The Princess Problem

Satisfied with the privacy of their surroundings, Dalton turned to face his brother again and noted the enormous empty spot on the wall above his desk. The spot where the portrait of their father had hung for the better part of the past thirty years.

He was a bit taken aback by the painting’s absence, since Artem hadn’t mentioned his plan to remove it. And Drake Diamonds had never been about change. It was about tradition, from the store’s coveted location on Fifth Avenue to the little blue boxes they were so famous for. Drake Diamond blue. The color was synonymous with class, style and all things Drake. It was the shade of the plush carpeting beneath Dalton’s feet, as well as the hue of the silk tie around his neck. If Dalton were to slit his wrists, he’d probably bleed Drake Diamond blue.

But time changed things, even in places where tradition reigned. Their father was dead. This was no longer Geoffrey Drake’s office. It was Artem’s, despite the fact that there’d never been any love lost between Dalton’s younger brother and their father. Despite the fact that Dalton himself had been groomed for this office since the day he’d graduated from Harvard Business School.

He was relieved the portrait was gone. Now he’d no longer be forced to stop himself from hurling his glass of scotch at it on nights when he found himself alone in the store after hours. Which was often. More often than not, to be precise.

Dalton averted his gaze from the empty wall and refocused his attention on Artem. There was no point in dwelling on the wrongness of the terms of their father’s Last Will and Testament. He probably should have expected it. Geoffrey Drake hadn’t been known for his sense of fairness. He certainly hadn’t had a reputation as a loving family man. He’d been shrewd. Calculating. Brusque. As had all the Drake men, Dalton included, for as long as grooms had been slipping revered Drake Diamonds on their brides’ fingers. Empires weren’t built on kindness.

He leveled his gaze at Artem. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. No one outside the Marchand family is aware of this egg’s existence. Until now, of course.”

Artem reached for the egg.

“Seriously?” Dalton sighed, pulled a pair of white cotton jeweler’s gloves from his suit pocket and threw them at his brother. “Put these on if you insist on touching it.”

Artem caught the gloves midair and shook his head. “Relax, would you? A secret Marchand imperial egg just fell into our laps. You should be doing backflips between the cases of engagement rings downstairs.”

“We’re on the tenth floor. Engagements is just down the hall, not downstairs,” Dalton said dryly.

It was a cheap shot. Artem actually showed up to work on a regular basis now that they’d talked things through and agreed to share the position of Chief Executive Officer. The fact that Artem was now married and expecting a baby with their top jewelry designer, Ophelia Rose Drake, didn’t hurt either.

Artem was a husband now, and soon he’d be a father. Dalton couldn’t fathom it. Then again, he’d never actually witnessed a healthy marriage. To be honest, he wasn’t sure such a thing existed.

Artem’s features settled into the lazy playboy expression he’d been so famous for before he’d surprised everyone by settling down. “I know that, brother. You’re missing the point. This is good. Hell, this is fantastic. You should be smiling for a change.”

Dalton’s frown hardened into place. “I’ll smile when the unveiling of the collection goes off without a hitch. And when I’m certain I won’t be facing jail time in Delamotte for kidnapping the princess.”

“She came here of her own free will.” With the hint of a rueful smile, Artem shrugged. “Besides, the way I see it, you have a much bigger problem to worry about.”

More problems. Marvelous. “Such as?”

“Such as the fact that you’ve been charged with showing a runaway princess a good time.” Artem let out a chuckle. “Sorry, but surely even you can see the irony of the situation.”

Dalton was all too aware he wasn’t known as the fun brother. Artem typically had enough fun for both of them. In reality, his younger brother had probably had enough fun for the greater population of Manhattan. But that was before Ophelia. Artem’s face might no longer be a permanent fixture on Page Six, but against all odds, Dalton had never seen him happier.

“Fun is overrated,” Dalton deadpanned.

Fun didn’t pay the mortgage on his Lenox Hill penthouse. It hadn’t landed him on Fortune’s “40 Under 40” list for five consecutive years. And it sure as hell didn’t keep hordes of shoppers flocking to Drake Diamonds every day, just to take something, anything, home in a little blue box.

