by Shirley Jump
How often had she tried to get through to her father, to make him understand that his youngest child wanted something else for her life? That she wasn’t interested in the royal life that fascinated him so? Or in any of the career dreams he’d had for her? Her father had become more open to his daughter’s input since Mariabella had blazed the trail a year ago, but still, there were times when Franco Santaro held tight to his Old World traditions and patriarchal opinions. And that ouched, as Annabelle would say.
“Girl hair is awful complicated, huh?” Carrie said to Annabelle.
Annabelle nodded.
“Want me to do it for you?”
Annabelle shot her father a wary glance, but he was already handing the comb to Carrie, clearly glad to abdicate that responsibility. Annabelle plopped onto the blanket before Carrie, and sat still while Carrie gently tugged the tiara out and then started to comb. “I know lots about hair,” she said. “I have two sisters. Every day, each of us wanted a different hairstyle.”
“Did your daddy do your hair, too?”
Carrie laughed at the thought of her big, gruff father, the king, handling a hairbrush. She smoothed the top of Annabelle’s hair and nestled the tiara back in place. “No, he didn’t. My mother did.”
“Oh. My mommy died.” Annabelle bit her lower lip and her eyes welled. “That’s how’s come Daddy has to do my hair.”
Carrie’s heart broke. Three words, and a peek inside a little girl’s fragile world, upended in an instant by tragedy. Silence extended between the three of them. A shadow fell over Daniel’s face.
Somehow, knowing he was a widower changed her perception about him. He had been married, experienced a tragic loss, and those things softened her image of him. Maybe he wasn’t the evil reporter she’d thought.
She peered around the little girl’s curls, taking in the sight of Annabelle’s down-turned face. Carrie wanted to do something, anything, to take that sadness away. She handed the comb back to Daniel, who looked hurt and…well, lost.
Carrie leaned in closer to Annabelle. “Why don’t I help you be the bestest princess ever, Annabelle?”
“Really?” Annabelle’s nose crinkled, the somber mood lifted. “How?”
“Well…” And then Carrie realized she’d been as far from being a princess as one could possibly be, and thus, didn’t have the tiara, ball gown, finding Prince Charming experience that a little girl like Annabelle would be looking for. “How about we start with simple things?”
Annabelle popped up onto her knees, her blue eyes no longer clouded by grief, but bright and animated. “Like what?”
“Like the princess walk.” Carrie got to her feet and put out a hand to Annabelle. She took a step forward, giving her hips a slight saunter as she did. “You swish-swish as you walk.”
“Swish-swish?”
“Watch my dress.” Carrie took several steps forward, exaggerating her steps so her sundress would swing around her ankles. “If you’re very, very quiet, you can hear the dress going swish-swish. When my sisters and I were little, we did this all the time.” The three Santaro girls had princess-walked all through the castle, their giggles bouncing off the tall stone walls. Their etiquette coach had watched with stern disapproval, while all her hard work at creating proper, demure young ladies was undone.
Annabelle followed in Carrie’s footsteps. The tulle beneath her dress whispered with each movement. Annabelle giggled. “I swish-swished. Am I a princess now?”
Carrie pressed a finger to Annabelle’s button nose. “I think you are. But you have to practice walking a lot.”
“Okay.” She whirled back to the picnic, grabbed her stuffed dog and held the toy in front of her. “Come on, Whitney. I’m gonna show you how to walk like a princess.” Then she dashed down the hill, the dog tucked tight under her arm.
Carrie returned to the blanket and sat down beside Daniel. “She’s so cute.”
He flashed her a grateful smile. “Thank you. You made her day.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was more than that,” he said. A hint of vulnerability edged his words. “She needs a strong female presence in her life. She has her grandmother, but…” He shook his head, then sighed. “It’s been hard since her mother died.”
“I’m sorry.” She watched Annabelle dart across the grassy park. How tragic that such a young girl would lose her mother. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”
For a long moment, Daniel remained silent. Carrie wished she could take the question back. Then he began to speak. “It was a car accident,” he said, his voice low and soft, filled with a pain Carrie couldn’t even begin to understand. “She was supposed to work late that night, but then I got called out of town on an assignment, so Sarah had to rush home to watch Annabelle so I could leave. It was raining, she was going too fast, and—” He shook his head.
“I’m so sorry, Daniel.” Carrie reached out, laid a light touch on Daniel’s arm. It didn’t feel like enough, not nearly enough, to make up for such a loss.
“It’s been a year, but sometimes it seems like yesterday.” His gaze followed his daughter as she put her stuffed animal in one of the baby swings and began to push him back and forth. “Things between my late wife and I were…not good before she died, and we were about to divorce.” He sighed, his gaze still on his daughter. “I just never imagined this was how I’d end up becoming a single father.”
She couldn’t imagine the struggles he faced. It made the pressures of her life seem petty in comparison. Her attitude toward him softened. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s terribly hard.”
He let out a short laugh, the sound bittersweet. “That’s an understatement. I don’t know anything about braids or tights or tea parties. I believe Annabelle has banned me from all future tea parties for not following the rules.”
