by Shirley Jump
She turned the sign to Closed, then headed for the cash register to pull out the day’s deposit and run a final sales report. The machine had just started spitting out the tally on one long piece of receipt paper when the bell over the door jingled. “We’re closed,” Carrie said without looking up.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Daniel. “Hi.” A smile curved across her face, then fell. “What’s wrong?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t do this interview.”
“Why?”
“I just think it’d be better if you didn’t. Any amount of media attention can open you up to more and…”
She took a step forward. A rush of anxiety raced through her. “What are you saying? Rather, what aren’t you saying?”
“Nothing. Just…” He let out a breath. “I think you should reconsider the interview. I just hate to see you end up embarrassed.”
In a few steps, she had closed the distance between them. She curved into his arms, and when he wrapped himself around her, any nerves she had dissipated. He was here because he was concerned. Because he cared. “How could that happen when I have such a capable reporter interviewing me?”
He stiffened at her words, then jerked out of her arms. “I don’t know if I’d use that word to describe me. I’m not exactly in high demand these days.” The words came out soft and sad. Vulnerable.
“Daniel, you’re a great reporter. I’ve seen some of the pieces you’ve done. And I think the plan you have for this princess test is great. So what would make you think anything else?”
The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes. A passing car danced beams of light over the wine bottles, sending little shimmering sparkles across the wood floor. A long silence filled the space between them. When Daniel finally spoke, his voice was as soft as the light from the stars.
“After my wife died, I kind of lost it for a while. I came in late, missed interviews, forgot appointments. But the real end of my career came on the air.” He paused, took another moment before speaking again. “It was the day of my wife’s birthday, and I should have taken the day off. It had only been five months since she died, and it was a hard day, especially for Annabelle. She’d been crying almost from the minute she woke up, begging me not to go to work, asking me where her mother was, and it was as if that was the last straw. All the stress from the last few months, all the worries and trying to get through to my daughter, and still work, it all came to a head. I was a mess. But the news still goes on.” He let out a short, sarcastic laugh.
“What happened?” She asked the question, even though she knew the answer. But she sensed Daniel needed to tell the story.
“I started the broadcast okay, but then we had this segment, one of those soldiers coming home from the war pieces. We ran them all the time. Heck, I even interviewed a few of the families over the years. But this time, this day, it was too much to see and bear. All that happy reunion stuff, and the tearful hugs with the kids and dad and the wife. I broke down in the middle of delivering the news.” He held up a hand before she could say anything. “It gets worse. When my director tried to cut to the other reporter, I got mad. Every emotion I’d had in the last few months came to the surface and I…well, I freaked out on the air. Threw my script across the room, screamed at the weather guy, stormed off the set. On live TV. That was the end of my career. The station kept me on for a few weeks, kept me on a desk, but it was out of pity mostly. It was as if something broke that day and I just couldn’t get back to where I was. Eventually they let me go. My reputation—and the internet video of that day—haunted me everywhere I applied. It took me all that time just to get this job.”
“I know. I saw the video.” She gave him a soft smile. “I researched you, remember?”
“You…you saw it?”
She nodded. “Maybe not your finest moment, but anyone who knew what you’d been through would have to understand. And I…I understand.”
“But…”
“What you went through had to be incredibly difficult and to go through it on live TV, essentially, even worse. I know what it’s like to live with the media eye always on you, and I can only thank God that I’ve never had a moment where my world was pulled out from under me.”
“It’s not fun, I’ll tell you that.” A slight grin had returned to his face.
She gave his hand a squeeze, and the grin widened. “I also think it took a lot of guts for you to pick yourself up and go back into television.”
He let out a gust. “I don’t know about that. It’s called needing a job.”
“Yeah, but that job? I knew from the first day I met you, when you called that program ‘infotainment,’ that you weren’t happy there. Why are you still working at a job you don’t like?” Since she’d met Daniel, she’d wondered if he was happy at all as a reporter. When she’d watched the videos of his reports on the internet, she’d seen one thing missing from his eyes.
Passion.
She knew that feeling. Knew how it was to keep trying to fit yourself into the wrong compartment. Daniel, she suspected, had yet to see that about him self.
“Because I have a daughter to provide for,” he said. “Because I’m a third-generation reporter. And because—”
“Because it’s scary to go against what’s expected of you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I know. I’ve done it.”
“It’s not that easy, Carrie. You don’t understand. I have to take care of Annabelle. I can’t just up and quit and do something else. This job at Inside Scoop is just a way back to the reporter career I had before.”
“Isn’t that the very career you said distanced you from your daughter?”
He shrugged. “It’s the only one I’m good at.”
“You can be good at other things.”
“You don’t get it. This is what I’m good at. Period. And now that I’m here, my daughter has her grandmother, too.”
“But not always you?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Carrie. You don’t understand how demanding this field can be.”
“I understand that you’re justifying choices that really aren’t justifiable.” As she looked at his face and processed what he’d said, she realized a cold, harsh truth. “So all of this really boils down to story first, people second? Your job before…Annabelle? Before me?”
