The Princess Problem

by Teri Wilson

  She looked good. Healthy. But she still had a definite air of sadness about her. Dalton wished she’d start riding again, but he supposed getting back on a horse would just take time.

  She crossed her arms. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? You love her, and you miss her. That’s why you wanted me to move into your apartment. That’s why you were just mooning over a Chihuahua, isn’t it?”

  Yes. Yes, God help me. That’s exactly why. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. You gave us all a scare. I’m your brother, and I want to keep an eye on you. And the dog has nothing to do with Aurélie. Who wouldn’t fall for that tiny little face?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not fooling me, brother dear. You hate dogs.”

  Used to. He used to hate dogs. It seemed he’d developed a soft spot for them lately. But that was beside the point, especially since it looked as though the animal rescue community had probably blackballed him now.

  “Anyway, don’t try to change the subject. This isn’t about the dog. It’s about you.” Diana jabbed her pointer finger into Dalton’s chest. “And Aurélie.”

  It hurt to hear her name almost as much as it hurt to say it. “Drop it, Diana. There’s nothing to discuss. She’s getting married, remember?”

  “But she’s not.” Diana shook her head.

  “Yes, she is. On April 20. To a duke or a king or something like that. She’ll be wearing a crown on her head, and she’ll probably arrive in a damned glass coach.”

  “Stop yelling.”

  “I’m not yelling.” A passerby pushing a baby carriage gave him an odd look.

  Maybe he was yelling. Just a little bit.

  “Calm down and listen to me for two seconds, would you? She’s not getting married. I read it in the paper this morning.”

  “How many times have I told you that you can’t believe everything you read in Page Six?” Artem had only actually participated in half the debauchery he’d been accused of in that rag. At least that was what he’d insisted at the time.

  “Sheesh, give me some credit. I didn’t read it in Page Six. It was on the front page of the Books section of the New York Times.”

  He paused for a second and glanced at William Shakespeare while he tried to absorb what his sister was saying. He thought of star-crossed lovers and fate and destiny. Then he remembered how that particular story ended.

  “You’re mistaken,” he said flatly. The one thing he wanted less than pity was false hope. “Why would news about a royal wedding appear in the Books section?”

  She lifted a knowing brow. “You know what? I’m not going to tell you. You’re going to have to read it for yourself.”

  “Diana.” He meant it as a warning, but despite himself, the faintest glimmer of hope stirred in his chest.

  Stop. It’s over. She’s not even in the country anymore.

  “This is what you get for only looking at the Business section of the Times, by the way. There’s a whole world out there that you know nothing about.”

  “Thank you for the sisterly advice,” he said wryly.

  “You’re welcome, my dear brother.” She rubbed her mitten-covered hands together and looped an arm through his. “Shall we walk home now? It’s freezing out, and like you said, we need to get ready for your big gala.”

  Clearly she wasn’t going to tell him anything else. And suddenly the gala seemed like the furthest thing from Dalton’s mind. “Fine.”

  “There’s a newsstand on the corner of Central Park South and 50th Street, you know. We’ll pass right by it on the way home.”

  “Indeed. I know.” He’d already made a mental note of that very fact. It was the same newsstand where he picked up his paper nearly every morning. Not that his nosy sister needed to know any more about his personal life.

  He managed to grab a copy of the Times, pay for it and walk the rest of the way home without tearing it open and poring over the Books section. He wanted to do so in private, even though the cat was already apparently out of the bag and Diana knew how much Aurélie meant to him. Now that the possibility that she might not be going through with the wedding had been dangled in front of him, he was consumed by the idea.

  He didn’t see how it was possible, yet with everything in him, he wanted to believe. He wanted to believe so badly that when he’d finally closed himself off in the privacy of his bedroom, he was almost afraid to spread the newspaper open on his bed.

  He tossed it down beside his Armani tuxedo and Drake-blue bowtie and told himself if Diana had been wrong, or if she’d simply been playing some cruel joke on him, nothing would change. He didn’t need Aurélie in his life. He hadn’t crumbled to pieces after she’d left. He was a Drake. He was perfectly content.

  Liar.

  He poured himself a glass of scotch, took a generous gulp and finally sat down on the edge of the bed. His hands were shaking, and the paper rattled as he tossed aside the front page and the Business section. Then there it was, emblazoned across the header of the Books section.

  Her Royal Highness Aurélie Marchand

  of Delamotte Calls Off Wedding Following

  Announcement of New Book Deal

  Oh my God.

  Diana was right.

  He read the headline three times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Then he dove into the article, which said that Aurélie had sold the publishing rights to her mother’s diary. Due to overwhelming public interest in the book, the publication of the diary had been fast-tracked. It was due to hit shelves on April 20, what would have been Aurélie’s wedding day.

