by Teri Wilson
“Diana, where’s Franco?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Don’t tell us there’s trouble in paradise!”
She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears. She could hear the photographers shouting even after they’d made it inside the museum.
“Are you okay?” Artem eyed her with concern.
God, she loved her brother. This night was every bit as important for him as it was for her, but his first concern was her broken heart.
She forced a smile and lied through her teeth. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Ophelia whispered. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Artem, call our driver back. Diana should go home.”
As good as that sounded, she couldn’t. She’d made it this far. Surely she could last another few hours. Besides, she couldn’t hide forever. The world would find out about her breakup eventually. It was time to face the music.
She was shocked no one had learned the truth yet. Two days had passed since she’d ended things with Franco. He hadn’t breathed a word to the press, apparently. Which left her more confused than ever.
“Diana, I’d like you to stay.” Artem glanced at his watch. “At least for half an hour. Then you can go straight home. Okay?”
“Artem...” Ophelia implored.
He cast a knowing glance in his wife’s direction, one of those secret signals that spouses used to communicate. Diana would never be on the receiving end of such a look. Obviously.
“Thirty minutes,” he repeated. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“No problem. I told you I’m fine, and I meant it.” For the thousandth time since she’d walked out the door of Franco’s hospital room, the pad of her thumb found the empty spot where her engagement ring used to be.
A lump sprang to her throat.
She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine since the moment she’d seen Franco fall to the ground at the polo match.
She’d thought she’d been ready to be around horses again, but she hadn’t. She’d thought she’d been ready for a real relationship, one that might possibly lead to a real engagement and a real marriage, but she’d been wrong about that, too.
She couldn’t lose anyone again. She’d lost both her mother and her father, and she’d lost Diamond. Enough was enough. She couldn’t marry Franco. Not now. Not ever. If she did and something happened to him—if she lost him, too—she’d never be able to recover.
She shouldn’t even want to marry him, anyway. The man had zero respect for the sanctity of marriage. He’d been fired for sleeping with his boss’s wife, which meant that Diana had somehow fallen for a man who was exactly like her dad.
She’d have to be insane to accept his proposal.
Even though she’d almost wanted to...
“Excuse me.” A familiar voice broke into their trio.
Diana turned to find the last person in the world she ever expected to see. “Luc?”
What on earth was Luc Piero doing at the Met Diamond gala? Had Franco not even told his closest friend that the engagement was off?
“Luc, I’m sorry. There’s been a change of plans. Franco’s not with me tonight.” Or any other night.
He shook his head. “I’m not here for Franco. I came to talk to you.”
“Me?” She swallowed.
What could she and Luc possibly have to talk about?
“Yes. You.” He looked around at their posh surroundings. The Met was stunning on any given day, but tonight was special. Faux diamonds dripped from every surface. It was like standing inside a chandelier. “Is there someplace more private where we can chat?”
She shouldn’t leave. She had a job to do. She had to speak to the Lambertis and pose for photos. And just looking at Luc made her all the more aware of how much she missed Franco.
She shook her head, but at the same time she heard herself agreeing. “Come with me.” She glanced at Artem and Ophelia, who’d been watching the exchange with blatant curiosity. “I’ll be right back.”
She led Luc past the spot where the Lamberti diamond, which had just been officially rechristened the Lamberti-Drake diamond, glowed in a spectacular display case in the center of the Great Hall. Her stilettos echoed on the smooth tile floor as they rounded the corner beneath one of the Met’s sweeping marble archways. When they reached the darkened hall of Greek and Roman art, her footsteps slowed to a stop.
They were alone here, in the elegant stillness of the sculpture collection. Gods and goddesses carved from stone surrounded them on every side. Secret keepers.
Diana was so tired of secrets. She’d spent her entire life mired in them. No one outside the family knew the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. Diana hadn’t been allowed to talk about it. Nor did the public know the identity of Artem’s biological mother. To the outside world, the Drakes were perfect.
So much deception. When would it end?
She turned to face Luc. “What is it? Has something happened to him?”
She hadn’t realized how afraid she’d been until she uttered the words aloud.
Luc wouldn’t have sought her out if what he had to say wasn’t important. The moment he’d asked to speak to her in private, her thoughts had spun in a terrible direction. She remembered what it had felt like to find her mother’s lifeless body on the living room floor...the panic that had shaken her to her core. It had been the worst moment of her life. Worse than her accident. Worse than losing Diamond. Worse than watching Franco’s body break.
Every choice she’d made since the day her mother died had been carefully orchestrated so she’d never feel that way again. And where had it gotten her?
Completely and utterly alone.
