The Princess Test
Page 3
“Annabelle, I think your father would like to try one of your cookies that we made today.” Greta glanced at Daniel.
“Oh, yes, I would. Very much.” Thank goodness for his mother. He’d already forgotten they’d baked cookies.
“Can I get two?” Annabelle asked, her hand hovering over the cooling treats. “One for me, and one for Daddy?”
Greta nodded, and Annabelle scooped up two chocolate chip cookies. “Here you go, Daddy.” Annabelle held out a misshapen lump of cooked dough. “I made it all by myself.”
“Looks delicious.” He bit into the cookie, making a big deal out of the first bite. Annabelle beamed, so proud of the dessert she’d shaped with her own hands.
She wagged a finger at him. “You can only have one, Daddy, ’cuz we gotta eat dinner.”
He gave her a solemn nod. “Okay, kiddo.”
Annabelle’s gaze dropped to the extra cookie in her hands. “I wish Mommy could have a cookie, too.”
Her soft words broke Daniel’s heart. The loss of her mother had hit Annabelle hard, and every so often, that pain slipped into the simplest of moments. He searched for the right words to say, and once again, came up empty. How could he begin to fill that yawning hole in Annabelle’s heart when he was still trying to figure this out himself?
“I don’t want my cookie anymore.” The little girl’s blue eyes filled with tears. The dessert tumbled from her hand onto the table.
“I have an idea,” Greta said, bending down to her granddaughter’s level. “Why don’t we put this cookie next to your mommy’s picture? Then when she looks down on us from heaven, she can see that you made her one, too.”
“Will that make her happy?”
“I think so, sweetie.” She took Annabelle’s hand and they crossed to the long shelf that ran along the back wall of the kitchen. In the center, Annabelle’s favorite picture of her mother sat, smiling down at them. Greta had placed it there the first day he and Annabelle had arrived, telling Belle it was so her mommy could watch over her every day. That time, and this one, his mother had stepped in with just the right touch, the one Daniel was still struggling to find.
Greta hoisted Belle into her arms, then let her put the cookie down just so. Then she hugged her tight, and when Belle’s little arms wrapped around Greta’s neck, Daniel’s resolve to get close to his daughter again doubled. Somehow, he would find a way back for them.
Her mission accomplished, Annabelle ran off to play with her toys in the living room, leaving Daniel alone with his mother. Once she was sure Annabelle was out of earshot, Greta gestured toward the kitchen table. Daniel took a seat while his mother checked something simmering on the stove. “How’s your first week at the new job going?”
“Well, it’s a trial run. They want to see what I can bring in for stories, and if they like what they see, I’ll get a permanent position on the show. I hate this limbo. I just want to settle down again and know that tomorrow will be just like today. Not just for me, but for Belle, too.”
“You will,” Greta said. “You’re a great reporter. Just like your father.”
There were days—more of them in the past year—when that comparison grated. His father had been a legendary reporter, with a Pulitzer Prize to prove it. Before that, Daniel’s grandfather had been a reporter, and probably in some distant caveman days, there was a Reynolds who had etched information onto a cave wall. “I was a great reporter, Mom. Then my life fell apart and I went from great to awful.” He thought of the awards that had once hung proudly over his desk, then began to collect dust, then finally seemed to mock him and he’d put them in the bottom of a drawer.
“Nobody can blame you. You went through a terrible year—”
“Ratings don’t care about personal problems, Mom. And once your ratings tank, so does your career.” How many times had his father drummed that into his head? It’s all about ratings, son. Do what it takes to stay at the top.
His mother bit her lower lip, as if she was holding back what she truly wanted to say. “So, tell me, what stories are you working on now?”
“I’ve got a couple who’ve been married sixty-three years and still go dancing together every Friday night, a dog who took care of a litter of kittens when the mother cat died.” He ticked off the subjects on his fingers.
“Oh. Well, those are interesting.” But everything in her voice said otherwise.
“And—” he grinned, saving his best prospect for last “—a real-life princess. Or at least, that’s what she’s claiming she is.”
“A princess? Wait, you don’t mean that one in Boston, do you? I don’t remember her name, but I remember seeing her on the national news.”
“Not her. Her sister. She’s working at a wine shop downtown. She claims to be the youngest sister of the Uccelli princesses.”
“And you think she’s lying?”
“Well, it seems convenient that she’s saying that when the other princess is halfway across the country. Not to mention this Carrie woman is working in some little shop in a tiny town in the Midwest. During tourist season.” He thought of the woman he’d met today, how un-royal she seemed. Her long, dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, the simple T-shirt, the near-perfect English. The way she’d laughed, so unreserved, so free. And she could talk wine well—as if she’d worked in a vineyard or a wine shop for years. Definitely not a job he’d ever heard a princess holding. Dignitary, lawyer, humanitarian, yes. Grape picker? No.
“Maybe she likes a quiet life. You don’t get much quieter than this town.” His mother laughed.
Carrie had been beautiful, in an understated, natural way. The kind of woman who looked even prettier without makeup than with. She’d intrigued him, but he wasn’t sure if that was just professional curiosity or something more.
Either way, he had enough on his plate without adding something more.
