mind back on the issue at hand. “You got them?” she squealed.
Gypsy gave her a hard tsk through the line. “Of course I got them. I just…wanted to know why you needed them so bad, that’s all.”
Relief rushed through her limbs in a blink. “Thank heavens. And you did not just want to know why I needed them. You wanted to make me suffer. Admit it.”
“I might be twisted,” Gypsy said, “but I’m not that sick. I took time away from my beach meditation for you.”
“Bless you for that, sweet Gypsy. I owe you big.” Camila tugged open the fridge where the salad plates chilled. It was almost time to serve up the first course: bright beet ginger kraut on a gorgeous bed of mixed greens. The herb-infused vinaigrette was waiting at room temperature in the prep area, allowing for the perfect drizzle consistency. All was ready to go.
“Okay, I think I’m nearing his estate,” Gypsy said. “Wow, it’s huge!”
Camilla nodded and closed the fridge. “You haven’t seen the half of it. Park on the left hand side of the gate entrance. I’ll head out and meet you.” It was easier than pulling Shimwah away from his guests to grant her entry.
She snuck out an exit in the back of the house, one leading to the staff’s quarters, and hurried down a winding, stone-covered staircase.
“Man, this place is incredible,” her friend hissed. “I’m bummed I didn’t come with you on this one.”
“Yeah, but if you had, you probably wouldn’t have been able to save my bacon like this.”
“True.”
Camilla spotted her friend waiting beside the gated entrance. Platinum, shoulder length hair with a blue streak down the side, that beach wave giving life to a name that suited her so well. Carefree. Fun. Go with the flow.
Camilla’s more traditional style of long brown hair with blonde highlights spoke to her personality as well. More structured, disciplined, or, as Gypsy often accused, boring.
“Royal quail eggs for your royal guests,” Gypsy said as she lifted the sack toward her. “May they feast like kings.”
Her sarcasm made Camilla grin. “Thank you, fair peasant. May you find fortune in the next life, as I see it escaped you in this.”
Gypsy giggled. “Hey, now. We’re both peasant girls, and don’t you forget it.”
Camilla steadied the paper sack with both hands, careful to slide it between the iron bars without incident, and brought her face close. Gypsy pressed her cheek in the open space, and Camilla planted a kiss there. “Now go, before the king’s men find you.”
Camila’s list of last minute to-dos ran through her mind as she carefully weaved through the plush landscape and back to the path. She held the carton of eggs, tucked into a shallow paper bag, like a platter of champagne glasses before her, gliding up the windy outdoor stairwell with paced and precise steps. It seemed like the smart way to carry them until she reached the top of the stairs and—slam—crashed into something moving faster than she was.
Or someone.
The impact knocked her off balance, forcing Camila’s weight to tip until she hovered backward over the stairs she’d just climbed.
A horrified gasp tore from her throat.
Her chest clenched tight.
And for a split second, she was forced to choose: save herself or preserve the very precious item in her hands. Her brain was too foggy to recall what that item was, she only knew she needed to protect it at all cost. A task that became impossible as a strong hand gripped hold of her arm, forcing whatever it was to tumble out of her hands and onto the red-glazed stone paving the stairs.
“Careful,” the man growled. “Didn’t you see the handrail?”
Camila shot a look at the grip he had on her arm, realizing it was the only thing that kept her from falling, but the man was quick to release it and take a step back. Oh, no. It was pantry guy, wasn’t it?
She moved her gaze up his familiar looking build. A pair of black suit pants, a crisp, white-collared shirt over broad shoulders, and a black tie. Maybe it wasn’t pantry guy. He’d been wearing a suit coat.
“You nearly fell down that entire flight of stairs,” he snapped, causing her gaze to shoot to his face next. Ice blue eyes, squared jaw, and an angry furrow at his brow. Ugh. It was him.
She forced out the only word that leapt to her tongue as she remembered what lay in a heap on the ground between them.
“Eggs. The eggs.