by Teri Wilson
He pointed over his shoulder. This time, he most definitely smiled, and his grin was far too smug for Aurélie’s taste.
Fine, she thought. No, not fine. Good. He was much easier to despise when he was being arrogant. Which, to Aurélie’s great relief, was most of the time.
They walked the next few blocks in silence until they reached a sleek black marble building that appeared to take up an entire city block. Like both of Dalton’s namesake buildings, it had a doorman stationed out front. And gold-plated door handles. And a glittering, grand chandelier Aurélie could see through the polished windows. She squinted up at the sign. Bergdorf Goodman.
Without even setting foot inside, she could tell it was elegant. Tasteful. Expensive. Everything she didn’t want.
She shook her head. “Non.”
Beside her, Dalton sighed. “I beg your pardon?”
Aurélie pretended not to notice the hint of menace in his deep voice. “No, thank you. I’d rather go someplace else.”
“But we haven’t even gone inside.” He eyed her.
Let him be mad. Aurélie didn’t care. The rest of her life would be spent in designer dresses and kitten heels. This was her holiday, not his. She had no intention of spending it dressed like a royal. “I don’t need to go in. I can tell it’s not the sort of place where I want to shop for clothes.”
The doorman’s gaze flitted toward them. He’d looked utterly bored as they approached, but now his expression was vaguely hopeful. She realized he probably thought she and Dalton were a couple in the midst of some sort of domestic squabble.
Dalton lowered his voice. “Aurélie, you need clothes. This building is full of them. Dresses, blouses, pants.” He cast a pointed glance at her legs. “Pajamas.”
Pajamas?
So that’s what this oh-so-urgent shopping spree was about. Dalton had been so horrified to find her wearing his tuxedo shirt this morning that he’d felt the need to cancel all his plans for the day and drag her to this fancy, impersonal department store.
She dropped all attempts at civility. “I’m not going in there, Mr. Drake.”
Aurélie might not be American, but she’d seen Pretty Woman. Several times, actually. She knew precisely what would happen if she followed him inside the boutique. She’d walk out an hour from now looking like a princess from head to toe.
He crossed his arms and stared at her for a moment that stretched on too long. “May I ask why not?”
Intense much?
She felt breathless all of sudden, much to her annoyance. “I have no desire to play the part of Julia Roberts to your Richard Gere.”
His broad shoulders shifted. Not that Aurélie was looking at them, because she wasn’t. Not intentionally anyway. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Of course he didn’t. The man had probably never watched a movie in his life. Or done anything else fun, for that matter. “I’d prefer to go somewhere else. A vintage shop, perhaps?”
“A vintage shop?” He laughed, but somehow didn’t sound the faintest bit amused. “You’re royalty and you want to wear a dead person’s discarded clothes?”
“Yes. I do, even though you seem to be doing your best to make it sound disgusting.”
Aurélie quite liked the idea of browsing through a vintage shop. She’d never shopped at one before, never even seen one. It sounded like fun. Or it would have, if she hadn’t been accompanied by the world’s most surly escort. “Come now, Mr. Drake. You and I both know you have a fondness for old treasures.”
Like imperial jewels.
She very nearly said it, but she didn’t have to.
“Fine, but we’re taking a town car this time.” He stalked to the curb, lifted an arm and a sleek black sedan materialized within seconds. Naturally. Even the traffic in New York obeyed his orders.
“After you.” He held the door open.
“Merci.” Aurélie climbed inside. “So where are we going?”
“Williamsburg. That’s in Brooklyn,” he clarified in his usual stiff tone.
The driver must have overheard, because they soon began a slow crawl across Manhattan. Aurélie had never seen such crowded streets in her life. In Delamotte, the major highway wrapped around a seaside cliff. More people drove mopeds than cars. There were sea breezes and salt air. Here, there were bike messengers zipping between automobiles, musicians on street corners and people selling things in stalls on the sidewalk—newspapers, purses, winter hats and gloves.
She felt suddenly as if she were in the center of everything and the whirling snow, the people and the cars with their blaring horns were all part of some mysterious, magnificent orbit.
So much life, so much movement—it made her giddy. A person couldn’t stand still in a place like this, and Aurélie had been doing just that for such a very long time. All her life, it seemed.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she whispered with an awestruck tremble to her voice.
Dalton regarded her closely. Curiously. “What’s wonderful?”