“No. Well, yes, but not the way you think.”
She wanted to believe him. But Daniel had just told her, to her face, that he would protect the job at all costs. Was that what tomorrow’s interview was really about? Climbing the ladder a little higher, using her pedigree as a stepping stone? Did he really care about her?
Or just his résumé?
Annabelle refused to take no for an answer. Daniel sat on the edge of her bed, wishing his busy daughter would just fall asleep and he could retreat to the living room for a beer and a little misery wallowing.
Carrie had struck a nerve earlier when she’d asked him about what came first, people or the job. He thought of the paper in his hands, the one he had intended to show her. But once he saw her smile at him, he’d decided to leave the paper in his pocket.
The tiny voice inside his head whispered a question he didn’t want to answer. Had he kept the information to himself because he wanted the ultimate scoop tomorrow?
“I don’t wanna read that one. I wanna read this one.” Annabelle thrust the library copy of The Princess and the Pea into his hands.
The slim volume seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. He’d tried six other books, trying to divert Annabelle from the fairy tale, but she’d been determined. Daniel glanced down at the cover, at the image of a rather ordinary-looking woman standing outside a castle, her hand raised to knock on the door. In the fairy tale, the woman was revealed to be a princess, the true love of the prince waiting inside the castle. “And they all lived happily ever after,” he said quietly.
“Daddy, read.” Annabelle settled herself against his arm.
&
nbsp; “We’ve already read this one three times.”
“’Cuz it’s my favorite.” She drew out the last word.
His daughter had no idea how this book affected Daniel. How it reminded him of Carrie. He’d met a woman who cared about his little girl nearly as much as he did. Who had worked magic in Annabelle’s smile. Who was unlike any woman he had ever known before, and who had given him hope for a future he’d never thought he’d have again.
The paper in his pocket hung on him like an albatross. A good reporter, the kind of reporter his father had been, and his grandfather, would use that information. Would do what it took to get the ratings.
To restore his reputation as a journalist. The brass ring he’d been seeking in the months since his on-air meltdown dangled in his sights. Grab it, and his reputation could be restored. Leave it be and…
And stay where he was.
“I’m tired,” Daniel said. He put the book on Annabelle’s nightstand. “We’ll read extra books tomorrow night. Belle, I promise.”
Too late, he realized he’d said the two words his daughter least wanted to hear. The ones that were as empty as a box of air. Hell, hadn’t he just done the same thing with Carrie? Just before he’d left, he’d promised her that the interview would be a piece of cake. No surprises, nothing out of left field.
And in his pocket sat a real curveball.
Annabelle frowned, then rolled over, putting her back to her father. She clutched Whitney to her chest. “I don’t wanna read anymore.”
“Belle—” He reached for her, but she jerked away.
“Night, Daddy,” Annabelle said, her voice firm. And sad.
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Belle pretended to be asleep. Daniel left the room a moment later, his heart broken a little bit more.
That night, Carrie drew a sweater around her shoulders and walked down the long stone-lined path to the lake. The cottage glowed warmly behind her, a little beacon waiting for her to return while the moon glowed above, so bright and full it washed the entire lake in white. She drew in the fresh air, letting it fill her lungs for one long second. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful.
Her mother had left her a voice mail today, begging her to come back to Uccelli. It didn’t make sense. All her life, Bianca had encouraged Carrie to forge her own path. And now that she was finally doing it, her mother wanted to rein her back into the royal harness?
The same one Bianca herself had briefly escaped more than two decades before?
Carrie’s mind strayed to Daniel. If she did return to Uccelli—and eventually she would have to go back—she wouldn’t be able to see him or Annabelle anymore. The thought sent a fissure through her heart.
Already, she’d started picturing a future with him and Annabelle. Dared to dream of a life in a little house like this one.
Who was she kidding? She was a princess, not an ordinary woman who could live in this small Midwestern town and sell wine for the rest of her days. Even Mariabella, who had married an American businessman a year ago, spent half her time in the U.S. and half the time in Uccelli, still answering the royal call from time to time. The media of both countries kept tabs on her, intrigued by the woman who had declined the crown in favor of a more ordinary life.
Maybe there was hope for a middle ground for Carrie, too. A way to have everything she ever wanted.
Daniel had reassured her before he left, promised again that the princess test and the interview they’d do during it would be painless and easy. That he was on her side. She smiled to herself as she walked farther down the path, her arms crossed against the slight chill.
She heard the crunch of tires on a gravel drive, and wondered if the sound was coming from her driveway or one of the other dozen nearby. There was the sound of a car door closing—echoing in the still vastness of the lake—then the crunch of shoes against the gravel. Carrie turned, trying to see where the sound was coming from.
A man was striding down the path toward her. His form looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She waited by the lake, sure he was a neighbor—at this time of year, all the lakefront properties were rented or occupied—and would veer off toward another house soon. But he didn’t. He kept coming toward her, and for a second, she froze. She should run, get back in the house—
“Carlita?”
