The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride

It was maddening.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rose,” he said, in a voice oddly reminiscent of his brother’s, minus the timbre of raw sexuality.

Ophelia nodded, unsure what to say.

What was going on? Why was Dalton here, and why were her sketches spread out on the conference table?

“Please, have a seat.” Dalton gestured toward the chair between him and Artem.

Ophelia obediently sat down, flanked on either side by Drakes. She took a deep breath and steadfastly avoided looking at Artem.

“We’ve been discussing your work.” Dalton waved a hand at her sketches. “You have a brilliant artistic eye. It’s lovely work, Miss Rose. So it’s our pleasure to welcome you to the Drake Diamonds design team.”

Ophelia blinked, unable to comprehend what she was hearing.

Artem hadn’t forgotten about her, after all. He’d shown her designs to Dalton, and now they were giving her a job. A real design job, one that she’d been preparing and studying for for two years. She would no longer be working in Engagements.

Something good was happening. Finally.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathed, dropping her guard and fixing her gaze on Artem.

He smiled, ever so briefly, and Ophelia had to stop herself from kissing him right on his perfect, provocative mouth.

Dalton drummed his fingers on the table, drawing her attention back to the sketches. “We’d like to introduce the new designs as the Drake Diamonds Dance collection, and we plan on doing so as soon as possible.”

Ophelia nodded. It sounded too good to be true.

Dalton continued, “The ballerina rings will be the focus of the collection, as my brother and I both feel those are the strongest pieces. We’d like to use all four of your engagement designs, plus we’d like you to come up with a few ideas for companion pieces—cocktail rings and the like. For those, we’d like to use colored gemstones—emeralds or rubies—surrounded by baguettes in your tutu pattern.”

This was perfect. Ophelia had once danced the Balanchine choreography for Jewels, a ballet divided into three parts, Emeralds, Rubies and Diamonds. She’d performed one of the corps roles in Rubies.

“Can you come up with some new sketches by tomorrow?” Artem slid his gaze in her direction, lifting a brow as her toes automatically began moving beneath the table in the prancing pattern from Rubies’ dramatic finale.

Ophelia stilled her feet. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but she felt hot under his gaze all the same. “Tomorrow?”

“Too soon?” Dalton asked.

“No.” She shook her head and did her best to ignore the smirk on Artem’s face, which probably meant he was sitting there imagining her typical evening plans of hanging out with kittens. “Tomorrow is fine. I do have one question, though.”

“Yes, Miss Rose?” Artem leaned closer.

Too close. Ophelia’s breath froze in her lungs for a moment. Get yourself together. This is business. “My inspiration for the collection was the tiara design. I’d hoped that would be the centerpiece, rather than the ballerina rings.”

He shook his head. “We won’t be going forward with the tiara redesign.”

Dalton interrupted, “Not yet.”

“Not ever.” Artem pinned his brother with a glare. “The Drake Diamond isn’t available for resetting, since soon it will no longer be part of the company’s inventory.”

Ophelia blinked. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right.

“That hasn’t been decided, Artem,” Dalton said quietly, his gaze flitting to the portrait of the older man hanging over the desk.

Artem didn’t bat an eye at the painting. “You know as well as I do that it’s for the best, brother.”

“Wait. Are you selling the Drake Diamond?” Ophelia asked. It just wasn’t possible. That diamond had too much historical significance to be sold. It was a part of the company’s history.

It was part of her history. Her grandmother had been one of only three women to ever wear the priceless stone.

“It’s being considered,” Artem said.

Dalton stared silently down at his hands.

“But you can’t.” Ophelia shook her head, vaguely aware of Artem’s chiseled features settling into a stern expression of reprimand. She was overstepping and she knew it. But they couldn’t sell the Drake Diamond. She had plans for that jewel, grand plans.

She shuffled through the sketches on the table until she found the page with her tiara drawing. “Look. If we reset the diamond, people will come from all over to see it. The store will be packed. It will be great for business.”

Ophelia couldn’t imagine that Drake Diamonds was hurting for sales. She herself had sold nearly one hundred thousand dollars in diamond engagement rings just the day before. But there had to be a reason why they were considering letting it go. Correction: Artem was considering selling the diamond. By all appearances, Dalton was less than thrilled about the idea.

