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Carrie nodded and bit back a smile. People got such a chuckle out of her royal status. Carrie, who had lived as much out of the castle’s shadow as she could, found the whole thing amusing.
The woman yanked on her husband’s arm. “See, I told you she was here in Winter Haven. A real, honest-to-goodness princess.”
The little girl with Daniel stared up at Carrie, her blue eyes wide and curious. “You’re a princess? A real one?”
Carrie bent down slightly. “I am.”
The little girl’s mouth opened into a tiny O. “Wow.” She tilted her head and gave Carrie a curious look. “Where’s your crown?”
“Back home in Uccelli, where I come from.”
“But don’t princesses always have to wear a crown so everybody knows they’re special?”
“Princesses are special every day, Annabelle.” Carrie gave the girl a smile, then turned to her customer. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You, too.” The woman beamed. “We come to Winter Haven every summer for vacation. Have been for more than twenty years. I meant to tell you that I met your mother years ago.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. She was telling people she was just an ordinary vacationer, but we knew better, didn’t we?” She elbowed her husband, who grunted a yes. “She loved this place.”
“She did, indeed,” Carrie said.
“I don’t blame her.” The woman let out a little chuckle and winked. “Maybe you’ll have the same amount of fun.”
Carrie smiled. “Maybe.” She exchanged a little bit of small talk before the woman and her husband left, promising to stop at By the Glass again before their vacation ended.
“Well, well,” Daniel said after the couple left the room. “Seems the princess angle is good for sales.”
She bristled. “That isn’t why I told people who I am.”
He arched a brow. “It isn’t?”
“Of course not.” She glared at him. “You always see the worst in people, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you people are jaded and bitter and think everyone is lying.”
His face hardened and she knew she’d struck a nerve. “Well, perhaps if people didn’t tell us lies all the time, reporters wouldn’t be so jaded.”
“I’m not—”
“Here, read this one.” The little girl thrust a book between them. Then she leaned in closer to her father and lowered her voice. “And Daddy, you’re not supposed to fight with a princess.”
The lines in Daniel’s face softened, and the hard edge disappeared. He bent down to his daughter’s level and took the book from her hands. “You’re right, Belle.”
She beamed, then spun on those plastic pink shoes and thrust out a hand toward Carrie. “I’m Annabelle. I’m not a princess, but I wanna be one really bad.”
Carrie laughed and shook the little girl’s hand. Five fingers, so delicate, so soft and so reminiscent of herself and her sisters. “I’m Carlita Santaro, but you can call me Carrie.”
“Princess Carrie.” Annabelle glanced up at Carrie, all smiles and apple cheeks. “I like that name.”
“Me, too.” Carrie glanced at Daniel. He’d tamed his go-for-the-jugular reporter side for now. But how long would that last? In the end, she knew where his type gravitated—to the story. Regardless of the consequences or fallout. But a part of her wanted to know if a guy who could look at his daughter with such love in his eyes could be different. Still, her instincts told her to keep her distance. “I should go.”
“Stay,” Annabelle said. “’Cuz, Daddy’s going to read a story and he’s really good at reading stories.”
“Oh, I don’t think I should—”
But the little girl had already grabbed Carrie’s hand and was tugging her in Daniel’s direction. “You can sit over there. I can sit over here. And Daddy—” the girl stopped in front of her father, propped one fist on her hip, and gave him a stern look “—you can read.”
Daniel let out a laugh, then sent Carrie an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Annabelle can be … demanding.”
“Daddy! I’m not ‘manding. I’m nice.”
He chuckled again. “Yes, Belle, you are nice. The nicest little girl in the world.”
Annabelle beamed and the love between father and daughter seemed to fill the small colorful space. This other side of Daniel Reynolds surprised Carrie, but she refused to soften her stance on an interview about herself. She’d seen a hundred times how trusting someone from the media could turn around and bite her. Hadn’t they been painting her as the “extra” princess for years? As if the royal family could discard her because she’d never be queen.
How did she know this guy wouldn’t do the same? Or worse, just make something up?
No, if she allowed him into her world, it would be to talk about Uccelli’s wines. And nothing more. And all the while she’d be wary, and not trust him.
But as she watched him interact with his daughter, a part of her wanted to believe he was different. That she could trust him.
“Come on,” Annabelle said, tugging on Carrie’s hand again. “You gotta sit down or Daddy won’t read. It’s a …” She glanced at her father for the word.
“Rule,” Daniel supplied. Then he shrugged and smiled again. “Sorry, but it is.”
Carrie thought of leaving. Then she caught Daniel’s smile again, and something about it hit her square in the gut. He had a lopsided smile, the kind that gave his face character and depth, and had her following Annabelle to the square of carpet on Daniel’s right. As soon as Carrie lowered herself onto the small space, Annabelle scrambled over to his opposite side, plunked down on her bottom and plopped her chin into her hands. “Read my story, Daddy.”
