The Princess Problem. Teri Wilson

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      Before he could protest, she reached for the box and removed its plush velvet lid. The entire top portion of the box detached from the base, so all that was left sitting atop the desk was a shimmering, decorated egg covered in pavé diamonds. Pale pink, blush enamel and tiny seed pearls rested on a bed of white satin.

      Aurélie had seen the egg on many occasions, but it still took her breath away every time she looked at it. It glittered beneath the overhead lights, an unbroken expanse of dazzling radiance. Her precious, priceless secret.

      She hadn’t realized how very strange this would feel to share it with someone else. How vulnerable. She felt as though she’d unlocked a treasure chest and offered this strange man her heart. How absurd.

      “I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen this egg before.”

      But there was a hint of a smile dancing on his lips, and when he trained his eyes on Aurélie, she could see the glittering egg reflected in the cool gray of his eyes, and she knew. She just knew.

      Dalton Drake would agree to everything she’d asked.

      “No one has,” she said quietly.

      She didn’t know how she managed to sound so calm, so composed, when she was this close to having the one thing she’d wanted for such a long time. Freedom. However temporary.

      He lifted a brow. “No one?”

      “No one outside the Marchand family.”

      “So there’s a thirteenth egg? I don’t believe it,” he said.

      “Believe it, Mr. Drake. My father gave this egg to my mother on their wedding day. Other than the palace jeweler, no one even knew it existed.” A familiar, bittersweet ache stirred inside Aurélie. She’d always loved the idea of her parents sharing such an intimate secret. Their wedding, their engagement and even their courtship had been watched by the entire world. But they’d managed to save something just for themselves.

      What must it be like to be loved like that? To trust someone so implicitly? She’d never know, whether her father went through with his plans or not.

      Of course, her parents’ fairy-tale romance hadn’t been as real as she’d always believed. Fairy tales never were.

      Her throat grew tight. “I inherited it when my mother died three years ago. Even I was stunned to learn of a thirteenth egg.”

      Many things had surprised her then, but none so much as the shocking details of her parents’ marriage. Her mother was gone, and Aurélie was left with nothing but the egg, a book with gilt-edged pages and a father she realized she’d never really known. And questions. So many questions.

      When had things changed between her parents? Or had the greatest royal romance of the past fifty years always been a lie?

      Her eyelashes fluttered shut and memories moved behind her eyes—her mother and father waltzing in a sweeping circle beneath glittering chandeliers, the whirring of paparazzi cameras and her mother’s elegant features setting into her trademark serene expression. A smile that never quite reached her eyes. How had Aurélie never noticed?

      She opened her eyes and found Dalton watching her intently from across the desk. “Why are you showing this egg to me, Aurélie?”

      Aurélie. Not Princess. Not Your Highness. Just her name, spoken in that deep, delicious voice of his.

      Her head spun a little. Concentrate. “Because, I’d like you to display it in your exhibition.”

      “You’re certain?”

      “Absolutely.” She paused. “On one condition.”

      Dalton gave her a sideways glance. “Just one?”

      “Give me my adventure, Mr. Drake. On my terms. No bodyguards, no notifying the palace, no press. That’s all I ask.” And it was a lot to ask. She had enough dirt on the courier to guarantee he wouldn’t go running to the palace. But someone would notice she’d gone missing. She just didn’t know when.

      It would be a miracle if she got away with this, but she had to try. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t.

      She stood and extended her hand.

      Aurélie had never in her life shaken a man’s hand before. Certainly not the hand of a commoner. In Delamotte, Dalton wouldn’t be permitted to touch her. Under royal protocol, he’d be required to bow from a chaste three-foot distance. “Do we have a deal?”

      “I believe we do.”

      Then Dalton Drake rose to his feet and took Aurélie’s hand in his warm, solid grip.

      Delamotte had never felt so far away.

       Chapter Two

      “So let me get this straight.” Artem Drake, Dalton’s younger brother, pointed at the diamond-and-pearl-encrusted Marchand egg sitting in the middle of the small conference table in the corner of his office and lifted a brow. “You’re saying no one has ever seen this egg before.”

      Dalton nodded and glanced over his shoulder to double-check that he’d closed the door behind him when he’d entered. He didn’t want anyone else on the staff knowing about the egg. Its unveiling needed to be carefully planned, and he couldn’t risk the possibility of a potential leak.

      Satisfied with the privacy of their surroundings, Dalton turned to face his brother again and noted the enormous empty spot on the wall above his desk. The spot where the portrait of their father had hung for the better part of the past thirty years.

      He was a bit taken aback by the painting’s absence, since Artem hadn’t mentioned his plan to remove it. And Drake Diamonds had never been about change. It was about tradition, from the store’s coveted location on Fifth Avenue to the little blue boxes they were so famous for. Drake Diamond blue. The color was synonymous with class, style and all things Drake. It was the shade of the plush carpeting beneath Dalton’s feet, as well as the hue of the silk tie around his neck. If Dalton were to slit his wrists, he’d probably bleed Drake Diamond blue.

      But time changed things, even in places where tradition reigned. Their father was dead. This was no longer Geoffrey Drake’s office. It was Artem’s, despite the fact that there’d never been any love lost between Dalton’s younger brother and their father. Despite the fact that Dalton himself had been groomed for this office since the day he’d graduated from Harvard Business School.

      He was relieved the portrait was gone. Now he’d no longer be forced to stop himself from hurling his glass of scotch at it on nights when he found himself alone in the store after hours. Which was often. More often than not, to be precise.

      Dalton averted his gaze from the empty wall and refocused his attention on Artem. There was no point in dwelling on the wrongness of the terms of their father’s Last Will and Testament. He probably should have expected it. Geoffrey Drake hadn’t been known for his sense of fairness. He certainly hadn’t had a reputation as a loving family man. He’d been shrewd. Calculating. Brusque. As had all the Drake men, Dalton included, for as СКАЧАТЬ