Of course, none of this was any of her business at all. Still. She couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. Of the hundreds of press clippings and photographs that had survived Natalia Baronova’s legendary career, Ophelia’s grandmother had framed only one of them—the picture that had appeared on the front page of the arts section of the New York Times the day after she’d debuted in Swan Lake. The night she’d worn the Drake Diamond.

She’d been only sixteen years old, far younger than any other ballerina who’d taken on the challenging dual role of Odette and Odile, the innocent White Swan and the Black Swan seductress. No one believed she could pull it off. The other ballerinas in the company had been furious, convinced that the company director had cast Natalia as nothing more than a public relations ploy. And he had. They knew it. She knew it. Everyone knew it.

Natalia had been ostracized by her peers on the most important night of her career. Even her pas de deux partner, Mikhail Dolin, barely spoke to her. Then on opening night, the company director had placed that diamond tiara, with its priceless yellow diamond, on Natalia’s head. And a glimmer of hope had taken root deep in her grandmother’s soul.

Natalia danced that night like she’d never danced before. During the curtain call, the audience rose to its feet, clapping wildly as Mikhail Dolin bent and kissed Natalia’s hand. To Ophelia’s grandmother, that kiss had been a benediction. One dance, one kiss, one diamond tiara had changed her life.

Ophelia still kept the photo on the mantel in her grandmother’s apartment, where it had sat for as long as she could remember. Since she’d been a little girl practicing her wobbly plié, Ophelia had looked at that photograph of her grandmother wearing the glittering diamond crown and white-ribboned ballet shoes, with a handsome man kissing her hand. Her grandmother had told her the story of that night time and time again. The story, the diamond, the kiss...they’d made Ophelia believe. Just as they had Natalia.

If the Drakes sold that diamond, it would be like losing what little hope she had left.

“Is that agreeable to you, Miss Rose?” Dalton frowned. “Miss Rose?”

Ophelia blinked. What had she missed while she’d been lost in the past? “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Very well, then. It’s a date.” Dalton rose from his chair.

Wait. What? A date?

Her gaze instinctively flew to Artem. “Excuse me? A date?”

The set of his jaw visibly hardened. “Don’t look so horrified, Ophelia. It’s just a turn of phrase.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. Maybe if she shook it hard enough, she could somehow undo whatever she’d unwittingly agreed to. “I think I missed something.”

“We’ll announce the new collection via a press release on Friday afternoon. You and Artem will attend the ballet together that evening and by Saturday morning, the Drake Diamond Dance collection will be all over newspapers nationwide.” Dalton smiled, clearly pleased with himself. And why not? It was a perfect PR plan.

Perfectly horrid.

Ophelia couldn’t go out with Artem, even if it was nothing but a marketing ploy. She definitely couldn’t accompany him to the ballet, of all places. She hadn’t seen a live ballet performance since she’d been one of the dancers floating across the stage.

She couldn’t do it. It would be too much. Too overwhelming. Too heartbreaking. No. Just no. She’d simply tell them she wouldn’t go. She was thankful for the opportunity, and she’d work as hard as she possibly could on the collection, but attending the ballet was impossible. It was nonnegotiable.

“That will be all, Miss Rose,” Artem said, with an edge to his voice that sent a shiver up Ophelia’s spine. “Until Friday.”

Then he turned back to the papers on his desk. He’d finished with her. Again.

Chapter Five

Ophelia looked down at the ring clamp that held her favorite ballerina engagement design. Not a sketch. An actual ring that she’d designed and crafted herself.

It was really happening. She was a jewelry designer at Drake Diamonds, with her own office overlooking Fifth Avenue, her own drafting table and her own computer loaded with state-of-the-art 3-D jewelry design software. She hadn’t used such fancy equipment since her school days, but after spending the morning getting reacquainted with the technology, it was all coming back to her. Which was a good thing, since she clearly wasn’t going to get any help from the other members of the design team.