He arched a brow.
“Please.”
“Okay.” He turned the cover of the book and then shot Carrie a glance. “Seems Belle has picked The Princess and the Pea. You know, the fairy tale about the woman they suspect is masquerading as a princess.”
“I love that story,” Annabelle said, completely oblivious to the hidden conversation between the adults. “’Cuz it’s got a princess in it. I love princesses.”
“Then by all means, I think you should read it,” Carrie said to Daniel.
“I think I should, too. Refresh my memory.” He leaned back against a beanbag chair, and Annabelle curled up next to him, laying her blond head on his chest so she could see the pictures as he read.
The father-daughter picture before her filled Carrie with a rush of sentiment. On the rare occasions when her mother had been home at night and around at bedtime, she’d made it a rule to read the girls at least one story, sometimes two. Always a fairy tale, because she said those were the kind of stories that taught you to dream. Carrie leaned against the bookcase, as enthralled as the little girl in Daniel’s arms.
She’d stay just a minute, no more, and only because Annabelle had asked her. She didn’t want to intrude. Or get any closer to this man.
“’Then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on top of the pea,’” Daniel read, his quiet voice seeming to spin a magical web, “’and then twenty eiderdown beds on top of the mattresses.’“
“Twenty?” Annabelle asked and fluttered her fingers as if she was counting that high. “That’s lots.”
“It is indeed,” Daniel said, then turned another page. “’On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she was asked how she had slept.’” He paused. “What do you think, pumpkin? Was she a princess after all or another imposter?”
“What’s a ‘poster?”
“Well, Belle, that’s a person who pretends to be something they’re not.” He closed the book, glanced at Carrie and arched a brow. “Would you agree, Miss Santaro?”
“I think lots of people pretend to be something they aren’t.”
“You have a point,” he said. Their gazes met and for a moment, it felt like détente. Like they were starting something. What, Carrie wasn’t sure.
“Daddy, you gotta read. I wanna know if the princess lives happy ever after. And so does Princess Carrie.”
Daniel glanced at Carrie and arched a brow. A teasing grin darted across his face. Was he … flirting with her? Or merely playing into Annabelle’s game? “Well, Princess Carrie? Do you want me to keep reading?”
She waved toward the book. “Please do, Mr. Reynolds. I’m dying to hear how this one ends.”
His gaze met hers and something hot pooled inside her. “I am, too,” he said. Then he opened the book again and began to read.
CHAPTER THREE
“OKAY, new guy, what have you got?”
At the sound of his boss’s voice, Daniel jerked to attention in his chair. He faced Matt Harrod and the rest of the production team, a motley crew of producers, cameramen and the two hosts who provided commentary for Inside Scoop, all gathered for a quick Saturday-morning meeting. Daniel was the only one with a hard news background, and in the few days that he had been working here, he’d begun to feel like he was living on an alien planet. Everyone at Inside Scoop wanted the next sensational spot, the next media meltdown. They were like vultures hovering over a steaming carcass of scandal. Daniel missed the days when he produced stories that had meaning, the kind that brought viewers an important message or changed a life. The kind that his father had done, the kind that were part of the Reynolds family legacy.
But those stories came with a job that demanded long hours, frequent and last-minute trips around the world, and a daughter who was raised by strangers. Daniel told himself the job he had now was perfect, and he better start acting like it.
“I found a princess … or rather, someone who claims to be a princess,” he said to Matt, “living temporarily in Winter Haven.”
Matt let out a gust of disbelief. “Like real, honest-to-God royalty?”
“Seems it, though I’m still researching her.” He pulled his notes before him. “This woman, Carlita Santaro, is claiming she’s the third daughter of the king of Uccelli, a country near Italy. I checked, and there is a real Carlita who fits the age and looks similar. Her middle sister, Allegra, ascended to the throne last year, and her oldest sister, Mariabella, is married to an American and spends part of her time running an art gallery in Massachusetts. Her mother spent time here more than twenty years ago, which is what Carlita says drew her to this town.”
“I think I heard about the art chick. She was in the news last year. Wish I’d gotten that scoop.” Matt made a few notes on a pad of paper. “So what’s number three doing in Indiana?”
“Her country makes wine. And she’s running a small wine shop that is the first in the United States to sell Uccelli wines. Sort of a test market with the tourists.”
“You sure she’s the real deal?” Matt asked.
Daniel shrugged. “So far, her story checks out.”
“So far?” Matt arched a brow. The rest of the production team turned toward Daniel.
“Well, there’s not much information on Carlita Santaro.” He opened the folder before him and withdrew the few pictures he had of Carrie in her royal element. He scattered them across the long conference table while he spoke. “Partly because she has always shunned the spotlight and partly because she’s the third daughter, and thus not as interesting to the media. So it’s been a bit of a challenge proving this Carlita’s story.”