“My father was never good at them, either, so you’re not the only one. Not that he had a lot of time to see us girls.”
“Too busy running a country and all that?”
“Exactly.” She crumpled up her empty paper plate, rose and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then she retook her seat on the blanket, leaning back on her elbows to soak up a little of the warm summer sun. “I saw the nannies and maids more than I saw my parents when I was a little girl.”
“I can relate.”
A few short words, throwing up a verbal “don’t ask” fence. Carrie knew she should let it go. And didn’t. “Did your parents work a lot?”
“My father did. He defined the word workaholic.”
“What did he do?”
“Wrote stories that changed the world.” A hint of sarcasm tinged the sentence. “Those are his words, not mine. He was a Pulitzer-winning journalist. The kind who covered the stories no one else wanted to because they were too dangerous or too controversial.”
“And did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Change the world?”
“In more ways than one.” He let out a long breath. “I didn’t come here to talk about me or my childhood.”
“Then what did you come here for?”
“To get to know you better.” Daniel stretched out on the blanket, opened the container of grapes and offered them to Carrie before taking a few in his palm.
Get to know her better. Solely for professional reasons? Or ones more personal?
She popped one in her mouth, then leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the warm kiss of the sun on her face, and the sweet-tart juice of the grapes. Instead of worrying about answers she didn’t have.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For making Annabelle smile. She doesn’t do that often lately.” Now he turned his own smile on her, and it hit her squarely in the gut.
Damn, the man was handsome. And the way he smiled—
Well, it made her forget almost everything she kept telling herself to remember. Faith’s advice about having a fling came back to Carrie’s mind. If she was going t
o have a fling during her time in Winter Haven, he’d be exactly the kind of man she’d choose.
Then she shook her head and tried to get back on track. He was a reporter. Not to be trusted. But the reasons why seemed very, very faraway.
“She’s a wonderful little girl.” Carrie watched Annabelle talking to her stuffed animal, her face alive, animated. “She reminds me of myself when I was that age.”
“How so?”
“I was always off by myself, in my own world. And always getting in trouble for it, too.” Carrie laughed.
He dropped a few more grapes into her palm, and a whisper of disappointment ran through her that he hadn’t fed them to her, one at a time. Whoa, what was with her? She knew better than to get involved with a man like him—a reporter at that. But there was something about Daniel Reynolds, something vulnerable that peeked out every once in a while from his tough exterior. It made her wonder what else she’d learn if she got closer to him.
Much closer.
“I can see that about you,” he said. “You strike me as the rebel type.”
“Which isn’t exactly princess material.”
“But wouldn’t that create more media coverage of you, rather than less?” He put out his hands. “I’m just doing my research. And I have to say, on the web, you’re almost nonexistent.”
“And the pictures you did find are all of me dressed at some event, right?”
He nodded. “They don’t even look like you.”
She let out a gust. “Because that isn’t me. Not the real me.” Then she sighed. “There are two reasons why you won’t find much information on me. For one, I tried to stay away from palace events as much as possible. I was always happier outside, working in the stables, the gardens, the vineyards. Anywhere that was open and free from castle life. I started working in the vineyard when I was eight. My father has always hated me spending time in the vineyard. He thinks I should have a career that’s more…”
“Sedate?” Daniel supplied.
She laughed. “Yes. And more befitting a royal.”
“And plucking grapes from a vine isn’t?”
“Not at all. The last thing he wanted was pictures of me, up to my elbows in grape juice, splashed across the papers. My sister the art dealer made for great press. My middle sister, who had a career as a clothing designer before she became queen, was the kind who always grabbed the media eye.”
“And your mother?” he said. “She vacationed in Winter Haven once.”
Carrie nodded. “She did. Under an assumed name, so no one would know it was her. She spent a summer here, just living as an ordinary person. She said she chose Winter Haven because nothing is more ordinary and unroyal than the Midwest.” Her gaze skipped across the park, past the dozens of families sharing moments of fun. Had her mother enjoyed these same moments? Or had there been more to attract her to Winter Haven? Of late, Bianca hadn’t wanted to talk about the town, or her experiences here. “She loved it here. And…so do I.”
“I don’t think the newspapers ever knew your mother was here. I did a little research and couldn’t find anything other than a couple of gossip columns. But with you being more public about being here, I’m surprised the reporters haven’t descended like flies.”
She shrugged. “I’m not the heir. I’m not even the spare. I’m the third daughter, the extra, as the newspapers dubbed me the day I was born. Sort of like one too many cars in the garage.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone would ever say that about you.”
“They said that. And a lot of other things. A long time ago, those words hurt. The media knows just where to stab for maximum blood.” She exhaled. “I don’t mean to include you in that group.”
“I’m not like that. I didn’t become a reporter to hurt people.”
That allayed her fears. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Trust me now?”
“A little.”
He grinned. “We’re making progress. That’s good.”
“Yeah, it is.” But progress toward what? she wondered.
“So why wine?” he asked.