She recognized the dubious expressions on the faces of the other designers. They looked at her the same way the ballet company members had when Jeremy had chosen her as the lead in Giselle. Once again, everyone assumed her relationship with the boss was the reason she’d been promoted. Except this time, she had no connection with her boss whatsoever.

At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

She did her best to forget about office politics. She had a job to do, after all.

In fact, she’d been so busy adapting to her new reality that she’d almost managed to forget that she was scheduled to attend the ballet with Artem on Friday night. Almost. The fact that she wasn’t experiencing daily panic attacks in anticipation of stepping into the grand lobby of Lincoln Center was due to good old-fashioned denial. She could almost pretend their “date” wasn’t actually going to happen, since Artem had gone back to keeping his distance.

She’d seen him a grand total of one time since their meeting with Dalton. Just once—late at night after the store had closed. Ophelia had stopped to look at the Drake Diamond before she’d headed home to feed Jewel. She hadn’t planned on it, but as she’d crossed the darkened showroom, her gaze had been drawn toward the stone, locked away in its lonely glass case. Protected. Untouched.

She’d begun to cry, for some silly reason, as she’d gazed at the gem, then she’d looked up and spotted Artem watching from the shadows. She’d thought she had, anyway. Once she’d swept the tears from her eyes, she’d realized there had been no one else there. Just her. Alone.

Her day-to-day communication at the office was mostly with Dalton. On the occasions when Artem needed something from her, he sent his secretary, Mrs. Burns, in his stead. So when Mrs. Burns walked into Ophelia’s office on Friday morning, she wasn’t altogether surprised.

Until the secretary, hands clasped primly at her waist, stated the reason for her visit. “Mr. Drake would like to know what you’re wearing.”

The ring clamp in Ophelia’s hand slipped out of her grasp and landed on the drafting table with a clatter. “Excuse me?”

Four days of nothing. No contact whatsoever, and now he was trying to figure out what she was wearing? Did he expect her to take a selfie and send it to him over the Drake Diamonds company email?

Mrs. Burns cleared her throat. “This evening, Miss Rose. He’d like to know what you’re planning to wear to the ballet. I believe you’re scheduled to accompany him tonight to Lincoln Center.”

Oh. That.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Ophelia nodded and tried to look as though she hadn’t just jumped to an altogether ridiculous assumption. Again.

Maybe the fact that she kept misinterpreting Artem’s intentions said more about her than it did about him. It did, she realized, much to her mortification. It most definitely did. And what it said about her, specifically, was that she was hot for her boss. Her kitten-buying, penthouse-dwelling, tuxedo-wearing playboy of a boss.

Ugh.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, every woman on the island of Manhattan—and undoubtedly a good number of the men—would have willingly leaped into Artem Drake’s bed. There was a big difference between the infatuated masses and Ophelia, though. They could sleep with whomever they wanted.

Ophelia could not. Not with Artem. Not with anyone. The fact that doing so would likely put her fancy new job in jeopardy was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Miss Rose?” Mrs. Burns eyed her expectantly over the top of her glasses.

Ophelia sighed. “Honestly, why does he even care what I wear?”

“Mr. Drake didn’t share his reasoning with me, but I assume his logic has something to do with the fact that you’re a representative of Drake Diamonds now. All eyes will be on you this evening.”

All eyes will be on you.

Oh, God. Ophelia hadn’t even considered the fact that she’d be photographed on Artem’s arm. At the ballet, of all places. What if someone recognized her? What if they printed her stage name in the newspaper?

Then everyone would know. Artem would know.

She swallowed. “Mrs. Burns, do you suppose it’s really necessary for me to be there?”

The older woman looked at Ophelia like she’d just sprouted an extra head. “The appearance is part of the publicity plan for the new collection. The collection that you designed.”

Right. Of course it was necessary for her to go. She should want to be there.

The frightening thing was that part of her did want to be there. She wanted to hear the whisper of pointe shoes on the stage floor again. She wanted to smell the red velvet curtain and feel the cool kiss of air-conditioning in the wings. She wanted to wear stage makeup—dramatic black eyeliner and bright crimson lips. One last time.

She just wasn’t sure her heart could take it. Not to mention the fact that she’d be revisiting her past alongside Artem. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable in front of him. Nothing good could come from that.

