by Teri Wilson
“In love,” Ben repeated. His gaze dropped to the rich soil beneath their feet. “I’m happy to hear it. I am. But I’m afraid it’s going to take more than a few pictures in the paper to convince Ellis.”
Franco’s jaw clenched. “What are you saying?”
But the coach didn’t need to elaborate, because the field was filling up with Franco’s team members. They were clearly preparing for a scrimmage because, instead of being dressed in casual practice attire, they were wearing uniforms. Franco spotted Luc, climbing on top of a sleek ebony mount. But the sight that gave Franco pause was another player. One he’d never seen before, wearing a shirt with a number situated just below his right shoulder—the number 1.
Franco’s number.
“Perhaps Ellis would feel differently if you were married. Or even engaged. Something permanent, you know. But right now, it looks like a fling. To him, anyway.” Ben shrugged. “Surely you understand. Try to put yourself in his shoes, son. Imagine how you’d feel if another man, a man whom you knew and trusted, hopped into bed and ravished Miss Drake.”
Franco’s gaze finally moved away from the player wearing his number. He stared at the coach, and a nonsensical rage swelled in his chest. A thick, black rage, which he could only attribute to the fact that he’d been replaced. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
Ben held up his hands. “I’m not suggesting it will happen. I’m simply urging you to try and understand where Ellis is coming from.”
“This isn’t about Diana.” Franco took a calming inhale and reminded himself that losing his cool wasn’t going to do him any favors. “It’s not even about Ellis and his wife. It’s about the team.”
The coach gestured toward the bright-green rectangle of grass just west of the barn. “Look, son. I need to get going. We’ve got back-to-back scrimmages this afternoon.”
Franco jerked his chin in the direction of the practice field. “Who’s your new number 1?”
Ben sighed. “Don’t, Franco.”
“Just tell me who’s wearing my jersey, and I’ll leave.”
“Gustavo Anca.”
“You can’t be serious.” Franco knew Gustavo. He was a nice enough guy, but an average player at best. Ellis was playing it safe. Too safe. “You know he won’t bring in the wins.”
“Yes, but he won’t sleep with the owner’s wife, either.” The older man gave him a tight smile.
Franco’s gaze flitted ever so briefly to Luc sitting atop his horse, doing a series of twisting stretches. He turned in Franco’s direction, and their eyes met.
Franco looked away.
“Listen. Can I give you a piece of advice?”
Whatever he had to say, Franco didn’t want to hear it.
“Move on. Let the other teams know you’re available. Someone is bound to snap you up.”
He shook his head. “Out of the question.”
The Kingsmen were the best. And when Franco had worn the Kingsmen jersey, he’d been the best of the best. He’d earned his place there, and he wanted it back. His horses were there. His teammates. His heart.
Also, if the Kingsmen were already scrimmaging, it could only mean the rosters had been set for the coming season in Bridgehampton. If Franco wanted to play anywhere before autumn, he’d have to go Santa Barbara. Or even as far as Sotogrande, in Spain.
He couldn’t leave. He’d made a promise to the Drakes. And for the time being, his position as the face of Drake Diamonds was the only thing paying his bills.
His hesitancy didn’t have a thing to do with Diana. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
“Think about it. Make a few calls. If another team needs a reference, have them contact me.” Ben shifted from one foot to the other. “But I can only vouch for your playing. Nothing else.”
“Of course.” The tangle of fury inside Franco grew into something dark and terrible. He clamped his mouth shut.
“It was good to see you, but please understand. The situation isn’t temporary.” His coach gave him a sad smile. “It’s permanent.”
* * *
“Miss Drake, you have a visitor.” The doorman’s voice crackled through the intercom of Diana’s borrowed apartment. “Mr. Andrade is on his way up.”
Diana’s hand flew to the Talk button. “Wait. What? Why?”
Franco was here? Now?
There had to be some sort of mistake. They weren’t scheduled to arrive at the Harry Winston party for another hour and a half. She wasn’t even dressed yet. Besides, she’d given the driver strict instructions to pick her up first. She didn’t need Franco anywhere near her apartment. Their lives were already far more intertwined than she’d ever anticipated.
She’d even talked to him about Diamond. Briefly, but still. It had been the closest she’d come to admitting to anyone that she was having trouble moving past her accident. It had also been the first time she’d said Diamond’s name out loud since her fall.
She’d spent the intervening days since the Fur Ball carefully shoring up the wall around her heart again. She went through the motions with Franco, speaking to him as little possible. He was the last person she should be confiding in. His casual reference to Diamond had caught her off guard. She’d had a moment of weakness.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Even if the sight of him with that adorable puppy in his arms made her weak in the knees...she was only human, after all.
The doorman’s voice crackled through the intercom. “I assumed it was acceptable, given the nature of your relationship, that I could go ahead and send Mr. Andrade up.”
The nature of their relationship. Hysterical laughter bubbled up Diana’s throat.
She swallowed it down. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip. She couldn’t reprimand the doorman for sending the purported love of her life up to see her, could she?
