end up married and surrounded by kids and wondering what the hell you missed out on.”
Carrie thought of the prescribed life ahead of her. The people expected it, after all. Her oldest sister was married and already talking about kids, while her middle sister, the queen, had gotten engaged last month. Carrie was expected to go back to Uccelli, find an “acceptable” career, and an “acceptable” spouse, as her older sisters had done, and then fill her calendar with state dinners and ribbon cuttings and uplifting speeches.
Ugh. Just the thought of what lay ahead made Carrie want to run screaming from the room. How had her mother ever stood it? Was that why she’d reminisced about her time in Winter Haven? Because it had been a brief pocket of freedom to be herself?
“I’ll be there,” Carrie said, deciding that while she was here, she was going to experience everything she could. She might not have a fling, but she intended to have a damned good time. It might be her last opportunity for a while, and she intended to take advantage of the break from expectations.
Mama had told her dozens of times about this little Indiana town, a place she’d visited once when she’d been younger, before Carrie had come along. Mama had lived here for a summer under an assumed name, as a person, not as a queen. In those days, the media hadn’t been as ravenous to uncover every detail, nor did they have the resources of the internet, so Bianca had been allowed a rare window of obscurity. Mama had raved about this town to Carrie so often that when Carrie was brainstorming with Jake about a test location in the U.S., Winter Haven had been the first one to come to mind. In the few days that she had been here, she had seen firsthand why her mother loved the little town so much. It was charming, quiet and filled with warm, welcoming residents.
And, to be perfectly honest, she’d wanted to know what the appeal had been for her mother. Whenever Mama talked about Winter Haven, her features softened, and she got this dreamy look. Carrie had to wonder what had made this place so unforgettable.
The morning passed quickly, with several customers coming into the little shop. Every bottle of Uccelli wine that left By the Glass gave Carrie a little thrill. It was like handing over a part of her heritage, herself, and she was delighted to share the beautiful bounty of her country with others. She belonged in this field, she just knew it.
By eleven, business had slowed. “You certainly have the magic touch,” Faith said. “I don’t think we’ve ever sold that much wine in the first two hours of being open.”
“People must be in a wine buying mood.”
“Or they’re so dazzled by meeting a real-life princess that they buy every bottle they can.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Carrie had mentioned her royal heritage when people asked her about her accent, which wasn’t all that pronounced, given the years she’d spent in British boarding schools—one of many attempts by her parents to curb their wild child. And even then, she’d released the information reluctantly, and only when pressed.
“I’m telling you, we should capitalize on the princess angle. Put up a sign and everything.”
“Put up a sign?”
“Something small. No billboards or anything. This is a tourist town, and a little brush with a royal, that’s the kind of thing tourists love.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Might as well flaunt it if you got it, sister.” Faith grinned.
Advertise her royal heritage? Use it as a marketing tool? The idea grated. Her princess status had always been a chokehold on her freedom. “I just think it’d be better not to advertise that whole thing.”
“It could sell a whole lot of wine,” Faith said. “And isn’t that your goal? To make this store a success?”
Confronted with that truth, Carrie really didn’t have grounds to refuse. And wouldn’t it be ironic if the thing she hated most about her life became the thing that helped her get what she wanted? Plus, if she handled it right, she could show her parents that Carlita Santaro was the perfect representative for the kingdom’s wines.
Carrie glanced down at her faded jeans and the store logo T-shirt she was wearing. “I know one thing for sure.”
“What’s that?” Faith asked.
“I won’t be the princess they’re expecting.”
Faith smiled. “And that’s part of your charm.”
Carrie reached over and plucked the chalkboard advertising today’s specials out of the window. “So … where’s the chalk?”
The sign worked wonders. As word spread about Carrie’s presence in the shop, business began to triple, then quadruple. Carrie’s naturally outgoing personality was a perfect fit for the curious tourists. Faith was over-the-moon ecstatic about the uptick in business, and started talking about bringing in some temps to help with the additional influx of customers. Every day, Carrie went home to her rented cottage by the lake, feeling satisfied and proud of the job she was doing.
Maybe now, after seeing how she had helped spur sales of Uccelli’s prizewinning wines in America, her father would see that she was made for this business. That her heart was there, not in the palace or in some stuffy office.
“Hey, do you mind if I run out for lunch today?” Faith asked when business had ebbed a bit mid-Thursday morning. “I know we’ve been crazy busy, and I hate even asking, but my mom and sister are in town today and they want my input on planning my youngest sister’s baby shower.”
“Go right ahead,” Carrie said. “I’ve got this under control.” She cast a glance at the cash register that had been the bane of her existence ever since she’d started working here. She’d been able to do everything in the shop, except get the recalcitrant machine to do what she wanted. It seemed no matter which button she pushed, it was the wrong choice. “More or less.”
Faith laughed. “Well, if it gets too crazy, just write down the sales and we’ll run them through later. And remember, this button here—” she pushed a big green one “—will open the cash drawer.”
Carrie nodded. “Okay. Got it.”
After Faith left, Carrie got to work dusting the shelves and giving the display bottles an extra bit of polish while a few customers milled about the shop. On the center shelf, she picked up the signature wine from Uccelli—a graceful pinot grigio with notes of citrus and almond. Carrie knew it had a crisp, dry taste, one that seemed to dance on your tongue. Of all the wines manufactured on the castle grounds, this one was her favorite.
A sense of ownership and pride filled Carrie. She had tended these vines. She had picked these grapes. She had worked the machinery that took the grapes from fruit to liquid. For years, she’d been the rebel—the girl skidding in late to dinner, the one who’d ducked ribbon cuttings, the one who’d done whatever she could to avoid her identity and its expectations.
Funny how all that bucking tradition could result in something so sweet, so beautiful.
The label was decorated with an artist’s rendering of the castle, its elaborate stone facade a dramatic contrast to the rustic landscape and the rocky shoreline. She traced the outline of the castle, ran her finger along the images of the four turrets, the bright purple-and-gold pennants.
The bell over the door tinkled. Carrie put the bottle back, then turned toward the door. A tall man stood just inside the entrance, his athletic frame nearly filling the doorway. The slight wave in his short dark hair accented the strong angles of his jaw. Sunglasses hid the rest of his features, yet gave him an edge of mystery. He had on jeans and a lightly rumpled button-down shirt, which made him look sexy and messy all at once.
Oh, my. Something in Carrie’s chest tightened and she had to force herself to focus on her job, not on him. “Welcome to By the Glass,” she said. “What can I help you find?”
He pointed toward the chalked sign in the window. “I’m