But she didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, did she?

She did, however, have the power to deny his ridiculous request. “Tell Mr. Drake he’ll know what I’m wearing when he sees me tonight. Not to worry. I’m fully capable of dressing myself in an appropriate manner for the ballet.”

Artem’s secretary seemed to stifle a grin. “I’ll certainly pass that message along.”

Of course, an hour later, Mrs. Burns was back in Ophelia’s office with a second request regarding her fashion plans for the evening. Again Ophelia offered no information. She was sure she’d find something appropriate in Natalia’s old things, but she couldn’t think about it right now. Because thinking about it would mean it was really happening.

Then after lunch, Mrs. Burns was back a third time, with instructions for Ophelia to arrive promptly at Artem’s suite at the Plaza at seven o’clock. Drake Diamonds would send a car to pick her up a half hour prior.

Ophelia wanted to ask why on earth it was necessary to convene at his penthouse beforehand. Honestly, couldn’t they just meet at Lincoln Center? But all this back and forth with Mrs. Burns was starting to get ridiculous.

Maybe one day, in addition to her office, her drafting table and her computer, Ophelia would eventually have her own secretary. Then there would be no need to communicate with Artem at all. They could simply talk to one another through their assistants. No lingering glances. No aching need in the pit of her stomach every time he looked at her. No butterflies.

Better yet, no temptation.

* * *

Artem glanced at the vintage Drake Diamonds tank watch strapped round his wrist. It read 7:05. Ophelia was late.

Brilliant.

He’d been on edge for days, and her tardiness was doing nothing to help his mood.

For once in his life, he’d exercised a modicum of self-control. He’d done the right thing. He’d kept his distance from Ophelia Rose. Other than one evening when he’d spied her looking at the Drake Diamond after hours, he hadn’t allowed himself to even glance in her direction.

And he’d never been so bloody miserable.

She’d seemed so pensive standing in the dark, staring at the diamond, her face awash in a kaleidoscope of cool blues and moody violets reflected off the stone’s surface. What was it about that diamond? If the prospect didn’t sound so ridiculous, Artem would have believed it had cast some sort of spell over her. She’d looked so beautiful, so sad, that he’d been unable to look away as the prisms of color moved over her porcelain skin.

And when amethyst teardrops had slid down her lovely face, he’d been overcome by a primal urge to right whatever wrong had caused her sorrow. Then she’d seen him, and her expression had closed like a book. Thinking about it as he paced the expanse of his suite, he could almost hear the ruffle of pages. Poetic verse hiding itself away. Sonnets forever unread.

And now?

Now she was late. It occurred to him she might not even show. Artem Drake, stood up by his evening companion. That would be a first. It was laughable, really.

He had never felt less like laughing.

As he poured himself a drink, a knock sounded on the door. Finally.

“You’re late,” he said, swinging the door open.

“Am I fired?” With a slow sweep of her eyelashes, Ophelia lifted her gaze to meet his, and Artem’s breath caught in this throat.

She’d gathered her blond tresses into a ballerina bun—fitting, he supposed—exposing her graceful neck and delicate shoulders, wrapped in a white fur stole tied closed between her breasts with a pearly satin bow. Her dress was blush pink, the color of ballet slippers, and flowed into a wide tulle skirt that whispered and swished as she walked toward him.

Never in his life had he gazed upon a woman who looked so timelessly beautiful.

Seeing her—here, now, in her glorious flesh—took the edge off his irritation. He felt instantly calmer somehow. This was both a good thing and a very bad one.

He shot a glance at the security guard from Drake Diamonds standing quietly in the corner of the room, and thanked whatever twist of fate had provided a chaperone for this moment. His self-control had already worn quite thin. And as stunning as he found her dress, it would have looked even better as a puff of pink on the floor of his bedroom.

“Fired? No. I’ll let it slide this time.” He cleared his throat. “You look lovely, Miss Rose.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drake.” Her voice went breathy. As soft as the delicate tulle fabric of her dress.

She’d been in the room for less than a minute, and Artem was as hard as granite. It was going to be an undoubtedly long night.