Artem’s smirk went into overdrive. “From what you’ve told me, the princess doesn’t seem to share your opinion on the matter. It sounds as though Her Royal Highness is rather fond of fun.”

Her Royal Highness.

There was a princess sitting in Dalton’s office. And for some nonsensical reason, she was waiting for him to take her on a grand adventure involving hot dogs and public transportation. How such things fit into anyone’s definition of a good time was beyond him.

A sharp pain took up residence in Dalton’s temples. “Aurélie,” he muttered.

Artem’s eyebrow arched, and he stared at Dalton for a moment that stretched far too long. “Pardon?”

Dalton cleared his throat. “She’s asked me to call her Aurélie.”

“Really?” Artem’s trademark amused expression made yet another appearance. To say it was beginning to grate on Dalton’s nerves would have been a massive understatement. “This princess sounds rather interesting.”

“That’s one way of putting it, although I’d probably use another word.”

“Like?”

Unexpected. “Impulsive.” Whimsical. “Volatile.” Breathtaking. “Dangerous.”

“That’s three words,” Artem corrected. “Interesting. The princess—excuse me, Aurélie—must have made quite an impression in the twenty minutes you spent with her.”

Twenty minutes? Impossible. It had been precisely 10 a.m. when he’d first set eyes on those golden South Sea pearls. On that straight, regal back and exquisitely elegant neck. If the severity of the tension between his shoulder blades was any indication, he’d been dealing with the stress of harboring a royal runaway for at least two hours. Possibly three.

Dalton glanced at his Cartier. It read 10:21. He’d need to add a massage therapist to the payroll at this rate. If he managed to keep an aneurysm at bay for the next few weeks.

“I dare say you appear rather intrigued by her.” Artem’s gaze narrowed. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d go so far as to say you seem smitten. But of course the Dalton I know would never mix business and pleasure.”

Damn straight. Dalton preferred pleasure of the no-strings variety, and he seldom had trouble finding it. Sex belonged in the bedroom, not the boardroom. He wasn’t Artem, for crying out loud. He could keep his libido in check when the situation called for it. “I assure you I’m not smitten. I have no feelings toward the princess whatsoever, aside from obligation.”

“Ah yes, your bargain.” Artem turned the egg in his grasp, inspecting it. Blinding light reflected off its pavé diamonds in every direction, making the egg look far more precious than a collection of carefully arranged gemstones. Dynamic. Alive. A brilliant, beating heart.

Dalton had never seen anything quite like it. The other Marchand imperial eggs paled in comparison. When it went on display in the showroom, Drake Diamonds would be packed wall-to-wall with people. People who wouldn’t go home without a Drake-blue bag dangling from their arms.

If the egg went on display.

It would. The exhibition and gala would take place as scheduled. The spectacular secret egg was just what Drake Diamonds needed. When Dalton and Artem’s father died, he’d left the family business on the verge of bankruptcy. They’d managed to climb their way back to solvency, but Drake Diamonds still wasn’t anywhere near where it had been in its glory days.

Dalton aimed to fix that. With the egg, he could.

He would personally see to it that the palace in Delamotte had nothing to worry about. He’d keep Aurélie under lock and key. Then, in three weeks’ time, she’d pack up the eggs and go straight home. Dalton would strap her into her airplane seat himself if he had to.

Artem returned the egg to its shiny satin pedestal, peeled off the jeweler’s gloves and tossed them on the table. Then he crossed his arms and shot Dalton a wary glance. “Tell me, what sort of fun is the princess up to at the moment?”

Dalton shrugged. “She’s in my office.”

“Your office? Of course. Loads of fun, that place.” Artem shot him an exaggerated eye roll.

This was going to stop. Dalton might have agreed to escort the princess on her grand adventure, but under no circumstances would he succumb to constant commentary on his personal life. “I’ve asked Mrs. Barnes to get her settled with a glass of champagne and a plate of the petit fours we serve in Engagements.”

“So you have absolutely no interest in the woman, yet she’s in your office snacking on bridal food.”

Before Dalton could comment, there was a soft knock on the door.

