by Teri Wilson
Diana sighed. She was suddenly more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life. So many lies. She couldn’t tell another one. Not to her brother. “I don’t know when it happened, exactly.”
Slowly. Yet, somehow, all at once.
Was it possible that she’d loved him all along, since the first night they’d been together, back when she was twenty-two?
“This is awful. Artem. What am I going to do?” She dropped her head into her hands.
Artem bent and whispered in her ear. “There are worse things in the world than falling for your fiancé.”
She peered up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “You seem to be forgetting the fact that we’re not actually engaged. Also, I know for certain that you hate the thought of Franco and me.”
His brow furrowed. “When exactly did I say that?”
She sat up straight and met his gaze. “The day of the Lamberti diamond announcement. And the morning the engagement was listed in the newspaper. And possibly a few other times over the course of the past four weeks.”
He shook his head. “Clearly you weren’t listening.”
“Of course I was. You’re not all that easy to ignore, my darling brother. Believe me, I’ve tried.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
She felt like she was wearing her heart on the outside of her body all of a sudden. It terrified her to her core.
The giddy, bubbly feeling that came over her every time she looked at Franco was probably the same thing her mother had experienced when she’d looked at Diana’s father. His long list of mistresses had no doubt felt the same way about him, too.
Fools, all of them.
Artem reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I never said I didn’t like the idea of you and Franco having a genuine relationship.”
Could that be true? Because it wasn’t the way she remembered their conversations. Then again, maybe she’d been the one who found the idea so repugnant, not Artem.
He leveled his gaze at her. “I was concerned about your pretend relationship. It seemed to be spinning out of control, far beyond what I intended when I make the mistake of suggesting it. But if it’s real...”
If it’s real.
That was the question, wasn’t it?
She would have given anything in exchange for the answer.
Ophelia returned to the table as the next chukker began. Diana redirected her attention to the field, where Franco cut a dashing figure atop his striking black horse. Seconds after the toss-in, he was once again ahead of the other players, smacking the ball with his mallet and thundering toward the goal.
But just as he reached the far end of the field, a player from the other team cut diagonally between him and the ball.
“That’s an illegal move,” Artem said tersely.
Diana could hear Franco yelling in his native tongue. Aléjate! Away! But the player bore down and forced his horse directly in front of Franco’s ebony gelding.
Somewhere a whistle sounded, but Diana barely heard it. Her pulse had begun to roar in her ears as Franco and his horse got lost in the ensuing fray. She flew to her feet to try and get a better look. All she could see amid the tangle of horses, players and mallets was a flash of dazzling black.
Just like Diamond.
Her throat grew tight. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. She reached for Artem, grabbed his forearm. The emerald grass seemed too bright all of a sudden. The sky, too blue. Garish. Like something out of a nightmare. And the black horse was a terrible omen.
No. She shook her head. Please, no.
There was a sickening thud, then everything stopped. There was no more noise. No more movement. Nothing.
Just the horrific sight of Franco lying facedown on top of that glaring green lawn. Motionless.
* * *
Franco heard his body break as it crashed into the ground. There was no mistaking the sound—an earsplitting crack that seemed as though it were echoing off the heavenly New York sky.
The noise was followed by a brutal pain dead in the center of his chest. It blossomed outward, until even his fingertips throbbed.
He squeezed his eyes closed and screamed into the grass.
Walk it off. It’s nothing. You’ve been waiting for this chance for months. You can’t get sidelined with an injury. Not now.
He moved. Just a fraction of an inch. It felt like someone had shot him through the left shoulder with a flame-tipped arrow. At least it wasn’t his playing arm.
Still, it hurt like hell. He took a deep breath and rolled himself over with his right arm. He squeezed his eyes closed tight and muttered a stream of obscenities in Spanish.
“Don’t move,” someone said.
Not someone. Diana.
He opened his eyes, and there she was. Kneeling beside him in the grass. The wind lifted her hat, and it went airborne. She didn’t seem to notice. She just stared down at him, wide-eyed and beautiful, as her dark hair whipped in the wind.
For a blissful moment, Franco forgot about his pain. He forgot everything but Diana.
If she was putting on an act, it was a damned convincing one. Something in his chest took flight, despite the pain.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that?” He winced. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt.
Especially the peculiar way Diana was looking at him. As if she’d seen a ghost. “Why are you sitting up? You shouldn’t be moving.”
“And you shouldn’t be on the field. You’re going to get hurt.” She was on her hands and knees in the grass, too close to the horses’ hooves. Too ghastly pale. Too upset.
She remembers.
He could see it in the violet depths of her eyes—the agony of memory.
“I’m going to get hurt? Look at you, Franco. You are hurt.” She peered up at the other riders. “Someone do something. Get a doctor. Call an ambulance. Please.”
Luc had already dismounted and stood behind her with the reins to his horse as well as Franco’s in his hand. He passed the horses off to one of their other teammates and knelt beside Diana. “The medics are coming, Diana. Help is on its way. He’s fine. See?”
