Page 25 of Heavy Crown

“At the top.”

“Well it certainly wouldn’t be at the bottom, would it?”

“I’d hate that.”

“Would you?” She tries to lift a giant bag of flour, and I grab it from her, sliding it under the cart.

No point in going down the complicated road of my feelings on being the next in line to the throne. “Is that it?”

She surveys the cart with a critical gaze. “Yes.”

When we get to the front checkout, I realize the store is deserted apart from employees. The manager is on the till, and he gives us a wide smile. “Find everything you need?”

“You have a great baking aisle,” Rory raves. “So well stocked.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll pass that along to our buyer.” He slides me a nervous glance. “Um, is it possible to get a picture for our wall of fame?” He gestures to a wall behind him, where a host of pictures of famous people resides—including both my brothers sporting broad grins.

How can I say no to that? As the eldest brother and the next king, I can’t seem too good for such a simple request. “Just me?”

“Yes. Yes.” The manager gives an emphatic nod.

“All right then.”

Kane takes the photo of me and the manager while other people are outside the glass windows snapping pictures of us. Amazing. It’s just occurred to me that the king and queen are going to murder me for such a public show of togetherness. We don’t do this sort of thing, and I’ve done it with the woman I rescued from a car accident. I’ve done exactly what they warned me not to do.

The manager rings through our groceries while Kane and Torres grumble about the logistics of getting the groceries to the car along with protecting me and Rory.

“If you get in the car, I can meet you around the back of the store at the employee entrance. We’ll have the groceries loaded before anyone else can get back there.”

“We go out the front,” I say to Kane and Torres. “Give them the picture op they want, and then we swing around the back for this stuff.”

Kane and Torres confer again in low voices.

“Probably the best we’re going to do,” Kane agrees. “You’ll go out the door with me. Torres will shield Ms. Wilson.”

“Keep your head down,” I say to Rory. “Don’t answer any questions. Nothing. We say nothing.”

She meets my gaze and worry is etched in hers. “Okay.”

At the front, the manager unlocks the doors while two employees wheel our cart toward the back. I keep my head down and partially shield my face as we head to the car.

As soon as we’re out, there’s a barrage of voices calling our names and shouting questions, cameras clicking, and people trying to grab selfies with us in the frame. I’m in first, and Rory falls in after me.

“Wow,” Rory says when the door slams closed behind her. “I never want to do that again. That happens all the time?”

“Not here very often,” I say. “In America, yes. Sometimes in England. Depends on what’s happening.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t take it out. It’ll be one of my parents or Desmond or maybe even Brice asking me what I was thinking. The short answer is that I wasn’t, and that’s a problem. One slip so close to her accident might not be a big deal, but if we’re seen in public again, the narrative my mother warned me about will take hold in the court of public opinion. That’s not fair to Rory on so many levels. She might not be able to anticipate the fallout of a simple trip to the grocery store, but I can.

We drive around the rear, and the three store employees get the vehicle loaded in record time. As we’re pulling away, people and reporters stream around the side of the building, desperate for another glimpse.

“I can’t believe this is your life.” Rory gazes out the back window.

Instead of answering her, I stare out the window. This life is all I’ve ever known. What would it be like not to have to worry about personal safety, public opinions, the fate of an entire country, or finding a suitable wife?

I’ll never have that life, so there’s no point in wishing for anything different.

twelve

Rory