Page 73 of Reign
“You’d think this was the first time you’d ever gotten something without paying,” he teased, and clinked their paper cups as if they were flutes of champagne. “Cheers.”
Sam tipped the cup back; the soup was warm and creamy and tasted like childhood. She looked around the store and realized that this wasn’t the only cart offering free samples: there was a man scooping hummus and crackers onto disposable plates, and was that a dumpling stand in the corner?Marshall would love this,she thought—and sucked in a breath, because of course she couldn’t bring Marshall here to show him; Marshall was thousands of miles away. Living his own, separate life.
A shopping cart veered in their direction, packed with diapers and industrial-sized boxes of cereal. A toddler in a red reindeer sweater perched in the front of the cart, trying determinedly to unpeel the Velcro tab on his sneaker.
“Look, Mommy.” A little girl, maybe six years old, tugged at the curly-haired woman who pushed the cart. “It’s Princess Samantha!”
Sam’s heart plummeted. Liam reached for her arm and gave it a sharp squeeze, but she couldn’t parse what he was doing—warning her? Telling her to run?
“No, it’s not, sweetheart,” the mom said distractedly.
Sam shuffled guiltily away, but this part of the store had wide-open aisles and there was nowhere to hide except behind a cardboard display of ramen noodles.
“Mom! The princess isright there!”
The woman looked up to meet Sam’s gaze. “Sorry, my daughter has an overactive imagination,” she started to say—and then her eyes widened comically. “Oh my god,” she murmured. “It’s you. Isn’t it?”
Sam had wondered if this might happen eventually. Shejust hadn’t anticipated a child would be the one to recognize her: that after all her nights tending bar, a little girl at Costco would see right through her disguise.
She felt the weight of Liam’s gaze on her, but ignored it as she knelt down to the little girl’s level. “I’m actually not a princess anymore. I’m an ordinary girl, just like you.”
The girl shook her head solemnly. “Being a princess isn’t about wearing a crown. It’s about who you are in here.” She reached out to place her palm on Sam’s sweatshirt, square in the middle of her chest, and Sam’s heart wrenched.
“You’re very wise.” She managed a wobbly smile before rising to her feet.
The little girl ran off, but her mom hardly noticed; she was staring at Sam in complete shock.
“What are you doing here? I thought you’d fled the country.” The woman’s cheeks colored. “Sorry, Your Royal Highness, I didn’t mean to— It’s just so surprising—”
“It’s okay. I didn’t flee the country. I took an extended sabbatical.” Sam liked the sound of that. “And I’m here to shop, same as you. Actually, where did you find the Cheerios?” she added, pointing to the woman’s cart. “I was devastated this morning when I realized we’d run out.”
Sensing his mother’s distraction, the toddler leaned out and stretched his hand toward the tower of ramen boxes. He knocked them over with a spectacular crash, then clapped in delight.
“George!”The woman knelt and began gathering the boxes into her arms. Sam crouched down to help, Liam following suit, which seemed to make the woman even more flustered.
“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, you really don’t have to do that,” she exclaimed.
Sam began stacking the boxes back in order. “It’s no trouble. And please—just call me Sam.”
“Mommy! Can I buy this puh-lease!” The little girl had returned, holding a plastic inflatable beach ball.
“Hang on, Sam,” the mom replied. It took a moment for Samantha to realize that the words weren’t addressed to her.
“Your children are George and Samantha?”
“I— Yes. I’m Mallory,” the woman said haltingly. “It’s just that your family have such beautiful names. I never thought, when I named her Samantha, that I would evermeetyou.”
An unexpected warmth blossomed in Sam’s chest. She knew that the Washingtons’ names were popular, but Beatrice had always topped the lists of girls’ names, followed by Adelaide; there had been three Addies in Sam’s high school class alone.
She didn’t meet a lot of Samanthas, though. No one was particularly eager to name their newborn after the royal family’s rebellious wild child, the one so problematic that she wasn’t even royal anymore.
“I’m honored,” she breathed.
The younger Samantha tossed the beach ball in Sam’s direction. “Samantha! Catch!”
This was why elementary school appearances had always been her favorites. Children didn’t treat you any differently if you were a princess, or an ex-princess; they didn’t care about the color of your skin or how much money your family had. They didn’t gasp in shock if you dated someone who wasn’t the same race. They treated everyone with the same cheerful indifference—unless, of course, you had cookies, and then you were their favorite person.
If only adults were as wonderfully blind to prejudice, the world would be a much better place.
