by Teri Wilson
Shit. They weren’t in his apartment. They were in his office.
“Aurélie, wake up. We’ve overslept.” Sunlight and the crystal reflection of snowfall streamed through his office windows.
What time was it? He never slept past 6 a.m. From the looks of things, it was far later than that. And if Mrs. Barnes was already here...
He cursed and jerked upright. The store was about to open for business. The hallways were teeming with his employees. And he was naked in his office.
With Aurélie.
She blinked, then as the reality of the present circumstances dawned, her eyes went wide with panic. “Dalton. Oh my God.”
“Don’t worry.” He glanced at the halfway open door, leaped off the sofa and slammed it closed. “Everything will be okay.”
Her gaze darted around the room. “But my clothes...”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Her dress was still pooled on the floor of Engagements, right next to her lingerie. Not to mention the fact that there were cameras all over that room. He needed to get his hands on the store’s surveillance videos. Immediately, before anyone saw them. But first he needed to get her dressed.
He laid his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Don’t panic. “It will be fine. I promise. I’ll go get your clothes.”
She nodded, looking every bit as dazed as he felt.
How had he let this happen? He’d had sex in the store. Even Artem had never done something this outrageous. That Dalton knew of.
He shook his head. If this wasn’t the first time a Drake had been in this situation, he really didn’t want to know.
He grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled them on. They were wrinkled as hell. Everyone in the building would be able to recognize his stroll through the store as a walk of shame. Marvelous.
At least he had a selection of pressed shirts from the dry cleaners in one of his desk drawers. He reached for the one on top of the stack and pulled it on, fumbling with the buttons.
“Let me,” Aurélie said, unfolding her legs from beneath her and walking toward him.
He allowed himself a brief glance of her bare body, even though he knew good and well it would only make him forget why he was in such a hurry to leave the room. Sure enough, one look, one glimpse of her porcelain skin, her perfect breasts and their rosebud nipples, was all it took for him to forget about everything on the other side of the door.
“Stop looking at me like that, or we’ll never get out of here.” She rolled her eyes and smoothed down his collar.
He felt himself grinning. “Would that be so bad?”
“You tell me, Mr. CEO.”
“It might be a tad inappropriate.” His hands found her waist and slid lower until they cupped the decadent softness of her bottom. “Not that I care much at the moment.”
She smiled up at him and something came unloose in his chest. “But you will. Eventually.”
He was beginning to doubt it.
“There. You’re all buttoned up.”
A pity. “How do I look?”
“Like you’ve been ravaging women on the sales floor.” She lifted an amused brow.
“Woman, not women.” He slid his arms around her, not quite willing to tear himself away despite the absurdity of the situation. “Only the one.”
The one.
The One.
“Good to know, Mr. Drake.” She rose up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth, and for a moment his feet stayed rooted to the floor. He couldn’t have budged for all the diamonds in Africa.
The intercom on his office phone buzzed, piercing the intimate silence. “Dalton, it’s Artem. If you’re in there, we need to talk. It’s urgent.”
He took his hands off Aurélie. Came to his senses.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Artem was waiting for him directly on the other side of the door, holding Aurélie’s clothes and wearing a grim expression.
Perfect. Just perfect.
“Whatever you’re going to say, I really don’t want to hear it right now. Can we talk later?”
Artem thrust Aurélie’s things at him. “No, it can’t.”
“Fine. Lecture me all you want.” God knows, he deserved it.
Artem lowered his voice. “Brother, I’m not here to lecture you. Believe me. We’ve got a situation on our hands.”
“It’s not Diana, is it?” That couldn’t be it, though, could it? Otherwise, Artem wouldn’t be here.
“No, she’s fine. I just spoke to her doctor this morning.” He sighed. “It’s the palace. They’ve been calling. And calling. Mrs. Barnes is in a panic. Have you checked your messages?”
Dalton’s gut churned. After Diana’s fall, he’d forgotten all about the unread email. He hadn’t even turned his phone back on.
He shook his head. “Is this as bad as it seems?”
“It’s not good.” Artem raked a hand through his hair. He seemed to be doing everything in his power to remain calm. “Get her dressed, and we’ll deal with it. Together. Sound good?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“That’s what family’s for.” But there was a gravity in his expression that Dalton couldn’t ignore.
“Wait. What aren’t you telling me?”
Artem shook his head. His gaze dropped to the floor, and Dalton suddenly didn’t want to know. He just wanted to rewind the clock to the night before and stay in that dazzling place forever.
“She’s engaged.” Artem sighed. “Aurélie. She’s getting married. It’s on the front page of every newspaper in the world.”
Dalton shook his head.
There had to be some kind of mistake. He was talking about some other princess. Not her. Not Aurélie.
The one.
The One.
He swallowed hard. “No.” Just...no.
She would have said something. She would have told him, wouldn’t she?
