Page 32 of The Princess and the Pizza Man

There was a guest house on the west side of the property, one that Winter had used as her own home several years ago but hadn’t visited in ages. She knew the cleaning crew cleaned it regularly; she’d seen them entering and leaving on the nights she’d sit out on the back balcony and watch the sun set.She’d think about going inside the guest house, but never found the time—or at least that was her excuse. Truth was, there was nothing there but memories she’d rather forget.

Her upbringing wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t like the families she saw around her. Certainly not like Will and Maybelle—their relationship seemed so tight.

Her nannies had come in and out of her life so quickly she’d learned not to get too attached. Mom and Dad had been too busy hosting parties, galas, organizing city events, and spending the majority of their time on politics, acting, and making sure they looked good for the camera to finger paint with her or have family dinner conversations.

It was fine. Winter was the product of two celebrities. Hence her celebrity child name—which she loved, but she knew it wasn’t one that was on the Popular Names of the Year List. Lives were busy, but Winter had learned the value of hard work. Her mother climbed and clawed her way to gain respect in the government, while her father had to work part time as a pizza delivery man while he auditioned for film after film, saving and pinching pennies until he’d hit the one part that finally got them out of a one-bedroom apartment and into a home. Then another home, then a vacation home, and on and on until they’d said, “I think since we have millions of dollars, we should have a kid.”

They were never shy about explaining how they’d gotten their money, drilling into Winter that she shouldn’t expect handouts. She liked that she never had a pony, had to work hard for good grades to get that car when she turned sixteen, was told she needed to clean her own plate after meals and put away her own toys after playing, even though they had the staff to take care of it. She respected her parents for it, loved her parents for it, and appreciated the values she had because of them.

So while she hadn’t had that close-knit relationship she’d craved, and she had always felt a little bit distant from her parents, their relationship wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t enough. And she’d lost them both before it could become that way.

When her parents passed so unexpectedly, so young, the world grieved. Winter was a fresh adult, having just turned eighteen, so the inheritance went to her—the houses, the money… and suddenly she was responsible for jobs, housing, and she had to grow up. Instead of taking the art classes she’d picked for college, she went into finance, business, and management. Winter could barely set foot in the mansion with so many memories, so she’d moved to the guest house for a while. When she’d opened Frostville Mansion, she finally packed up and moved back into the mansion, wanting to be near the guests and be involved in the experience.

A sense of loneliness swept over her, something she’d often ignored or suppressed. She had so much—the mansion, the business, her staff, the actors, the plays, the guests… It hardly felt fair for her to complain or feel sadness over having no one when there were many out there who had less.

She tapped her foot against the stone walkway in front of the guest house, pushing at a loose rock with the toe of her five-inch heels. She’d noticed just how tall Will was earlier today when she was bare-footed, excited that she could wear her tallest heels around him. So Winter had slipped on her favorite Alexander McQueens and took the quickest way possible out to the guest house—which was tucked away so well that when she’d told Will to meet her there, he’d said, “Guest house? Where the heck d’ya keep that thing?”

Oh, how she loved that accent of his.

The familiar heavy footfalls echoing across the grounds had her lips turning up before she’d even seen him.

“So that’s where you keep it,” Will said, his grin so much more noticeable now that his face was free of his very full beard. He seemed so much more at ease than he had during those first days, and she hoped it was because he was actually having fun with her, and not just because he needed a shave.

“Cozy, right?” She patted the thick wooden door, and Will snorted into his fist.

“That thing is still bigger than my house and my pizza shop combined.”

Shock made her eyes blink a little bit faster. Was he kidding? The guest house was only two bedrooms, one and a half bath. She’d assumed with the success of his pizza place he was living it up in a southern way… plantation house or something similar. She scolded herself for having thought she was so grounded when really she was probably as spoiled as they came.

He laughed at her expression, and she shook herself out of it and settled a hand on the door. “Speaking of your pizza shop… I want to show you something.”

“Ah, yes. The surprise.” He let out a long breath. “Guess we get it over with.”

“Grumpy butt.” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

His hands went up in defense, and the grin on his face widened. She liked that he smiled when she got bossy. Not a lot of men found that particular personality quirk attractive, but he seemed to find it endearing. It made it easier to differentiate between herself and the part she was supposed to play. The princess was the frail and innocent side of her while her more dominant personality was outspoken and unafraid. She liked that she could be more of the latter around him, and he still stuck around.

Then again, she supposed they were on a mission here, one that was probably more important to him than he’d let on.

She waved him inside, the floor plan an open concept so the kitchen was right in plain sight. A long, impressed whistle came from behind her, and she knew she’d struck gold.

“You like?”

Will shrugged past her in silence, a look of awe on his handsome face. His booted feet fell heavy on the wooden floor, his hand running over the red brick oven. There was a flutter that rose like a phoenix through Winter, starting from her chest and spreading through her extremities. She’d never seen someone so reverent over an appliance, and a part of her wondered if she looked like that when she saw one of her matches kiss a see-you-later before leaving the mansion.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you like it,” she lilted, dancing her way up beside him.

“Shh… this oven deserves a moment of silence.”

“Is it dying?”

The smallest of smiles touched his lips before he ducked his head inside the opening. His hands hadn’t left the brick, and there was a twinge of jealousy that took Winter by surprise. She’d never thought of herself as a woman who needed a man to touch her in some way, to show the affection he was showing that silly oven, but there was something about the way his rough hands trickled over the cracks and jagged edges of the brick that had her wondering how gentle or firm he’d be if he were holding her.

She cleared her throat and ripped her eyes away, busying herself with finding a drawer that had an apron in it.

After she’d opened and closed about five or six different cupboards and drawers, Will pulled his head out with a smirk. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Something to protect this very poor choice in wardrobe.” She ran a hand down the loose fitting eggshell crocheted top. It was comfortable and summery, a world away from her usual attire, but Will was just so… warm. She wanted to match.

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