Matt picked up one of Carrie’s headshots, this one a few years old and a little grainy. “Did you run a blood test?”
Daniel chuckled. “Seriously? I can’t do that.”
“Seriously. I don’t want to put this station on the line for some half-baked crazy who thinks she’s the latest Romanov descendent.”
Daniel bristled, and forced himself to tamp down his anger. This was his job here— his first chance to prove himself to his new boss—and he needed to stay in control. Good paying media jobs in the middle of the country weren’t exactly plentiful, and if he didn’t succeed at this one, he’d be forced to move back to the coast and put Annabelle back into the same nanny/day care/absent father nightmare he had worked so hard to leave behind. That was assuming he could find another job in the news, considering how his reputation had fallen apart last year. He’d applied to twenty places with no luck before he’d been hired here. He needed this job, as much as he hated that his options had narrowed to this. “The stories I read about her fit the woman that I met. I’m not a hundred percent positive she’s the real princess yet. I still need to do a bit more legwork to make sure.”
Matt considered the information for a while, twirling his pen between his fingers as he thought. His face was filled with skepticism, and the trademark scheming that had helped his show rise in the ratings. Whatever he was thinking, Daniel was pretty damned sure it was going to be some harebrained idea, and undoubtedly something Daniel wouldn’t like. In the two weeks Daniel had been working here, he’d watched Matt cross the journalism line a hundred times. In fact, Daniel wouldn’t call much of what Matt did journalism.
Daniel had met interns out of college with more tact and experience. But this was the job he had, and that meant he had to buck up and tolerate Matt’s insensitive personality. For now. Soon as he had a success back on his résumé, Daniel was heading for a job that had more meat than sugar.
“All right, we’ll give it a shot,” Matt said. “But I don’t want to do the typical profile piece.” He mocked a yawn. “We need something that will put us on the map. The kind of piece that the other stations will want to run on their shows. Something that really puts Inside Scoop into the public eye. I want to go global, baby, and this is the kind of story that can help us do that. World, here we come!”
“Okay,” Daniel said. “I’ll think of an angle that—”
“I don’t want an angle. I want something that says wow. Something like …” He twirled the pen some more, and then his face brightened in a way that Daniel knew meant something bad was coming out of Matt’s mouth. “A test.”
“A test?”
“Yeah, like that fairy tale. What is the name of it again?” He smacked the arm of the young male intern beside him. The kid—no older than twenty—jumped.
“Uh … . Cinderella?” he said in a squeaky voice.
“No, no, the other one.”
“Snow White,” Emily, the female half of the cohost team, volunteered.
“No. God. I work with a bunch of idiots.” Matt cursed. “What the hell is the name of that fairy tale? The one where they test the princess. Make sure she’s Grade A.”
“The Princess and the Pea,” Daniel said, then hated himself for supplying the answer. He could already see the road ahead and he didn’t like the direction Matt was traveling. As much as anyone, he wanted to prove—or disprove—Carrie’s claim, but not in some sensationalized circus.
“Yes! That’s it!” Matt pointed at Daniel and beamed. “New guy, you just earned your keep. I think you’ve got the best story idea out of all these idiots. You run with your princess and get a little background on her. We’ll work on developing the test to prove she’s royalty.”
“What possible test could there be?”
Matt grinned, the kind of grin that Daniel knew meant this was going in the wrong direction. Dread filled the pit of Daniel’s stomach and he wondered if it was too late to retract the story.
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Matt said. “But whatever we think of, I can guarantee one thing.”
“What’s that?” Daniel asked.
“It’ll be great TV.” Matt grinned. “Great, memorable, big bucks TV.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Daniel muttered as he gathered his things and left the production meeting. And tried like hell to think of a way to tell Carrie about this without her wanting to shove that tiara down his throat.
Annabelle skipped in a circle around the kitchen. She had on her plastic tiara and a purple dress that blossomed out from her waist in a wide bell. He’d tried like hell to talk her out of the tiara, but Annabelle had insisted, and Daniel hadn’t wanted to see a frown on his little girl’s face. Not when she’d just started smiling again.
“You ready, pumpkin?”
She stopped twirling and turned to face him. “Uh-huh.”
She’d been ready and waiting when he got home from the production meeting. Now her excitement shimmered on her face, danced in her eyes. “All right then, let’s go.” He put out his hand for Annabelle. She started toward him, then stopped and grabbed a bright pink bag sitting on the kitchen table. “What’s that?”
“I can’t tell you, Daddy. It’s a s’prise.” An impish grin spread across her pixie features.
“A surprise, huh?” He bent down and pretended to try to peek inside the bag. “For me?”
She jerked the silky bag away. “No peeking, Daddy! It’s not for you.”
“For Grandma?”
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