“This.” She waved a hand toward the scene outside the car windows, where dizzying snow fell on the beating heart of the city. “All of it.”
Dalton looked at her for a beat too long. Long enough for her cheeks to grow warm. Without taking his eyes off her, he spoke to the driver. “Pull over, please.”
The driver’s gaze flitted to the rearview mirror. “Here, sir? We’re only halfway to Brooklyn.”
“Yes, I know,” Dalton said. He knocked on the window and pointed at something outside. Aurélie wasn’t sure what. There was so much to look at, so much to take in. She didn’t know where to look first.
He glanced at Aurélie. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He was leaving? Unbelievable.
“Wait. Where are you going?” Had he sensed a diamond emergency somewhere? Had the store run out of those little blue boxes? She placed a hand on his forearm.
He looked at her fingertips gripping the sleeve of his coat and then met her gaze. “Let go, Aurélie. And for once in your life, could you please do as I say and stay here? I’ll be back momentarily.”
She released his sleeve and crossed her arms. What was she doing, grabbing him like that anyway? Dalton was free to go wherever he liked. She’d actually prefer to spend the rest of the day on her own. Of course she would. “Fine.”
In a flash, he climbed out of the car and shut the door behind him. A flurry of snowflakes blew inside the cab and danced in the air, as soft as feathers. Aurélie watched them drift onto the black leather seat and melt into tiny puddles. And for an odd, empty moment, she felt acutely alone.
She felt like crying all of a sudden, and she didn’t even know why.
Aurélie exhaled slowly, willing the tears that had gathered in her eyes not to fall. What was wrong with her? This was what she wanted. Adventure. Independence. Freedom. All the things her mother had never experienced.
She reached for her Birkin, removed her iPhone from the interior pocket and slipped the SIM card back inside. Now seemed as good a time as any to check her messages and see who all had figured out she’d gone missing.
The phone seemed to take forever to power up and once it finally did, the display didn’t show a single voice mail message. Nor any texts.
That couldn’t be right, could it?
While she was staring at the little screen, the phone rang, piercing the silence of the backseat. It startled her so much that she nearly dropped it.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Maybe it was Dalton. Maybe he was calling to apologize for running off. Not likely. Deep down, she knew it couldn’t be him. The only people who had anything to say to her were on the other side of the world.
She opened her eyes. A glimpse of the display confirmed her deepest fears
. Office of Royal Affairs. Her private secretary.
The palace was looking for her. Aurélie’s heart beat against her rib cage like a wild bird caught in a net. She peered out the window in search of Dalton, but the city had swallowed him up.
She cleared her throat, pressed the talk button and very nearly answered in English, which would have been a massive red flag. Focus. “Allô?”
“Bonsoir, Your Royal Highness.” Bonsoir. Good night. It was already evening in Delamotte, which made it seem somehow farther away, only not quite far enough. “Do you have a moment to go over your schedule for the rest of the week?”
“My schedule?” Aurélie swallowed. What was happening? Had her own staff not even realized she was missing yet? “Of course.”
“As we discussed last week, Lord Clement will be coming to the palace the day after tomorrow to take your picture. The Reigning Prince would like a new photo for the impending press release.”
Aurélie’s stomach churned. Breathe. Just breathe. Lord Clement was the official royal photographer, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends.
“The day after tomorrow isn’t a good day.” Since I’m 4,000 miles away and everything. “We need to reschedule, s’il vous plait.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Your Royal Highness. The press announcement is scheduled for next Friday.”
Aurélie felt like she might be sick all over the backseat. She’d thought if she left Delamotte she could slow things down somehow. She’d only been gone a day and a half, and already she felt different.
But nothing had really changed, had it? They hadn’t even realized she’d gone. She might be in America, but her life in Delamotte was still proceeding as planned. With or without her.
“Your sitting with Lord Clement is scheduled for 4:00 in the afternoon in the state ballroom. The Reigning Prince would like you to wear the gold brocade dress and the Marchand family tiara.” Because apparently, although Aurélie was a grown woman, she wasn’t allowed even the simple freedom of choosing her own clothes.
Her throat grew tight. “I understand.”
“Trés bien. I’ll phone Lord Clement and tell him you’ve confirmed. Au revoir.”
The line went dead before Aurélie could respond. She sat staring at the darkened phone in the palm of her hand. Dread fell over her in a thick, suffocating embrace.