But that wasn’t so bad. She could handle loneliness. What she couldn’t handle was the way her heart had broken in two the moment she’d seen Franco’s lifeless body on the ground.
She’d fought her love for him. She’d fought it hard. But she’d fallen, all the same.
“No, he’s fine.” Luc’s brow furrowed. “Physically, I mean. But he’s not fine. Not really. That’s why I’m here.”
Her heart gave a little lurch. “Oh?”
Franco couldn’t possibly love her. Not after the way she’d treated him. He’d been real with her. Unflinchingly, heart-stoppingly real. And she’d refused to do the same.
Worse, she’d judged him. Time and again. She’d acted so self-righteously, when all along they’d both been doing the same thing—running from the past. She’d chosen solitude, and in a way, so had Franco. Neither one of them had let anyone close. Until the day Franco asked her to marry him.
He was ready to leave the past behind. He was moving beyond it, and he’d offered to do so hand in hand with Diana. But she’d turned him down.
She’d spent years judging him, and now she knew why. Not because the things he’d done were unforgivable, but because it was convenient. So long as she believed him to be despicable, he couldn’t hurt her.
Or so she’d thought.
But he hadn’t hurt her, had he? She’d hurt herself. She’d hurt them both.
“He’s in love with you, Diana,” Luc said.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She’d made sure of that.
“You’re wrong. I’ve known Franco all his life, and I’ve never seen him like this before.” The gravity in his gaze brought a pang to her chest. “He misses you.”
She shook her head. “Stop. Please.”
Why was he doing this? She’d nearly made it. Franco was leaving with the Kingsmen in less than twenty-four hours. Once he was gone, she’d have no choice but to put their mockery of a romance behind her and move on. She just had to hold on for one more day.
A single, heartbreaking day.
She
swallowed. “I’m sorry, Luc. But I can’t hear this. Not now.”
She needed to get out of here. She’d thought she could turn up in a pretty gown and smile for the cameras one last time, but she couldn’t. All she wanted to do was climb into bed with her dog and a pint of ice cream.
She gathered the skirt of ball gown in her hands and tried to slip past Luc, but he blocked her exit. He jammed his hands on his hips, and his expression turned tortured. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Diana was afraid to ask what he was talking about. Terrified to her core. She couldn’t take any more. Refusing Franco had been the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do.
But she couldn’t quite bring herself to ignore the torment in Luc’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Luc shook his head. “Franco is going to kill me. But you deserve to know the truth.”
The truth.
A chill ran up Diana’s spine. She had the sudden urge to clasp her hands over her ears.
But she’d been turning her back on the truth long enough, hadn’t she?
No more secrets. No more lies.
“What is it?” Her voice shook. And when Luc turned his gaze on her with eyes filled with regret, she had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.
His gaze dropped to the floor, where shadows of gods and goddesses stretched across the museum floor in cool blue hues. “Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but there’s something you should know.”
Diana nodded wordlessly. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. Instead, she focused on the marble sculpture directly behind him. Cupid’s alabaster wings stretched toward the sky as he bent to revive Psyche with a kiss.
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Tell me,” she whispered, knowing full well there would be no turning back from this moment.
Luc fixed his gaze with hers. The air in the room grew still. Even the sculptures seemed to hold their breath.
“It was me,” he said.
Diana began to shake from head to toe. She wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to keep from falling apart. “Luc, what are you saying?”
“I was the one who had an affair with Ellis’s wife, not Franco.” He blinked a few times, very quickly. His eyes went red, until he stood looking at Diana through a shiny veil of tears. “I’m sorry.”
Diana shook her head. “No.”
She wanted him to take the words back. To swallow them up as if she’d never heard them.
“No!” Her voice echoed off the tile walls.
Luc held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It wasn’t my idea. It was Franco’s. I left my Kingsmen championship ring in Ellis’s bed. He found it and knew it belonged to one of the players. Franco confessed before I could stop him.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” But on some level, she could.
Franco loved Luc like a brother. He wanted to protect him, just as Luc had protected him when he’d been living in his barn and then his home.
She should have figured it out. From the very beginning, she’d suspected there was more to Franco’s termination than he’d admitted. Then, at Argentine Night at the Polo Club, Natalie Ellis had looked right through him.
And Diana had known.
Franco had never touched her.
But Diana had been so ready to believe the worst about him, she’d pushed her instincts aside. What had she done?
“He never anticipated being cut from the team. He was too valuable. But Ellis couldn’t stand the sight of him. I tried to tell the truth. Over and over again. Franco wouldn’t have it.”
She wanted to pound her fists against his chest. She wanted to scream. You should have tried harder.
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Because deep down, she was just as guilty as he was. Guilty of letting the past color the way she saw her future.