“Come,” he said, beckoning her to the long dining table by the window.

Since they were already behind schedule, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. And chaperone or no chaperone, he needed to get her out of this hotel room before he did something idiotic.

“Artem?” Ophelia’s eyes grew wide as she took in the assortment of jewelry carefully arranged on black velvet atop the table. A Burmese ruby choker with eight crimson, cushion-cut stones and a shimmering band of baguettes and fancy-cut diamonds. A bow-shaped broach of rose-cut and old European-cut diamonds with carved rock crystal in millegrain and collet settings. A necklace of single-cut diamonds alternating with baroque-shaped emerald cabochon drops. And so on. Every square inch of the table glittered.

Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t understand. I’ve never seen any of these pieces before.”

“They’re from the company vault,” Artem explained. “Hence the security detail.” He nodded toward the armed guard standing silently in the corner of the room.

Ophelia followed his gaze, took in the security officer and looked back up at Artem. “But you’re the CEO.”

“I am indeed.” CEO. Artem was beginning to get accustomed to the title, which in itself was cause for alarm. This was supposed to be temporary. “Insurance regulations require an armed guard when assets in excess of one million dollars leave the premises. Think of him as a bodyguard for the diamonds.”

The security guard gave a subtle nod of his head.

Ophelia raised a single, quizzical brow. “A million dollars?”

“Of course, if I’d known what you’d planned on wearing tonight, I could have selected just one appropriate item instead of transforming my suite into the equivalent of Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry box.”

“Oh.” She flushed a little.

Had she been any other woman, Artem would have suspected her coyness to be an act. A calculated, flirtatious maneuver. But Ophelia wasn’t just any other woman.

He’d seen her at the office. At work, she was bright, confident and earnest. Far more talented than she realized. And always so serious. Serious, with that ever-present hint of melancholy.

But whenever they were alone together, her composure seemed to slip. And by God, was it a turn-on.

Artem liked knowing he affected her in such a way. He liked knowing he was the one who’d put the pretty pink glow in her cheeks. He liked seeing her blossom like a flower. A lush peony in full bloom.

Hell, he loved it all.

“Wait.” Ophelia blinked. “These aren’t for me.”

“Yes, Ophelia, they are. For tonight, anyway. Just a little loan from the store.” He shrugged one shoulder, as if he did this sort of thing every night, for every woman he stepped out with. Which he most definitely did not. “Choose whichever one you like. More than one if you prefer.”

Ophelia’s hand fluttered to her neck with the grace of a thousand butterflies. “Really?”

“You’re representing Drake Diamonds,” he said, by way of explanation.

“I suppose I am.” She gave a little tilt of her head, then there it was—the smile he’d been waiting for. More dazzling than the treasure trove of jewels at her disposal. “I think a necklace would be lovely.”

She pulled at the white satin bow of her little fur jacket. At last. Artem’s fingers had been itching to do that since she’d crossed the threshold. He hadn’t. Obviously. The diamonds he could explain. Undressing her in any fashion would have stepped over that boundary line that he was still determined not to cross.

He wondered if his father had been at all cognizant of that line. Had he thought, even once, about the ramifications of his actions? Or had he taken what he wanted without regard to what would happen to his family, his business, his legacy?

Artem’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to think about his father. Not now. He didn’t want to think about how he himself represented everything that was wrong with the great Geoffrey Drake. Artem Drake was nothing but a living, breathing mistake of the highest order.

And his father was always there, wasn’t he? A larger than life presence. A ghost haunting those he’d left behind.

Artem was tired of being haunted. It was exhausting. Tonight he wanted to live.

He gave Ophelia a quiet smile. “A necklace it is, then.”

* * *

Ophelia had never felt so much like Cinderella. Not even two years ago when she’d danced the lead role in the company’s production of the fairy tale.

As for jewels, from the outrageously opulent selection at Artem’s penthouse, she’d chosen a necklace of diamond baguettes set in platinum that wrapped all the way around her neck in a single, glittering strand. It fit almost like a choker, except in front it split into three strands, each punctuated with large, brilliant cut diamonds. The overall effect was somehow dazzling, yet delicate.