The brothers exchanged a loaded glance, and Dalton swiftly covered the jeweled egg with the lid to its tasteful indigo box.

Once the treasure was safely ensconced in velvet, Artem said, “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing Dalton’s secretary balancing a plate of petit fours in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, wearing a distinct look of alarm. “I’m sorry to interrupt...”

Dalton’s gut churned. Something wasn’t right. But what could have gone wrong in the span of a few minutes? “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Your guest is gone, Mr. Drake.”

Surely she was mistaken. Aurélie wouldn’t just take off and leave the eggs behind. She wouldn’t think about walking around a strange city all alone, without her security detail.

Or would she?

Dalton swore under his breath. Why did he get the feeling that Aurélie would do both of those things without bothering to consider the possible disastrous consequences of her actions?

Live a little, Mr. Drake.

“Shall I take a look in the ladies’ room?” Mrs. Barnes asked.

Dalton shook his head. If he thought for one second that Aurélie Marchand could be found in the ladies’ room of Drake Diamonds, he’d march in there and go get her himself. “No, thank you. I’ll see to her whereabouts. That will be all, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded and disappeared in the direction of Dalton’s office.

“Calm down, brother. I’m sure she hasn’t gone far. She’s not going to just disappear and leave the Marchand family jewels behind.” Artem waved a casual hand at the velvet box in the center of the table.

Dalton sighed. “Have you forgotten that she’s in a strange city? In a foreign country. All alone.”

“Exactly. She’s hasn’t ventured any further than the Plaza. Come on, I’ll help you track her down.” Artem reached for the suit jacket on the back of his chair.

“No,” Dalton said through gritted teeth. He pointed at the velvet box. “You stay, and see to it that the eggs are safely locked away in the vault. I’ll find Miss Marchand.”

And when he did, he’d lay down some ground rules for their arrangement. After he’d made it clear that he considered her behavior wholly unacceptable. Princess or not.

“As you wish,” Artem said. “But can I give you one piece of advice?”

Dalton glared at him. “Do I have a choice?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take her to bed.” Artem’s mouth curved into a knowing grin. “Assuming you find her, of course.”

* * *

Who did Dalton Drake think he was?

She hadn’t traveled halfway across the world, and risked the wrath of her father, only to stay trapped in a closed room on the tenth floor of Drake Diamonds. Not that the surroundings weren’t opulent. On the contrary, the place was steeped in elegant luxury, from the pale blue plush carpet to the tasteful crown molding. It felt more like being in a palace than a jewelry store.

Which was precisely the problem.

She didn’t want to be stuck inside this grand institution. It wasn’t what she’d signed on for. Did he not realize the risks she’d taken to get here? She already had three missed call notifications on her cell from Delamotte. None from her father, thank goodness. It would take him days, if not weeks, to realize she was gone. The Reigning Prince had more important things to worry about than something as trivial as his only daughter fleeing the country. Oh, the irony.

But the palace staff was another story. They watched her every move and minced no words when it came to their opinions on her behavior. Or her fashion sense. Or her hair.

Or her love life. They had plenty to say about that.

How on earth was she going to pull this off? What if her father came looking for her?

She sighed. She wasn’t going to think about that now. Besides, she was lost in the maze of pale blue and the sparkle of the diamond store. How would she find her way around New York when she couldn’t even manage to navigate the terrain of Drake Diamonds?

Every room looked the same. Row upon row of diamonds sparkled beneath gleaming glass. Chandelier earrings. Long platinum chains with dazzling pendants shaped like antique keys. Shiny silver bracelets with heart-shaped charms.

Engagement rings.

Aurélie looked around and realized she was surrounded by couples embracing, holding hands and clinking champagne flutes together while they gazed into one another’s eyes. Everywhere she turned, teary-eyed brides-to-be were slipping diamond solitaires on their fingers.

She felt oddly hollow all of a sudden. Numb. Empty.

Alone.

For some silly reason she remembered the feel of Dalton’s palm sliding against her own when they’d shaken on their deal. He had strong hands. The hands of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. What he wanted right now was her secret egg, of course. She’d given it to him on a silver platter.