A dark fury began to gather in his chest, like a rising storm. So thick, so black he choked it on it. He cleared his throat, swallowed it down, as he remembered how lost she’d been when she first arrived in New York, how she’d pushed him away after the first time they’d made love...how she’d hated even setting foot in Engagements. She had told him, hadn’t she? Not in so many words, but he’d known. On some level, he’d known. She’d been telling him all along.
Artem reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a neatly folded square of newsprint. “Here. Read it for yourself.”
He didn’t want to look. He really didn’t. But he forced himself to unfold the paper, because he’d been blind enough for the past few days. It was time to wake up to reality.
Her Royal Highness Princess Aurélie Marchand
of Delamotte to Marry Duke Lawrence Bouvier
on April 20 in Lavish Royal Wedding
* * *
Aurélie knew something was horribly wrong as soon as Dalton crossed the threshold.
There was a sudden seriousness in the firm set of his jaw, and he seemed to look right through her when he handed her the folded pile of clothes. Suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness, she wanted to hide. If anything, to shield herself from the coolness in his gaze.
“Thank you,” she said and slipped into her dress as quickly as she could.
He said nothing, just stood there waiting with a large Drake-blue shopping bag in his hands while she pulled on her panties.
What was going on? What had happened in the handful of minutes since she’d seen him last?
She swallowed and smoothed down the front of her dress. She knew, even without the benefit of a mirror, that she looked like a mess. A complete and utter disaster. “Dalton, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He shru
gged with a casual air of nonchalance, but the impassivity of his gaze shifted into something darker. More dangerous. “I should probably offer my congratulations, though.”
For a moment, she was confused. She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.
Then she realized...
Somehow he’d found out about the wedding. He knew.
No. He couldn’t. That wasn’t feasible. How could he possibly know when it wasn’t even official?
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” But her words sounded disingenuous, even to her own ears.
She hated herself.
“Save it, Princess,” he snapped.
With exaggerated calmness, he pulled a newspaper from the top of the shopping bag and handed it to her.
She was afraid to take it, but she didn’t dare refuse him. Not when she’d already given him every reason in the world to despise her.
Her stomach plummeted when she read the headline. The palace had made an announcement. Without even consulting her. Without her knowledge. She supposed it didn’t matter after all that she’d been a no-show for the sitting with Lord Clement. They’d simply used an older picture.
She stared at herself, smiling like an idiot below the awful headline, and realized that her absence had mattered. It mattered so much that the palace had gone ahead and released the news. They’d played the ultimate trump card. She had no choice but to go home now. She’d never be able to move about New York, or anyplace else now, without being recognized. Not after this.
She folded the newspaper and dropped it on Dalton’s desk. She couldn’t stand to look at it another minute. If she did, she might vomit.
“Dalton, please. Let me explain. I wasn’t engaged when I came here. I’m not...”
But she was.
She knew it. And so did he. So did everyone. She was getting married, and it was front-page news.
Someone knocked on the door, and Aurélie wished with everything in her that Dalton would tell whomever it was to go away. She needed to talk to him. She needed to fix things. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she had to try. She’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened, and in walked Mrs. Barnes, followed by an older gentleman wearing a dark suit and a grim expression. Aurélie’s father.
Her legs gave way, and she sank onto the sofa. Her father had come all this way, just to drag her home. It was over—her holiday, Dalton, their bargain.
All of it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drake.” Mrs. Barnes was wringing her hands, and fluttering about between Dalton and her father. “I apologize, but Mr. Marchand insisted on seeing you. I know he doesn’t have an appointment...”
Dalton held up a hand. “It’s okay. He doesn’t need one.”
Of course he didn’t. The Crown Prince of Delamotte always got his way.
Bile rose to the back of Aurélie’s throat.
“Father,” she said.
“Aurélie.” He looked her up and down, from the messy hair atop her head to the tips of her barefoot toes. Her face burned with shame. Her father didn’t say a word about the meaning of her disheveled appearance. He didn’t have to. He swiveled his gaze toward Dalton. “Mr. Drake, I presume?”
“Yes.” Dalton nodded. The fact that he refused to bow was a major breach of royal etiquette. Aurélie suspected he knew this. She also suspected he didn’t give a damn.
“My office has been trying to reach you, Mr. Drake. Aurélie failed to show up for an important engagement yesterday, so we tracked her cell phone.” His lips straightened into a flat line. “Imagine my surprise when it was brought to my attention that she’s been here in New York. For days, it seems.”
They must have tracked her phone before she’d taken out the SIM card. They’d known where she was all along.
The air in the room went so thick that Aurélie couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her father was giving Dalton a warning. He didn’t care if Dalton was her lover. He was nothing to the Crown Prince of Delamotte. No one.
Dalton shrugged. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your daughter is a grown woman. I believe she can make her own decisions.”