She blinked and appeared to look right through him. Franco wished he knew what was going on in her head. Which part of her horrific accident was she remembering?
He’d known she was having trouble coming to terms with what had happened to her...with what had happened to Diamond. But he’d never once suspected that she remembered her accident. She’d had a concussion. She’d been unconscious. Those memories should have been mercifully lost.
No wonder she’d had such a hard time moving on.
“Diana, look at me.” He reached for her, and a hot spike of pain shot through his shoulder. He cursed and used his right arm to hold the opposite one close to his chest.
A collarbone fracture. He would have bet money on it.
It was a somewhat serious injury, but not the worst thing in the world. With any luck he’d be back on the field in four weeks. Six, tops.
But he didn’t care about that right now. All he cared about was the woman kneeling beside him...the things she remembered...the fear shining in her luminous eyes.
He’d been such an idiot.
The list of things he’d done wrong was endless. He shouldn’t have pushed her to overcome her fears. He shouldn’t have ridden a jet-black horse today. He damn well shouldn’t have pressured her into watching him play.
He wished he could go back in time and change the things he’d said, the things he’d done. He would have given anything to make that happen. He’d never set foot on a polo field again if it meant he could turn back the clock.
If that were possible—if he could step back in time, he’d walk...run...all the way to the first moment he’d touched her. Not las
t night. Not last week.
Three years ago.
“Diana, I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
But his assurances were lost in the commotion as the medical team reached him. He was surrounded by medics, shouting instructions and cutting his shirt open so they could assess his injuries. Someone shone a light in his eyes. When the spots disappeared from his vision, he could see the game officials clearing the horses and riders away. Giving him space.
He couldn’t see Diana anymore. Suddenly, people were everywhere. Jack Ellis loomed over him, his expression grave. The emergency medical team was carrying a stretcher out onto the field.
Franco looked up at Ellis. “Is all of this really necessary? It’s a collarbone. I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s hope so,” Ellis said coldly. “We need you on the tour.”
Luc cleared his throat. His gaze fixed on Franco’s, and Franco felt...
Nothing.
For months this was all he’d wanted. Polo was his life. Since he’d left home at eleven, he’d lived and breathed it. Without it, he’d been lost. The thought of losing it again, even for a few weeks, combined with the look on Ellis’s face should have filled him with panic.
He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that it didn’t.
“Diana,” he said, ignoring Ellis and focusing instead on Luc. “Where is she? Where did she go?”
“She’s with her brother.” Luc jerked his head in the direction of the reserved tables.
“Go find her.” Franco winced. The pain was getting worse. “Bring her to the hospital. Please.”
Luc nodded. “The second the game is over, I will.”
The game.
Franco had all but forgotten about the scrimmage. He’d turned his life upside down to get back on the team, and in a matter of seconds it no longer mattered.
Slow down. This is your life. She’s a Drake. You’re not. Remember?
Diana would be fine.
She was a champion. She’d come so far in conquering her fears in recent weeks. She was close. So close. His fall had been nothing like hers. Of course she’d been rattled, but by the time he saw her again, she’d be okay.
He clung to that belief as the paramedics strapped him to a stretcher and lifted him into an ambulance.
But the look on Diana’s face when she walked into his hospital room however many hours later hurt Franco more than his damned arm did. The person standing at his bedside was a ghost of the woman he’d taken to bed the night before. Memories moved in the depths of her amethyst eyes.
Painful remembrance.
And stone-cold fear.
Franco had seen that look before in the eyes of spooked horses. Horses that had been through hell and back, and flinched at even the gentlest touch. It took years of patience and tender handling to get those horses to trust a man again. Sometimes they never did.
“You’re here.” He shifted on the bed, and a spike of pain shot from his wrist to his shoulder. But he didn’t dare flinch. “I’m glad you came.”
She gave him an almost invisible smile. “Of course I came. I’m your fiancée, remember? How would it look if I weren’t here?”
So they’d gone from making love to just keeping up appearances. Again. Marvelous.
“Sweetheart.” He reached for her hand and forced himself to speak with a level of calmness that was in direct contrast to the panic blossoming in his chest. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I promise.”
She nodded wordlessly, but when she quietly removed her hand from his, the gesture spoke volumes. He was losing her. It couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it, damn it. Not this time. Not for good.
“Diana...”
“I’m fine.” There was that forced smile again. “Honestly.”
He didn’t believe her for a minute, and he wasn’t in the mood to pretend he did. Hadn’t they been pretending long enough? “You’re not fine, Diana.”
She stared at him until the pain in her gaze hardened.
Go ahead, get mad. Just feel something, love. Anything. “Be real with me.”
She shook her head. “We had an agreement, Franco.”
“Screw our agreement.” She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “There’s more here than a fake love affair. We both know there is.”