And now he was gone.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Again. Aurélie switched it off and removed the SIM card without bothering to look at the display. Without a SIM card, the GPS tracking on her iPhone wouldn’t work. At least she thought she remembered reading that somewhere.

She really should have had a better escape plan. Or at least a plan.

Her gaze snagged on a silver sign hanging on the wall with discreet black lettering. Will you? Welcome to the Drake Diamond Engagement Collection.

She rolled her eyes, marched straight to the elevator and jabbed at the down button with far too much force.

But as she waited, something made her turn and look again, some perverse urge to torture herself. Maybe she needed a reminder of why she’d fled Delamotte. Maybe she wanted to test herself to see if she could stand there in the midst of so much romantic bliss without breaking down. Maybe she’d simply left the vestiges of dignity back in her home country.

She stared at the happy couples, unabashed in their affection, and felt as though she were disappearing. Fading into the tasteful cream-colored wallpaper.

None of this is real, she told herself. She didn’t believe any of it for a minute.

She wanted to, though. Oh how she wanted to. She wanted to believe that happy endings were real, that love could last, that marriage was something more than just another transaction. A business deal.

A bargain.

But she didn’t dare, because believing the fairy tale would hurt too much. Believing would mean admitting she was missing out on something she’d never have. Something worth more than deep crimson rubies, cabochon emeralds and the entire collection of imperial Marchand eggs.

Why was the elevator taking so long? She pushed the button a few more times, yet still jumped in surprise when the chime signaled the elevator’s arrival. The doors swished open, and she half ran, half stumbled inside.

A hand caught her elbow. “Are you all right, miss?”

She blinked up at the elevator attendant dressed in a stylish black suit, pristine white shirt and a bowtie the same hue as the Windsor knot that had sat at the base of Dalton Drake’s muscular neck. Aurélie’s gaze lingered on that soft shade of blue as she remembered how perfectly Dalton’s silk tie had set off his strong jawline.

“I’m fine, thank you.” The elevator closed and began its downward descent, away from all those engagement rings and the quiet solitude of Dalton’s office.

The elevator attendant smiled. “Do you need help finding anything?”

Aurélie shook her head, despite the fact that she didn’t know the first thing about New York. She didn’t know how to hail a cab or ride the subway. She didn’t even have a single American dollar in her fancy handbag. She had a wallet full of euros, yet she wasn’t even familiar with the exchange rate.

But none of that mattered. She just wanted to get out of there.

Now.

Chapter Three

Right around the time he was on the verge of losing his mind, Dalton spotted Aurélie on the outskirts of Central Park. She was standing beneath a portable blue awning at the corner of Central Park South and 59th Street, directly across the street from the Plaza Hotel. She was holding a dog. Not a hot dog, but an actual dog. Which for some reason only exacerbated the pounding in Dalton’s temples. The woman was impossible.

What had she been thinking? She didn’t want to be discovered, yet she’d walked right out the door. Unaccompanied. Unprotected. Undisguised. It was enough to give Dalton a coronary.

At least he’d been able to find her with relative ease. All told, it had only taken about a quarter of an hour. Still, those fifteen minutes had undoubtedly been the longest of Dalton’s life.

To top things off, a street musician had parked himself right outside the entrance of Drake Diamonds with his violin and his tip bucket. This marked the third time in less than a month that Dalton had ordered him to leave. Next time, he’d call the cops.

He squinted against the winter wind and shoved his bare hands into his trouser pockets. He’d been in a panic when he’d spun his way out of the store through the revolving door and onto the snowy sidewalk. Filled with dread and angry beyond all comprehension, he hadn’t even bothered to grab a coat, and now, three blocks later, he was freezing.

Freezing and absolutely furious.

He dashed across the street without bothering to wait for the signal at the pedestrian crossing, enraging a few cab drivers in the process. Dalton didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he’d returned her safely to his office. And then...

What?

He wasn’t actually sure what he’d do at that point. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he simply planned on escorting her back to his store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street while administering a searing lecture on the dangers of disappearing without giving him any sort of notice whatsoever.

“Aurélie!” He jogged the distance from the curb to where she stood, still holding onto the damn dog.