He glanced at her, but she couldn’t even look at him. This was so much worse than anything she’d ever imagined taking place. What had she done?
“Aurélie,” Dalton prompted.
If ever there was a time to stand up to her father, it was now.
She took a deep breath and met his gaze, but when she did, she didn’t see the man who’d bounced her on his knee when she was a little girl. She saw her sovereign. She saw the crown. She saw everything her mother had written on the gilt-edged pages of her diary about the tragedy of fate.
“I don’t want to go, and I can’t marry the duke.” The words came out far weaker than she’d intended.
“Nonsense. You can, and you will. I won’t allow you to embarrass me, Aurélie. Nor the throne.” Her father glanced at his watch. “Come along. We can discuss this when we get home. We have a plane to catch.”
She shook her head. “But my things...” Her dog. Her mother’s pearls. Her heart.
If Dalton hadn’t stepped forward and handed her the shopping bag, she may have found the strength to stay. She liked to believe that she would have been able to make that choice, that she would have been strong enough to stand up for what she wanted. Love. Life. Freedom. But when she looked down and saw what Dalton was offering her, she lost her resolve.
At the bottom of the bag sat a black velvet box, embossed with the Marchand royal crest. She knew what was inside without opening it. It was the secret egg. He was giving it back to her. He wanted her gone, no matter the cost.
“I’ve made arrangements for Sam to deliver Jacques and the rest of your things to the airport,” Dalton said coolly. He nodded at the bag.
Take it from him. Just take it.
She dug deep and summoned her pride. If he didn’t want her, she wouldn’t stay. He’d already sent her away once. Twice was more than she could take.
She lifted her chin and reached for the bag. Only then did she notice the small glass box on top of the velvet egg carrier. Inside were her mother’s gold pearls, restrung and perfect.
Just as perfect as she was expected to be from now on.
Chapter Sixteen
Dalton operated on autopilot until the night of the gala. Those seven days were the longest of his life. He spent all day, every day at the office, preparing for the party. He talked to the caterer, the florist, the baker and the linen rental company. He gave press interviews. More press interviews than he’d ever conducted before. He didn’t particularly enjoy talking about the Marchand family over and over again. But he was determined not to let it show.
He spent his evenings at the hospital, sitting at Diana’s bedside, until she was discharged. After Dr. Larson released her, Dalton insisted she come stay at his apartment so he could keep an eye on her. He worried about her. He didn’t like the thought of her grieving for Diamond alone, in her tiny Brooklyn walk-up. At least that was what he’d told Diana. And the rest of the Drakes.
And himself.
The truth of the matter was that he was the one who couldn’t handle the solitude of an empty apartment. Everywhere he turned, he saw reminders of Aurélie: Central Park, the New York Public Library, the sidewalk outside of Bergdorf Goodman. His office. His apartment. His bed.
God, how he missed her.
He missed her quirky clothes. He missed the way she never once allowed him to tell her what to do. He even missed her snoring, silly-looking dog. The enormity of her absence may not have fully hit him until one afternoon when he and Diana were walking through the park and he stopp
ed beneath the blue awning at the pet adoption stand.
“Um, what are you doing?” Diana asked, crossing her arms and gaping at him in disbelief as he scooped a scrawny Chihuahua from one of the pens.
Was he going crazy, or had those been his exact words to Aurélie when he’d found her standing in the same spot on the day she’d first arrived?
We’re adopting a dog, darling.
“I remember you.” The animal shelter volunteer narrowed her gaze at him. She was the same woman from before, wielding her clipboard in the same annoying manner. “You’re the one who adopted the little French bulldog.”
“The what?” Diana let out an astonished laugh. “You have a dog? Where is it?”
The pet adoption counselor stared daggers at him. “You’ve re-homed the dog? You can’t do that, sir. You signed an agreement.”
“I didn’t re-home the dog. Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. I assure you.”
But even the Chihuahua seemed to be giving him the evil eye.
Marvelous.
He set the little dog back down in its tiny playpen and moved on before he got arrested for dognapping or something equally ridiculous.
He and Diana walked the length of the park in silence. They passed the zoo, and the roar of the lions sounded strangely lonely in the snowfall. Then they made their way down the Literary Walk, and when they had to dodge out of the way to avoid a dog walker and her tangle of half a dozen leashes, Diana finally said something.
“Are you going to tell me about the missing dog? Because the suspense is killing me.” She stopped in front of the statue of William Shakespeare.
The Bard peered at Dalton over her shoulder, looking every bit as serious and judgmental as the pet adoption counselor. Or maybe I really am losing my mind.
He sighed. “There’s nothing to tell. The dog didn’t belong to me. Aurélie adopted him, and she took him with her when she left. End of story. Can we keep walking now? The gala is tonight, and I’ve got things to do.”
“No, we can’t just keep walking and pretend nothing is going on.” She shook her head and brushed back a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her hat.