  Dalton sat very still and tried to absorb the implications of what he’d just read. There was much the article didn’t say. Was Aurélie staying in Delamotte? How had her father reacted to this extreme act of defiance? Would she be stripped of her crown?

  Does she still love me?

  Did she ever?

  He told himself what he’d just read had no bearing on his life whatsoever. It was about Aurélie taking control of her life.

  Not about him.

  Not about them.

  But damned if it didn’t feel like a second chance.

  Dalton folded the newspaper and slowly sipped the rest of his scotch. He dressed for the gala with the utmost care, slipping into his waistcoat and fastening his Drake Diamond cufflinks. He caught a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror as he reached for his tie and paused, marveling at how composed he appeared on the outside when he couldn’t seem to stop the violent pounding of his heart.

  He stared down at the Drake-blue tie in his hand and realized he couldn’t put it on. This is where the charade stops, he thought. This is where it ends.

  If Aurélie could choose, then so could he.

  Thirty minutes later, he barged into Artem’s office without bothering to knock. “I need to talk to you.”

  He’d walked straight through the first floor showroom without even a cursory glance at the display cases that housed the Marchand eggs. He should be overseeing the arrangement of the collection. The Drake Diamonds staff had strict instructions that Dalton was to have final approval before the doors opened for the gala. But he and Diana had only just arrived and what he had to say to Artem couldn’t wait.

  “Perfect. Because there’s something I need to tell you before the gala begins.” Artem glanced at his watch. “Which is in just fifteen minutes, so I may as well come out and say it.”

  Dalton shook his head. If he didn’t do this now, he
might never actually get the words out. “I’d really rather go first.”

  Artem raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “But...”

  “I quit,” Dalton blurted at the exact same moment that Artem leveled his gaze and said, “You’re fired.”

  The brothers stared at each other for a beat, shocked into silence.

  Finally, Artem cleared his throat. “Well this works out rather nicely, don’t you think?”

  “Wait a minute.” Dalton sank into the leather chair opposite Artem. “You can’t fire me. You don’t have the authority. We’re co-CEOs, remember?”

  He didn’t even know why he was arguing about it when the bottom line was the same—he was finished at Drake Diamonds. He’d had enough. If Aurélie could be brave enough to take hold of her future and change it, then so could he.

  Except that he’d never been fired from a job in his life. And he also owned one third of the family business.

  “Yes and no.” Artem shrugged. “We agreed to share the position, but never drew up paperwork to make the change official.”

  “It was a gentleman’s agreement.” How could Dalton have anticipated the need for paperwork? Artem had always been the one constantly threatening to turn in his resignation.

  My, how things change.

  “Exactly.” Artem shrugged and brushed an invisible speck of lint from the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket. When had he gotten so casually adept at running the company? Dalton had nothing to worry about. Drake Diamonds would be in safe hands. “As far as the paperwork goes, I’m the sole CEO of Drake Diamonds, which means...”

  “You can fire me.” Dalton smiled. Who smiled as he was being fired? By his own brother, no less?

  I do, apparently.

  “Right.” Artem tilted his head and slid his hands into his pocket as he examined Dalton. “And might I say, you’re taking it awfully well.”

  It was Dalton’s turn to shrug. “That’s because I quit, effective the moment this gala is over.”

  “You’re still fired. Don’t take it personally, but you can’t be trusted to stay away. You’ve done an excellent job here. You’ve poured everything you have into Drake Diamonds, but it’s time for you to get an actual life.” He had the decency to wince, but only for a second. “No offense, of course.”

  “None taken.” Dalton rolled his eyes.

  “Come on, you know I’m right. If Diana’s accident taught us anything, it’s that life is precious.”

  Exactly.

  Except Dalton should have learned that lesson years ago. Six years ago, to be exact.

  How had he allowed himself to waste so much time? So much life? Aside from Diana’s accident, the handful of days he’d spent with Aurélie had been the best he’d ever experienced. But he hadn’t fully appreciated them, had he? Save for the times they’d made love, he’d held her at arm’s length. It was time to hold her close. Now and forever.

  If she’d still let him.

  “Yes, you’re right. That’s why I’m leaving for Delamotte first thing in the morning. Or tonight, if I can arrange a flight.” He had no idea how he’d even get an audience with a royal princess. But he’d figure it out. He’d kick down the palace doors if necessary.

  “I’d hoped Her Royal Highness might have something to do with your decision.” Artem’s face split into a huge grin. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

  Dalton shook his head. “Not so fast. I don’t even know if she’s still speaking to me.”

  He’d sent her packing. Twice. That was a lot to atone for.

  “I see.” Artem nodded and glanced at his watch. “As much as I’d like to give you a brotherly pep talk right about now, there’s no time. You should probably go take a look at the eggs and make sure everything is in order, no?”