“Uccelli…Uccelli.” Greta thought a second. “You know, there was a rumor around here years ago. Must be more than twenty years now. There was a woman— I don’t remember her name now—who came here and stayed in one of the lake cottages for the summer. After she left, someone saw her on TV and said she looked just like the queen of Uccelli. For a while, that was all the gossip buzz around here. That the queen had taken a secret vacation in Winter Haven.” Greta shrugged. “Could be a fairy tale. You know how people like to think they can see Mickey Mouse in their morning toast.”
Daniel chuckled. “I do.”
“If the queen story is true, then maybe her daughter is just following in her footsteps.”
“Maybe. I don’t know much about princesses,” he said, “but she seemed as far removed from being one as you could get.”
“Well, maybe it is a marketing gimmick. Or maybe—” his mother laid a hand on his shoulder “—you’re too jaded to see the truth.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Daniel said. Maybe yes, he was jaded. But it was easier to be that way than to let every emotion he saw into his heart. Much easier to be steel than putty. “Either way, I’m going to ferret out the truth. I have a feeling this story is the one that can launch my career at Inside Scoop, and one way or another, I’m running with it.”
Carrie rubbed her neck, then stretched her back and shoulders. The shop had been impossibly busy today, and every muscle in her body ached. But it was a good ache, the kind that came from a job well done. She could hardly wait to see the week’s end numbers. It all boded well for the future of Uccelli’s wines in America. And that, in turn, boded well for her future as a vineyard owner.
She flipped the sign to Closed and breathed a sigh of relief that the TV reporter from the other day hadn’t been back. She didn’t need that distraction interfering with her plans. She had a limited window of time and a lot to learn and accomplish during that period. She wanted to get more involved on the retail end, taking the time to study the bookkeeping, the ordering process, the sales trends. The last thing she needed was a member of the paparazzi looking for a scandal to exploit.
“I’m just glad to help.”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep on doing it, because it’s working.” Faith shrugged on a light jacket, then grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Monday?”
“We’re closed Sundays. Which means you, my friend, get a day off.” Faith let out a long breath that said she was just as exhausted as Carrie. “And thank goodness, so do I.”
A few minutes later, Faith and Carrie had finished locking up the shop, and they headed their separate ways. The long night—and next day—stretched ahead of Carrie with no plans. She couldn’t think of the last time her time had truly been her own, something she could fill any way she liked with no worries that someone was expecting her to be somewhere else, no guilt that she was ducking an obligation. Castle life was busy, with events piled on top of more events, with at least one representative of the royal family expected to be in attendance at all times. When she hadn’t been working in the vineyard, she’d been forced into donning stiff suits or ruffled gowns and pasting a smile on her face for the few royal events she couldn’t wrangle a way out of. Even in the castle, there’d always been maids underfoot, and people in and out all day and night.
And now she had a whole blissful day and a half? Totally, utterly alone?
Carrie started to drive toward her lake house, then saw a sign for the Winter Haven Library. Soft golden light still glowed in the small brick building’s windows and drew her like a beacon.
How long had it been since she’d been able to sit down and read an entire book from start to finish? Enjoy the story without interruptions from staff, visitors, events? The thought of doing something as decadent as just reading filled her with a warm sense of anticipation. She parked, then stepped inside the building and inhaled the slightly musty, slightly dusty scent of lots and lots of books. She’d hated boarding school—hated the boring classes, the endless rules, but most of all, hated being away from the wild land that surrounded Uccelli’s castle—but she had loved the library at St. Mary’s. It had been massive, and filled with every book one could imagine, and had made the boarding school experience more tolerable for a girl who would have rather been home in her beloved vineyards than memorizing algebraic equations. She’d spent her free moments curled up in a comfortable chair, lost in worlds completely unlike her own.
That’s what she needed now. A good book, some thing she could take back to that little nook in the lake house and enjoy with a cup of hot tea while the soft breezes from the water whispered around her. The prospect hurried her steps, and she headed into the first book-filled room she saw.
Almost immediately she realized she’d entered the children’s section by mistake. She started to turn around when she heard a male voice, a familiar low baritone. “Just one more book, Belle. Then we need to get home.”
“Daddy, I wanna read a princess story.”
A sigh. “What about this one? It’s about George Washington growing up.”
A matching sigh from much younger lungs. “No. I don’t want that one. It’s yucky. Read me a princess story.”
Carrie grinned. She recognized that stubborn streak and had heard that defiance in herself. Carrie took a couple steps forward and peeked around the bookshelf. Her gaze lighted first on a little girl with a headful of blond curls spilling around her shoulders like a halo. She had on a ruffled pink-and-white dress and plastic glittery shoes with a tiny heel. She had her little fists perched on her hips and was glaring at the man before her—
Oh, no.
A very exasperated-looking Daniel Reynolds. Carrie jerked back, but not fast enough. “Annabelle…” Daniel’s voice trailed off when he glanced up and noticed Carrie standing there.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” she said. Was she stammering? She never stammered. “I, uh, walked into the children’s area by mistake. I didn’t expect to see…well, see you here.”
His chiseled features met hers with a direct, intent stare. No surprise, just…assessment. “Nor did I expect to see you.”
“I’ll…I’ll leave you to your book.”
“It’s her!”
The voice behind Carrie startled her and she spun around to find one of her customers from earlier that day. The woman stepped forward, tugging her husband with her. “You’re the princess, aren’t you? The one from the wine shop?”
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.”