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