  “Will do.” Dalton rose to his feet, buttoned the jacket of his tux and turned to go.

  He was nearly out the door when he heard Artem say, “Nice tie, by the way.”

  Dalton just shook his head, laughed and headed for the elevator.

  The first floor was abuzz with activity. Every member of the Drake Diamonds staff was on hand. Through the glass revolving door, he could see photographers and other members of the press lined up on the snowy sidewalk, waiting for the official start of the unveiling.

  Excellent. After the many professional mistakes he’d made over the course of the past month, it was comforting to know he was leaving on a successful note.

  Except as he approached the exhibit and spotted the Marchand jeweled hen egg in the first glass case, he sighed. Something wasn’t right. The hen egg was the oldest piece in the collection. It had been the egg featured on all the banners and advertisements. Dalton had left instructions for it to be placed in the center of the room, in the illuminated glass case that had once housed the revered Drake Diamond.

  Someone had screwed up.

  He really didn’t need this now. Not when the gala was set to begin in less than five minutes, and not when he had far more important things on his mind. Like how to woo a princess.

  “Excuse me.” He beckoned the closest employee he could find. “Who arranged the eggs this way?”

  “Your brother did, sir.” The salesman gestured overhead, toward the upper floors of the building. “We followed the exhibit map you’d drawn up, but Mr. Drake came down about half an hour ago and changed everything.”

  Dalton’s fists clenched at his sides. What the hell was going on with Artem? Firing him after he quit was one thing. Completely usurping him before he was even gone was another matter entirely.

  The salesman shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Clearly he wasn’t thrilled to be the bearer of such news. Not that Dalton could blame him. “He said you might be upset, and he indicated if you wanted to discuss it, you should go upstairs to Engagements.”

  “Engagements?” Had his brother had an aneurysm or something? They weren’t even opening Engagements up to customers tonight. Everyone was to stay on the first floor.

  The salesman cleared his throat. “But first he said you should take a look at the exhibit’s centerpiece, Mr. Drake.”

  The centerpiece.

  He’d been so thrown by the obviously incorrect placement of the jeweled hen egg that he hadn’t even ventured a glance at the big case in the center. Who knew what Artem had stuck in there?

  He turned, and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

  On a pedestal in the center of the room, in the very heart of Drake Diamonds, sat a pink-enameled egg, covered in shimmering pavé diamonds and tiny seed pearls.

  The Marchand secret egg had found its way back to New York.

  * * *

  Is this a mistake?

  The question had followed Aurélie all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. It nagged at her for the duration of the twelve-hour flight, as she sat sleepless in First Class, clutching the black velvet egg box like a security blanket while Jacques snored in his carrier.

  Would Dalton be happy to see her? Had he thought about her at all over the past seven days?

  God, she hoped so.

  She’d thought of little else but him. At night when she closed her eyes, she dreamt of his sighs of pleasure as he’d touched her, kissed her...loved her. When she woke in the morning, his name was the first word on her lips, the memory of him the first tug in her heart.

  She’d prayed for it to stop. She’d pleaded with God to make the memories fade.

  The
y hadn’t.

  If anything, her feelings for Dalton had only grown stronger. No matter what happened now, though, she was grateful for the persistence of memory. She knew that now. Knowing Dalton had changed her. Permanently. Profoundly. If she’d never met him, never fallen in love, she would have never had the courage to stand up to her father. She would have never done what she had to do in order to take control of her own destiny.

  She’d paved the way for her own future. All because of him. Because of Dalton Drake.

  So even if coming back to New York turned out to be a mistake, even if he took one look at her and told her to go back home, she wouldn’t regret a thing.

  But she hoped it wasn’t a mistake. She hoped he loved her even a tiny fraction as much as she loved him.

  The elevator dinged, and her knees grew weak. Jacques yipped in her arms.

  This is it.

  The doors swished open, and there he was. Aurélie had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying with relief at the sight of him. He looked so handsome. Even more handsome than she remembered. His exquisitely tailored tuxedo showed off his broad shoulders to perfection. Formal wear suited him.

  There was just a hint of stubble on his jawline, and his eyes were even steelier than she remembered. They glittered like black diamonds as his gaze swept over her.

  Aurélie’s breath caught in her throat. She felt like she might faint. Jacques squirmed with such enthusiasm at the sight of Dalton that she had to set him down on the floor. The little dog bounded toward Dalton as if he hadn’t seen him in a century. Aurélie wished she could do the same, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to him.

  Why was this so difficult? She hadn’t even been this nervous when she’d finally confronted her father and told him she’d sent her mother’s diary to the biggest publisher in Europe. Sad, yes. But nervous, no. Handing over her mother’s diary had been bittersweet. She hated to hurt her father, but after the way he’d treated her in New York, he’d left her no choice. It was the only way she could buy her freedom.