“Stop.” She exhaled a ragged breath. “Please stop. The gala is in two days, and so is the Kingsmen tour.”
“Do I look like I’m in any kind of condition to play polo right now?” He threw off the covers and climbed out of the hospital bed. There was too much at stake in this conversation to have it lying down.
“You’re going on the tour. Luc said Ellis is insisting that you come along. As soon as your injury heals, you’ll be right back in the saddle.” Her gaze shifted to his splint, and she swallowed. Hard.
“I’ll always ride. It’s not just my job. It’s my life.” Using his good arm, he reached to cup her cheek. When she didn’t pull away, it felt like a minor victory. “It’s yours, too, Diana. That’s one of the things that makes us so good together. You’ll ride again. You will. When you’re ready, and I intend to be there when it happens.”
She backed out of his reach. So much for small victories. The space between them suddenly felt like an impossibly vast gulf. “Go on tour, Franco. You’ll be fired again if you don’t.”
Franco sighed. “I highly doubt that.”
“It’s true. Ask Luc. Apparently your coach wants to keep an eye on you.” Her gaze narrowed. “I guess he doesn’t want to leave you behind with his wife.”
Shit. That again.
“Natalie Ellis means nothing to me, Diana. She never did.”
“That’s not such a nice way to talk about a woman you slept with. A woman who was married, I might add.”
Franco followed her gaze to her ring finger, where her Drake Diamonds engagement ring twinkled beneath the fluorescent hospital lighting. He watched, helpless, as she slid it off her hand.
No. Every cell in his body screamed in protest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m breaking up with you.” She opened her handbag and dropped the ring inside. Her gaze flitted around the room. She seemed to be looking anywhere and everywhere but at him.
“Why remove the ring? It’s not as if I actually gave it to you.” Would she have been able to remove it so easily if he had?
He hoped not, but he couldn’t be sure.
“I still think it’s a good idea to take it off. You know, in case the press...”
“You think I still give a damn what the press thinks? Here’s a headline for you—I don’t. This isn’t about our agreement. It’s not about Drake Diamonds or Natalie Ellis. It sure as hell isn’t about the press. What’s happening in this room is about you and me, Diana. No one else.”
He’d fallen off his horse—something he’d done countless times before with varying degrees of consequences. Over the course of his riding career, he’d broken half a dozen bones and survived three concussions. But never before had a fall caused so much pain.
“Diana, you’re afraid. But I’m fine. I promise. Now stop this nonsense. We have a gala to attend in two days.”
She shook her head. “We had a deal, and now it’s over. We both got what we wanted. It’s time to walk away.”
“Don’t do this, Wildfire.” His voice broke, but he couldn’t have cared less. The only thing he cared about was changing her mind.
He wasn’t sure when, but somewhere along the way he’d stopped pretending. He had feelings for Diana Drake. Feelings he had no intention of walking away from.
“Marry me.”
Her face went pale. “You’re not serious.”
“I am. Quite.” He’d never wanted this. Never asked for it. But he did now. The future suddenly seemed
crystal clear.
She saw it, too. He knew she did. She could close her eyes as tightly as she wanted, but it was still there. Diamond bright.
“I’ll marry you right now. We could go straight to the hospital chapel. Just say yes.” They could have a fancy ceremony later on. Or not. Franco didn’t care. He just wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. “Come on the tour with me, Diana. I don’t want to do this without you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re not. You’re just confused. I am, too. But it’s not real. We’re not real. You know that as well as I do.”
“All I know is that I’m in love with you, Diana.”
“Is that what you told Natalie Ellis? Were you in love with her too?” Diana’s gaze narrowed. “You slept with a married woman, Franco. Your boss’s wife. Do you even believe in marriage?”
What was he supposed to say to that?
I never slept with her.
I lied.
She’d never believe him. “There’s never been anyone else, Diana. Only you.”
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question, does it? I can’t marry you, Franco. Don’t you see that? I might be a Drake, but I’m not my mother. She stood by the man she loved, even as he slept with every other woman who crossed his path. It killed her. It would kill me, too.”
Then Diana turned and walked right out the door, and Franco was left with only the devastating truth.
He knew nothing.
Nothing at all.
Chapter Eighteen
The Met Diamond gala was supposed to be the most triumphant moment of Diana’s fledgling career as a jewelry executive, but she dreaded it with every fiber of her being. She should have been walking up the museum’s legendary steps on Franco’s arm. She couldn’t face the possibility of doing so alone. Not when every paparazzo in the western hemisphere would be there, wondering what had happened to her famous fiancé. She’d rather ride naked through the streets of Manhattan, Lady Godiva-style. But she’d made a promise, and she intended to honor it.
Thank God for Artem and Ophelia. Not only did they ride with her in the Drake limo, but they also flanked her as she climbed the endless marble staircase. She didn’t know what she would have done without them. Artem slipped her arm through his and effectively held her upright as she was assaulted by thousands of flashbulbs and an endless stream of questions.
