot at a full run. She grimaced when she spotted the truck, then just wrenched open the door and shoved her purchases inside. “Have to pick up a few things,” she said gaily. “I’ll just be another minute.”
Before he could open his mouth—to snarl, she was sure—she was rushing inside the market.
Snagging a cart, she set off toward produce at a smart pace. But the process of selecting fresh fruits and vegetables simply could not be rushed. She bagged lemons, delicately squeezed tomatoes, pursed her lips over the endive.
The supermarket was such a novelty for her, she lingered longer than she intended over fresh seafood, over the baked items. She liked the colors, the scents, the textures. The big bold signs announcing specials, and truly horrible canned music numbers playing over the loud speaker, interrupted only by voices calling for price checks and cleanups.
She shivered in frozen foods, deciding the chances of talking Del into an ice-cream cone now were nil. So she bought the makings for them. Delighted with the variety of choices, she loaded the cart, then wheeled it tocheckout.
If she were a housewife, she thought, she would do this every week. It probably wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. Just another obligation, she thought, and that was a shame.
She came back to reality with a thud when she moved up in line and saw her own face staring out from the cover of a tabloid.
PRINCESS CAMILLA’S HEARTBREAK
Why, they had her in grieving seclusion, Camilla saw with growing irritation. Over an aborted romance with a French actor. One she’d never even met!
Imbéciles! Menteurs!
What right did they have to tell lies about her personal life? Wasn’t it enough to report every move she made, to use their telephoto lenses to snap pictures of her night and day?
She started to reach for the paper, for the sheer pleasure of ripping it to pieces.
“What the hell are you
doing
in here?” Del demanded.
She jumped like a thief, and instinctively whirled around to block the paper with her body. Fury, which she’d considered a healthy reaction, became a sick trembling in her stomach.
If she was unmasked here, now, it would all be over. People would crowd around her, gawking. The media would be on her scent like hounds on a rabbit.
“I’m … waiting in line to pay.”
“What is all this stuff?”
“Food.” She worked up a smile as a cold sweat slid down her back.
“For what army?”
She glanced at the cart, winced. “I may have gotten a little carried away. I can put some of it back. Why don’t you go outside and—”
“Just get through the damn line.” He stepped forward, and certain he’d see the tabloid, she dug in her heels.
“Don’t push me again.”
“I’m not pushing you, I’m pushing the stupid cart.”
When he moved past the newspaper rack without a glance, Camilla nearly went limp.
“Hey, Del, didn’t expect to see you back in here so soon.” The cashier began ringing up the things Del began pulling out of the cart and dumping on the conveyer belt.
“Neither did I.”
The woman, a plump brunette whose name tag identified her as Joyce, winked at Camilla. “Don’t let him scare you, honey. Bark’s worse than his bite.”
“Not so far,” Camilla muttered, but was relieved that he was at the wrong angle now to see the grainy photograph of her. Still, she put her sunglasses back on before turning her face toward the cashier. “But he doesn’t scare me.”
“Glad to hear it. This one’s always needed a woman with plenty of spine and sass to stand up to him. Nice to see you finally found one, Del.”
“She just works for me.”
“Uh-huh.” Joyce winked at Camilla again. “You hear from your mom lately?”
“Couple weeks back. She’s fine.”
“You tell her I said hi—and that I’m keeping my eye on her boy.” She rang up the total and had Camilla wincing again.
“I think I might
* * *
Juggling bags, Camilla made it to the parking lot at a full run. She grimaced when she spotted the truck, then just wrenched open the door and shoved her purchases inside. “Have to pick up a few things,” she said gaily. “I’ll just be another minute.”
Before he could open his mouth—to snarl, she was sure—she was rushing inside the market.
Snagging a cart, she set off toward produce at a smart pace. But the process of selecting fresh fruits and vegetables simply could not be rushed. She bagged lemons, delicately squeezed tomatoes, pursed her lips over the endive.
The supermarket was such a novelty for her, she lingered longer than she intended over fresh seafood, over the baked items. She liked the colors, the scents, the textures. The big bold signs announcing specials, and truly horrible canned music numbers playing over the loud speaker, interrupted only by voices calling for price checks and cleanups.
She shivered in frozen foods, deciding the chances of talking Del into an ice-cream cone now were nil. So she bought the makings for them. Delighted with the variety of choices, she loaded the cart, then wheeled it tocheckout.
If she were a housewife, she thought, she would do this every week. It probably wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. Just another obligation, she thought, and that was a shame.
She came back to reality with a thud when she moved up in line and saw her own face staring out from the cover of a tabloid.
PRINCESS CAMILLA’S HEARTBREAK
Why, they had her in grieving seclusion, Camilla saw with growing irritation. Over an aborted romance with a French actor. One she’d never even met!
Imbéciles! Menteurs!
What right did they have to tell lies about her personal life? Wasn’t it enough to report every move she made, to use their telephoto lenses to snap pictures of her night and day?
She started to reach for the paper, for the sheer pleasure of ripping it to pieces.
“What the hell are you
doing
in here?” Del demanded.
She jumped like a thief, and instinctively whirled around to block the paper with her body. Fury, which she’d considered a healthy reaction, became a sick trembling in her stomach.
If she was unmasked here, now, it would all be over. People would crowd around her, gawking. The media would be on her scent like hounds on a rabbit.
“I’m … waiting in line to pay.”
“What is all this stuff?”
“Food.” She worked up a smile as a cold sweat slid down her back.
“For what army?”
She glanced at the cart, winced. “I may have gotten a little carried away. I can put some of it back. Why don’t you go outside and—”
“Just get through the damn line.” He stepped forward, and certain he’d see the tabloid, she dug in her heels.
“Don’t push me again.”
“I’m not pushing you, I’m pushing the stupid cart.”
When he moved past the newspaper rack without a glance, Camilla nearly went limp.
“Hey, Del, didn’t expect to see you back in here so soon.” The cashier began ringing up the things Del began pulling out of the cart and dumping on the conveyer belt.
“Neither did I.”
The woman, a plump brunette whose name tag identified her as Joyce, winked at Camilla. “Don’t let him scare you, honey. Bark’s worse than his bite.”
“Not so far,” Camilla muttered, but was relieved that he was at the wrong angle now to see the grainy photograph of her. Still, she put her sunglasses back on before turning her face toward the cashier. “But he doesn’t scare me.”
“Glad to hear it. This one’s always needed a woman with plenty of spine and sass to stand up to him. Nice to see you finally found one, Del.”
“She just works for me.”
“Uh-huh.” Joyce winked at Camilla again. “You hear from your mom lately?”
“Couple weeks back. She’s fine.”
“You tell her I said hi—and that I’m keeping my eye on her boy.” She rang up the total and had Camilla wincing again.
“I think I might
Similar Books
