Tangled Up in Princes (Royal Romances Book 1) by Molly Jameson Page B
Authors: Molly Jameson
Tags: Romance
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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
"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
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