“It wasn’t where I started, that’s for sure. It took me a lot of years and a lot of trial and error to find the job that truly fulfilled me. The one that was right for me. And it wasn’t one that fit the royal image.” She rolled the grapes around in her hand and watched the light green orbs bounce off each other. “When we harvest the grapes, we want every single one to be perfect. To be perfectly ripe, perfectly juicy and perfectly shaped. But there’s always a few—some that are too small and never really grew, some that are too big and dwarfed the others, blocking their sun, and some entire vines that aren’t as sweet this year as last. But really, in the end, it’s the imperfect ones that make the best wine.”
“How’s that?”
“They lend a different flavor to the mix than the perfect ones do. When you blend the two together, you get a depth of flavor that you wouldn’t if every single grape was the same. And it takes a mix of both to make our wines.”
“Just as it takes a mix of personalities to make a royal family?”
She laughed. “Yes. At least that’s what I think.”
“I think it takes a mix to make any family.”
She swallowed, then let her gaze connect with his. Damn, his eyes were the most vibrant shade of blue. She was falling for him, and falling fast. She needed to rein herself in, but for some reason, she couldn’t find the willpower. “And what part of the mix are you?”
They were delving into personal territory, crossing over boundaries. And Carrie, who knew better, couldn’t seem to put the brakes on the conversation. She wanted to know more about Daniel Reynolds, have another peek inside this man who, like her, didn’t seem to fit his career moniker.
“Me?” Daniel said. “I’m the distant father. In one very bad way, I took after my father. I turned into the workaholic who missed so many moments that can’t be done over. I thought I was providing for my family, continuing the Daniels’ legacy. But I was like those grapes that are so large, they can’t see what they’re doing to the ones below them.” Then, as if he realized he had said too much, Daniel reached for his water, took a sip and let out half a laugh. “Anyway, that’s enough analysis for today, Dr. Freud.”
“Is that why you live here now? Instead of New York?”
He arched a brow. “How did you know that?”
“I know how to use the internet, too, Mr. Reynolds.” She grinned, and he laughed in response. She’d seen a few articles about him and bookmarked a few others to read later.
“Touché, Miss Santaro.” He let out a long breath, his gaze on his daughter playing on the swing set. “When I lived in New York, it was hard on Annabelle, especially after she lost her mother. I worked so many hours and traveled so much that she had more in common with the nanny than with me.”
“I can relate,” Carrie said, echoing his earlier words.
Regret softened Daniel’s features. “That’s why I moved back home. At least here she has my mother, who loves her to death and spoils her mercilessly.”
“Everyone needs a grandmother like that.”
He turned to her, and his face took on a more animated cast. She could see him transition from personal Daniel to work Daniel. “That’s why this story is so important to me. I promise to be fair and do a well-researched, nonsensational piece on you. But I need this, Carrie. I need to turn my career around, and I’ll be honest with you, a piece on a princess is the kind that can do that for me. That’ll allow me to stay here in Indiana and keep Annabelle near her family.” He turned to his side, propping himself up on one elbow, and looked up at her. When he did, she could imagine herself falling into his blue eyes, being swept away by a man who was all wrong for her. He lived in America for one, he was a single father for another, and biggest strike of all—
He was a reporter. Whenever she was tempted to fall for him, she needed to remember that his number one goal was the story.
Not a relationship. And not one with her.
He’d just made that clear. He needed her story, so he could serve his own goals. God, why was she such a fool?
“So…what is the real reason you’re here in America?” he asked. “You never told me.”
She bit back a sigh and reminded herself that this was what she wanted, too—and in the end, she’d be happier with a vineyard than with a man. Then why did disappointment sting so bad?
“A year ago, I started working in the import/export division of the Uccelli Vineyards, helping with sales and marketing. I’ve worked in all the other parts, from planting to harvesting to bottling. The more I worked there, the more I wanted to learn. Then I realized the key to helping the company grow was to bring Uccelli wines to the American market. When an opportunity to work in the first shop carrying our wines arose, I took it.”
“All part of learning the business inside and out?”
She nodded, then reached for her water and took a sip. “Yes.”
He considered her answer for a moment. Across the park, Annabelle was dancing around the swing set with Whitney as her waltz partner. Daniel’s features softened, and a smile curved across his face.
“Have you ever been married?” he asked without turning to look at her.
The change in conversational direction took her back. Was he trying to keep her off-kilter or had she been wrong, and he really was intrigued on a personal level? “Me? No. I’ve never even come close.”
“I find that hard to believe. A beautiful woman like you.”
“Well, it’s true. Princesses aren’t as high in demand as you’d think.”
“Well, around here, princesses aren’t as common as you’d think.”
She laughed. “True.”
“The other princesses in your family are married.”
She sipped at her water, watching him, trying to assess his motives. “Actually, only Mariabella is married. Allegra, who became queen after my parents stepped down, hasn’t married yet. She’s engaged, and if we can ever pin her down to a date, she’ll get married, too.” Then she put the water bottle aside and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why the sudden interest in my marital status? Is this an interview?”
