Princess Izzy and the E Street Shuffle Read Online Free PDF

secret from Rafie, and she liked having a secret from the castle advisers. She liked having a secret from the
     whole world.
    After the “thar she blows” photo and what she deemed as Rafie’s unsympathetic reaction to it, she thought about Geoffrey more
     and more and finally decided to write to him. She did so—that time and the many times that followed—by going through an elaborate
     ruse. She would plead insomnia and wander the castle restlessly, chatting with the night guards and making quite a fuss about
     her inability to sleep. Finally, she would wander into the castle gift shop and slip the envelope—return address simply “Belle”—into
     the Royal Mail drop, which was established so that castle tourists could send postcards to friends for free.
    (This was the reason that Isabella was the surprisingly passionate advocate of removing security cameras from the gift shop.
     “If I can’t trust the people not to steal from me,” she said dramatically, “then I’m quite sure I can’t be their queen.” This
     was the sort of thing that made Sir Hubert throw up his hands, roll his eyes, and curse the castle retirement system, which
     was so lucrative that it made it virtually impossible for any sane person to walk away from a senior job. “If it weren’t for
     the royal pension, I’d be happily selling shoes!” he’d exclaim each night to his wife, who would smile weakly and say, “I
     know, dear,” even though she herself rather liked Isabella.)
    The first time Geoffrey received a note, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He had walked down his long gravel driveway to get
     the mail. Thumbing through it in a disinterested way, noting the bills and the junk and so forth, he then saw a personal letter,
     which was rare even in those days. He noticed the elegant penmanship and thought,
Nah, can’t be.
Then he saw “Belle,” and he knew.
    He rubbed his fingers over the ink and was almost scared to open the envelope. In any other circumstance, Geoffrey would have
     been thrilled, would have ripped the letter open, eager to hear what had become of his long-lost friend. But in this case,
     he
knew
what had become of her. How could anyone not know what had happened to Isabella Cordage?
    Geoffrey, who liked eavesdropping on his wife when she gossiped with friends about celebrities, had heard a good deal about
     the engagement of the Prince of Gallagher before he realized whom the prince was marrying. He had heard the name Isabella,
     of course, but he had not thought to connect it with the former customer he had always called Belle. Then one day he saw his
     old friend smiling on the cover of
People
magazine, under a headline that said RAFIE PICKS A PRINCESS , and he realized. He was so incredulous that his mouth was still hanging open when his wife returned from work several hours
     later.
    “This princess,” he said, pointing to a magazine. “Or at least she’s going to be a princess. This Isabella they’re talking
     about. She’s an ol’ buddy of mine.”
    “Buddy?” his wife said, clearly expecting a punch line.
    “I took care of her car,” he said.
    “
You
did?” his wife asked, speaking slowly, almost as if she were talking to the insane. She snorted. “I suppose you made her
     hot cider, too.”
    But the truth became apparent to Mae Whitehall, who had not yet convinced her husband of the wisdom of combining their names.
     (The change from Jeffrey to Geoffrey is a bit more complicated and, as you might imagine, involves various vanities and pretensions,
     none of which seems pertinent here.) Once Mae became convinced, she told all her friends. Word reached a local television
     station, where, in the final days before the wedding, reporters were desperate to find fresh human-interest angles on the
     woman they insisted on calling their “American princess.”
    But when a producer from the station called, Geoffrey denied it all. For at that moment, he realized it would be wrong to
     talk