His voice was deep, gruff. Familiar.
She drew herself up and tried to fight off the quiver of nervousness in her gut. She was here, by the lake, late at night, and alone. Why had she thought a walk would be a good idea? “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“Listen, if you’re a reporter here to do a story on the local princess, I have no comment. Call me tomorrow at the shop.”
He had reached the end of the path, and when the moonlight hit his features, she realized why he looked familiar. He was her customer from earlier today—the one who had left when she got busy with another customer. “I’m not a reporter. I just want to talk to you. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step closer. “Do I know you?”
“In a way, yes.” He put out his hand. “I’m Richard Parker.” He paused a beat, then his gaze met hers. “I’m your father.”
CHAPTER TEN
DANIEL stood at his desk, staring down at the opened manila folder on his desk. He’d scrawled Carlita Santaro on the tab in his half-legible handwriting. Then he reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a long piece of paper covered with notes and stuck it on top of the other papers in the file—interviews, photographs, past media stories.
“You ready, new guy?”
Daniel looked up at the sound of Matt’s voice. “Uh, yeah.”
“Got any juicy facts we can spring on her? It’d be great to get some kind of scandal. That’s a real plus in the ratings.”
Daniel shut the folder. “No, no scandals.”
“Well, bring me one soon, new guy. You know as well as I do that scandal sells TV. So dig up some dirty and get it on the air.”
Daniel bristled, and the urge to tell Matt off rose fast and furious in his chest. Then he thought of Annabelle, and of how she had said to Greta just this morning that she loved living here. Loved the town, the animals in nearly every yard, and loved being near her beloved grandmother. This whole past week, Annabelle had been happy and content. He’d finally begun to feel like he was building a bridge with his daughter.
How could he uproot her again?
Annabelle’s needs came first. Once he had a few months of work history behind him here, he could move on to another station, to the career he’d had before. But for now, this was the job he had, as much as it grated against his conscience.
Carrie’s words from earlier echoed in his head. He glanced down at the paper again. Career? Or people?
People, he decided as he closed the file. A lightness filled his chest, something he’d almost call joy. He might be looking for another job after this, but if it meant feeling like this every day, he’d take it.
“Let’s get to work,” Daniel said. “We have a princess test to conduct.” Then he walked out of his office, leaving Matt behind.
The door to the studio opened and Carrie stepped inside. Daniel’s heart caught for a minute, and he forgot to breathe. She’d forgone her usual jeans and T-shirt and opted instead for a knee-length satiny dress in a vivid blue. The cap sleeve top dropped into a soft V in the front, tapered in at her waist, then flared out in a slight bell. She’d paired the dress with black heels that made her calves curve and enhanced her already incredible legs. She’d curled her hair, and the long dark locks lay in tempting tendrils across her shoulders.
“Wow,” he said as he approached her. Carrie’s warm vanilla perfume greeted him, and made him want to kiss the inside of her wrist, the curve of her throat…anywhere that had been dusted with the fragrance. “You look beautiful.”
A smile curved across her face. “Thank you.” She ran a hand down the front of the dress
and gave it a dubious look. “Although the minute I can, I’m changing back into jeans.”
He ached to reach up and touch her, but knew, with the entire production crew and Matt watching, that he couldn’t. “You’ll look beautiful either way.”
If he’d hoped the compliment would make her smile again, he was wrong. Instead, a look of worry shaded her eyes.
“Um, is there somewhere we can talk?” Carrie asked. “There’s something I should tell you.”
For the first time, he noticed she looked pale. Shaken. What had happened between last night and today? Surely, it couldn’t be their conversation. He’d assured her before he left that everything was going to be fine. And now, with that paper securely in the file, it would be. “Sure, let’s go—”
“Okay, people, let’s get this show on the road.” Matt clapped his hands together. The people in the room jerked to attention. “This is airing tomorrow, so we don’t have any time to waste. I’ve got to get it taped, edited and in the can before tomorrow at five. So let’s get to work!”
“I really need to talk to you,” she whispered to Daniel.
He glanced around the room. The production crew had moved into action. Cameramen slipped behind their cameras, the director settled into his seat in the production booth. “Can it wait? They’re getting ready to tape.”
Worry creased her brow. “I don’t think we should. This is important.”
Matt crossed to Carrie and Daniel and inserted himself between them, essentially ending the conversation. Lights flicked on above them, illuminating the set in a flood of white. Matt waved a hand toward the space. “Behold, our set for today.”
It wasn’t as bad as Daniel had expected, but it still took the cake for Tackiest Set Ever. The entire set had been done in pink and white with ruffles and rhinestones. It glittered like the Las Vegas strip, which paled in comparison to the ornate, overstuffed bright white furniture that filled the small space. Matt had even hung faux reproductions of Italian art on the temporary walls, all framed in thick gold-painted wood.