The building that housed Dalton’s apartment was one of the most exclusive addresses in Lenox Hill. She wholeheartedly doubted the doorman would be indiscreet. But the press was always looking for a scoop. The last thing she and Franco needed was a headline claiming she’d turned him away from her door.
Diana shook her head. Not she and Franco. She and Artem. The Drakes were the ones who were on the same team. Franco was just an accessory.
A dashing, dangerous accessory.
Three solid knocks pounded on the door and echoed through the apartment. Diana tightened the belt of her satin bathrobe and opened the door.
“Franco, what a pleasant surprise,” she said with forced enthusiasm.
“Diana,” he said flatly.
That was it. No loving endearment. No scandalous quip about her state of near undress. Just her name.
She motioned for him to come inside and shut the door.
Her smile faded as she turned to face him. There was no reason for pretense when they were alone together. Although, now that she thought about it, this was the first time since embarking on their charade that they’d been alone. Truly alone. Everywhere they went, they were surrounded by drivers, photographers, doormen.
A nonsensical shiver passed through her as she looked up at him. His eyes seemed darker than usual, his expression grim.
“What are you doing here?”
Had something happened? Had word gotten out that they’d been faking their love affair? Surely not. Artem would have said something. She’d talked to him on the phone only moments ago, and everything had seemed fine.
“We have a date this evening, do we not?” His words were clipped. Formal.
Diana never thought she’d miss his sexually charged smile and smug attitude, but she kind of did. At least that version of Franco was somewhat predictable. This new persona seemed quite the opposite.
“We do.” She nodded and waited for him to ogle her. She was wearing a white satin minibathrobe, for crying out loud.
He just stood there in his impeccably cut tuxedo with his arms crossed. “Where are we going tonight, anyway?”
“To a party at Harry Winston.”
“The jewelry store?” He frowned. “Isn’t Harry Winston a direct competitor of Drake Diamonds?”
“Yes, but the Lambertis are going to be there.”
“Who?” he asked blithely.
Seriously? They’d been over this about a million times. “Carla and Don Lamberti. They own the diamond, remember? The diamond.”
“Right.” His gaze strayed to her creamy satin bathrobe. Finally. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
“I was. Until you knocked on my door.” This wasn’t the night for Franco to go rogue. Absolutely not. “What’s with you tonight? Is something wrong? Why are you even here?”
His eyes flashed. Something most definitely wasn’t right. “You’re my girlfriend.” He used exaggerated air quotes around the word girlfriend. “Why shouldn’t I be here?”
“Because the car was supposed to pick me up first, and then we were going to collect you in Tribeca. That’s why.”
He eyed her with an intensity that made her feel warm and delicious, like she’d been sipping red wine. “I’m tired of following orders, Diana. Surely I’m not expecting too much if I want to make my own decision regarding transportation to a party.”
“Um...”
“A real couple wouldn’t be picked up at two separate locations. Real lovers would be in bed until the moment it was time to leave. Real lovers would, at the very least, be in the same godforsaken apartment.” An angry muscle twitched in his jaw. Diana couldn’t seem to look away from it. “We need this to look real. I need it to look real.”
She’d never seen Franco this serious before. It shouldn’t have been nearly as arousing as it was. Especially on a night as important as this one.
Diana nodded and licked her lips. “Of course.”
She hadn’t realized he’d cared so much about either the company or the diamond. Wasn’t this whole lovey-dovey act just a paycheck for him? A way to get a little publicity for the Kingsmen?
Why did he care so much?
She realized she didn’t actually know why he’d agreed to participate in their grand charade. Artem had said something about Franco changing his image, but she hadn’t pressed for details. She just wanted to get through their twenty-one days together as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Franco prowled through her living room with the dangerous grace of a panther. “Where’s your liquor cabinet? I need something to pass the time while you’re getting ready.”
Clearly this wasn’t the moment for a heart-to-heart.
She crossed the living room, strode into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of the Scotch that Dalton favored from one of the cabinets. She set it on the counter along with a Waterford highball glass. “Will this do?”
Franco arched a brow. “It’ll work.”
“Good. Help yourself.” She watched as he poured a generous amount and then downed it in a single swallow.
He eyed her as he picked up the bottle again. “Is there a problem, or are you going to finish getting dressed?”
Alarm bells were going off in every corner of her mind. Franco was definitely upset about something. She should call Artem and cancel before Franco polished off the rest of Dalton’s Scotch.
But that wasn’t an option. Not tonight, when they were finally going to come face-to-face with the Lambertis. Their 1,100-carat diamond was the sole reason she was in this farce of a relationship.
She took a deep inhale and pasted on a smile. “No problem at all.”
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Eight
Diana held her breath as they climbed into the Drake limousine, hoping against hope that Franco’s strange, dark mood would go unnoticed by everyone at the gala.
She kept waiting for him to slip back into his ordinary, devil-may-care persona, but somehow it never happened. They made the short trip to Harry Winston in tense silence, and for the first time, the strained, quiet ride seemed to be Franco’s choice rather than hers.