She didn’t hear him. Either that, or she was intentionally ignoring him. It was a toss-up, although Dalton would have greatly preferred the former.

“Aurélie,” he said again, through gritted teeth, when he reached her side.

An older woman wearing a hooded parka and fingerless mittens stood next to her. There was a clipboard in her hands and a small playpen filled with little dogs yipping and pouncing on one another at her feet. The woman eyed Dalton, giving him a thorough once-over, and frowned.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Aurélie said blithely, without tearing her gaze from the trembling, bug-eyed dog in her arms.

It stared at Dalton over her shoulder. He stared back and decided it was possibly the ugliest dog he’d ever set eyes on. Its pointed ears were comically huge, which might have been endearing if not for the googly eyes that appeared to be looking in two completely different directions. And it had a wide, flat muzzle. Not to mention the god-awful snuffling sounds coming from the dog’s smashed little face.

“Hello.” The woman with the clipboard nodded. “Are you the boyfriend?”

Boyfriend?

Hardly.

He opened his mouth to say no—God no—but before he could utter a syllable, Aurélie nodded. “Yes, here he is. Finally.”

Dalton didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, and frankly, he didn’t care. If she wanted to pose as some kind of couple in front of this random stranger who could possibly recognize her from the tabloids, then fine. Although, the idea was laughable at best.

“Yes, here I am.” He turned sharp eyes on her with the vague realization that he wasn’t laughing. Not even close. “Finally. Surely you’re aware I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.”

At last she met his gaze. With snowflakes in her eyelashes and rosy, wind-kissed cheeks, she looked more Snow Queen than princess.

And lovelier than ever.

Nature suited her. Or maybe it was winter itself, the way the bare trees and dove-gray sky seemed to echo the lonely look in her eyes. Seeing her like this, amidst the quiet grace of a snowfall, holding onto that ugly dog like a child hugging a teddy bear, Dalton got a startling glimpse of her truth.

She was running from something. That’s why she’d left Delamotte. That’s why she’d shown up in men’s clothes and begged him not to call the palace. She wasn’t here on holiday. She was here to get lost in the crowd.

Not that her reasons had anything to do with Dalton. He was simply her means to an end, and vice versa.

“What’s our address again? Silly me, I keep forgetting.” She let out a laugh.

Dalton fought to keep his expression neutral. Surely she wasn’t planning on moving into his apartment. That’s what hotels were for. And there were approximately 250 of them in New York.

Then again, who knew what sort of trouble she could get into unsupervised.

His headache throbbed with renewed intensity. “Our address?”

“Of course, darling. You know, the place where we live.” Quicker than a blink, her gaze flitted to the woman with the clipboard. “Together.”

Struggling to absorb the word darling, he muttered the address of his building in the Upper East Side. The woman with the clipboard jotted it down.

Who was this person, anyway? And why did Aurélie think she had any business knowing where they lived? Where I live. Not we. Good God, not we.

He leaned closer to get a look at whatever form she appeared to be filling out. The bold letters at the top of the page spelled out Pet Adoption Agreement.

“Wait,” Dalton said, as something wet and foul-smelling slapped against the side of his face. He recoiled and realized, with no small degree of horror, that it was the googly-eyed puppy’s tongue.

Marvelous. He wiped his cheek with the cuff of his suit jacket, and aimed his fiercest death glare at Aurélie. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We are adopting a dog, darling.” Again with the darling.

And again with the we.

“I believe this is the type of thing we should discuss,” he said, trying not to imagine the dreadful dog snoring like a freight train in his office while he tried to run the company.

Or, God forbid, snoring in his bed. Because if adopting homeless animals was the sort of thing she did on a whim when he wasn’t looking, she’d need to stay with him. Who knew what kind of trouble she could get into if he left her all alone in a hotel room for a fortnight?

He’d been wrong when he’d described her to Artem as impulsive. Impulsive didn’t even begin to describe Aurélie. She was full-blown crazy. Either that or the most manipulative woman he’d ever met.

“But we did discuss it. This morning.” Her bow-shaped lips curved into a beguiling smile that hit Dalton square in his libido, despite the deafening clang of warning bells going off in his head.