I should have believed.
Franco wasn’t her father. Loving him didn’t make her into her mother. And she did love him, despite her best efforts not to.
She’d spent every waking second since her accident trying to protect herself from experiencing loss again, and it had happened anyway. She’d fallen in love with Franco, and she’d lost him. Because she’d pushed him away.
“Tell me this changes things.” Luc searched her gaze. His eyes were red rimmed, but they held a faint glimmer of hope.
“I wish it could.” Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest. She pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone, but it didn’t make a difference. She was choking on her remorse. “He asked me to marry him, Luc. And I turned him down.”
Luc’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I thought you were already engaged. It was in all the papers.”
“He didn’t tell you?” Her voice broke, and her heart broke along with it. “It was never real.”
“He never said a word.”
The fact that Franco never told Luc their relationship was a sham meant something. Diana wasn’t sure what...but it did. It had to. He’d been willing to sacrifice everything for Luc, but he’d let his closest friend believe he was in love. He’d let him think he was going to marry her.
And that made whatever they’d had seem more genuine than Diana had ever allowed herself to believe.
It was real. It had been real all along.
She needed to go to him. What was she doing standing here while he was preparing to leave? “Sorry Luc, there’s something I need to do.”
She turned and ran out of the sculpture gallery, her organza dress swishing around her legs as she ran toward the foyer. But when she rounded the corner, she collided hard against the solid wall of someone’s chest.
A hard, sculpted chest.
She’d know that chest anywhere.
“Franco, you’re here.” She pulled back to look up at him, certain she was dreaming.
She wasn’t. It was him. He was wincing and holding his arm in the sling where she’d banged against it, but it was him. She’d never been so happy to see an injured man in all her life.
“I am.” He smiled, and if her heart hadn’t already been broken, it would have split right in two.
It felt like a century had passed since she’d walked out of his hospital room. A century in which she’d convinced herself she’d never see him again. Never get to tell him the things she should have said when she’d had the chance...
“Franco, there’s something I need to say.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll go with you on tour. Please take me with you.”
His smile faded ever so slightly. “Diana...”
“I just want to be with you, Franco. Really be with you.” She choked back a sob. “If you’ll still have me.”
She felt as if she’d just taken her broken heart and given it to him as an offering. Such vulnerability should have made her panic. But it was far easier than she’d expected. Natural. Right. The only thing making her panic was the thought that she’d almost let him leave Manhattan without telling him how she felt.
She took a deep, shuddering inhale and said the words she’d tried all her life not to say. “I love you. I always have. Take me with you.”
Around them, partygoers glided in the silvery light. The air sparkled with diamond dust. They could have been standing in the middle of a fairy tale.
But as Franco’s smile wilted, Diana plunged headfirst into a nightmare.
“It’s too late.” He took her hands in his, but he was shaking his head and his gaze was filled with apologies that she didn’t want to hear.
She’d missed her chance.
She should have believed.
She should have said yes when she’d had the op
portunity.
“I understand.” She pulled her hands away and began gathering her skirt in her fists, ready to run for the door. Just like Cinderella.
The ball was over.
Everything was over.
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. It would never be okay, and it was all her fault. “I just really need to go...”
“Diana, wait.” Franco stepped in front of her. “Please.”
She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not here, with all of New York watching. Couldn’t he understand that?
But she’d fallen in love while the world watched. She supposed there was some poetic symmetry to having her heart broken while the cameras rolled.
“I can’t.” It was too much. More than she could take. More than anyone could.
But just as she turned away, Franco blurted, “I quit the team.”
Diana stopped. She released her hold on her dress, and featherlight organza floated to the floor. “What?”
“That’s what I meant when I said it’s too late. You can’t go with me on the road because I’m not going.” His mouth curved into a half grin, and Diana thought she might faint. “Did you really think I could leave you?”
He’s not my father.
She’d turned him down, sent him away. And he was still here. He’d stuck by Luc, even when it had come at great personal cost.
Now he was sticking by her. He was loyal in a way she’d never known could be possible.
“You’re afraid,” he said in a deliciously low tone that she felt deep in her center. “Don’t be.”
He moved closer, cupped her face with his left hand. She’d missed him. She’d missed his touch. So, so much. She could have wept with relief at the feel of his warm skin against hers.
“I’m not afraid. Not anymore.” She searched his gaze for signs of doubt, but found only rock-solid assurance. His eyes glittered, as sharp as diamonds.
He dropped his hand, and her fingertips drifted to her cheek, to the place where he’d touched her. She hadn’t wanted him to release her. Too soon, she thought. She needed his hands on her. His lips. His tongue.