She kept trying to make conversation and loosen him up, but nothing worked. She was beginning to realize how badly she’d behaved toward him over the course of the past week. This must be how he feels every night.
She shouldn’t feel guilty. She absolutely shouldn’t. This wasn’t a real date. Not one of the past seven nights had been real. It had been business. All of it.
It needs to look real. I need it to look real.
As the car pulled up to the glittering Harry Winston storefront at the corner of 5th Avenue and 57th Street—just a stone’s throw from Drake Diamonds—she turned toward Franco.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked.
He met her gaze. The slight darkening of his irises was the only outward sign of the numerous shots of Scotch he’d consumed back at her apartment. Last week she wouldn’t have known him well enough to notice such a subtle change.
“Yes. Are you?”
She felt his voice in the pit of her stomach. “Yes.”
There’s still time to back out. Artem will be inside. Let him charm the socks off the Lambertis.
But making sure the owners of the diamond chose to work with Drake Diamonds was her responsibility. Not her brother’s. And considering it was pretty much her only responsibility, she shouldn’t be passing it off to Artem.
She’d already survived a week as Franco’s faux love interest. Surely they could pull this off for another fourteen days. Franco would get himself together once they were in public. He’d be his usual, charming self.
He had to.
But even walking past the mob of paparazzi gathered in front of the arched entrance and gold-trimmed gate at Harry Winston’s storefront felt different. Franco felt stiff beside her.
Diana missed the warmth of his hand on the small of her back. She missed his playful innuendo. God, what was happening to her? She hadn’t actually enjoyed spending time with him.
Because that just wasn’t possible.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Artem and Ophelia strode straight toward them. When her brother first told her they were coming, Diana had been filled with relief. Tonight was important. She could use all the reinforcements she could get. Now she wished he wasn’t here to witness what suddenly felt like a huge disaster in the making.
“Diana.” Artem kissed her on the cheek, then turned to shake Franco’s hand. “Franco, good to see you.”
The two men exchanged pleasantries while Diana greeted Ophelia. Dressed in a floor-length tulle gown, her sister-in-law looked every inch like the ballerina she’d been before taking the helm of the design department of Drake Diamonds. The diamond tiara Artem had given her as an engagement present was intricately interwoven into her upswept hair.
“You look stunning,” Diana whispered as she embraced the other woman.
“Thank you, but my God. Look at yourself. You’re glowing.” Ophelia grinned. “That sapphire suits you.”
Diana touched the deep blue stone hanging from the diamond and platinum garland around her neck. She’d worn it every night she’d been out with Franco as an homage to their billboard. “Well, don’t get used to it. I doubt my brother is going to let me keep it once this is all over.”
“He won’t have to, remember? He won’t be your boss anymore.” Ophelia winked and whispered, “Girl power!”
Diana’s stomach did a nervous flip. Powerful was the last thing she felt at the moment.
Franco bowed his head and murmured in her ear, “I’m going to fetch some champagne. I’ll be right back.” He was gone before she
could say a word.
Artem frowned after him. “What’s wrong with your boyfriend?”
Diana cast him a meaningful glance. He’s not my boyfriend.
“Sis, I’m being serious. What’s wrong with Franco?” Artem murmured.
So much for Franco’s somber mood going unnoticed.
“He’s fine, Artem. He’s doing a wonderful job, as usual.” Since when did she jump to Franco Andrade’s defense?
“Really? Because he seems a little tense. You’re sure he’s all right?”
Ophelia looped her arm through her husband’s. “Artem, leave Diana alone. She’s perfectly capable of doing her job.”
Thank God for sisters-in-law.
“I never insinuated she wasn’t.” Artem gave Diana’s shoulder an affection little bump with his own. “My concern is about Andrade. He’s letting this whole mess with the Kingsmen get to him.”
Diana blinked. “What mess with the Kingsmen?”
“The fact that he’s been dropped from the team. I’m guessing by his mood that he hasn’t been reinstated yet. But I’m sure you know more about it than I do.” Artem shrugged.
Franco had been fired?
So that’s why he’d signed on with Drake Diamonds. He had as much to gain from their pretend courtship as she did.
But he was one of the best polo players in the world. Why would the Kingsmen let him go? It didn’t make sense. She stared at him across the room and wondered what other secrets he was keeping.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t about to tell Artem that she didn’t have a clue Franco had been cut. This seemed like the sort of thing his girlfriend should know. Even a fake girlfriend.
“He’s fine.” She forced a smile. Doing so was becoming alarmingly easy. She probably shouldn’t be so good at lying. “Really.”
“How is it we’re here, anyway? I feel like we’ve breached enemy territory,” Ophelia whispered.
Diana looked around at the opulent surroundings—pale gray walls, black-and-white art deco tile floor, cut crystal vases overflowing with white hydrangeas—and tried not to be too impressed. She’d never set foot in Harry Winston before. As far as she knew, no Drake ever had. Their father was probably rolling in his grave.