What have I done?
Her escape may have gone unnoticed by royal staffers thus far, but failing to show up for a sitting with Lord Clement most definitely would not. Every royal office in Delamotte would hear about it. As would her father. And possibly even the press. Her face would be on the front page of every newspaper on the French Riviera, beneath the headline Runaway Princess.
Her heart lurched. But it wasn’t too late, was it? If she caught a plane tomorrow, she could be standing in the ballroom with the Marchand family tiara anchored to her head within forty-eight hours. Then next week, she would be headline news for a different reason altogether.
She powered down her phone and removed the SIM card again. Although she wasn’t even sure why she bothered. She should go home. Leaving hadn’t changed anything. Not really. Staying in New York wouldn’t, either. She couldn’t outrun her destiny. Believing that she could was just a naïve, reckless mistake. Her mother hadn’t been able to escape, and neither could she.
The car door opened, and suddenly Dalton was back inside the car in a flurry of snow and frosty wind. He slid in place beside her, holding a tissue-wrapped bundle. Aurélie tried her best to focus on him without really looking at him. She couldn’t face him. Not after the phone call.
She was confused enough as it was without having to worry about what he’d have to say if she turned tail and ran back home. After everything she’d put him through—the disappearing, the dog, the constant arguing—he’d be furious. Or quite possibly relieved. Aurélie wasn’t sure which she preferred.
“Look at me,” he ordered. He cupped her face and forced her to meet his gaze. “Aurélie, is something wrong?”
Yes. Everything is wrong.
“No.” She smiled her perfectly rehearsed princess smile, slid her cell phone back inside her purse and concentrated all her efforts on keeping her tears at bay.
But she felt his gaze on her, hot and penetrating. She couldn’t look him the eye. She just couldn’t. If she did, the truth would come tumbling out of her mouth. All of it. Her father’s plans. The looming palace announcement. If she said the words aloud, they would feel real. And she so desperately needed to believe they weren’t.
Just a little bit longer.
She focused instead on the knot in his Drake-blue tie. “Where have you been?”
“Getting this for you.” He handed her the tissue-wrapped bundle. It warmed her hands.
Aurélie’s defenses dropped, and she stared at him in disbelief. “You bought me a gift.”
He frowned, which in no way diminished the potency of his chiseled good looks. “No, I didn’t.”
She looked at the plain white package in her lap and then back up at Dalton. He seemed nearly as surprised by this strange turn of events as she was. “Yes, you did.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too excited. Trust me. It’s nothing.”
She couldn’t imagine what it could be, but something told her it meant more than Dalton was letting on. He wasn’t the kind of man to waste time with frivolity.
With great care, she peeled back the tissue. When she realized what he’d done, she couldn’t seem to utter a word. She blinked to make sure what she was seeing was real—a hot dog. He’d gotten her a hot dog.
“It’s a metaphor.” He shrugged as though he were right, as if this silly little gesture meant nothing at all, when to Aurélie, it meant everything. “With mustard.”
She didn’t fully understand what happened next. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight after getting the call from the palace. Maybe the thought of going back home had broken something inside her. Maybe she no longer cared what happened to her at all.
Because even though she knew it was undoubtedly the gravest mistake of her life, Her Royal Highness Aurélie Marchand tossed her hotdog aside, grabbed Dalton Drake by the lapels and kissed him as though she wasn’t already engaged to another man.
Chapter Five
The engagement wasn’t quite official, but the royal wedding was already scheduled to take place in just under three months at the grand cathedral in Delamotte. Top secret of course, until the palace made its big announcement in twenty days.
Not that Aurélie was keeping track of the days, exactly. On the contrary, she’d been trying rather aggressively not to think about her pending engagement at all. As it turned out, though, being married off to a man thirty years her senior, a man she’d yet to actually meet in person, was something she couldn’t quite make herself forget. No matter how very hard she tried.
Kissing Dalton Drake, however, proved to be a powerful diversion. Frighteningly powerful. The moment Aurélie’s lips came crashing down on his, the constant ache in her heart seemed to tear wide open. It was excruciating. And exquisite. She was aware of nothing but sensation. Sensation so sweetly agonizing that there wasn’t room for a single thought in her head. How was it possible to feel so beautifully broken?
His mouth was cold from the snowstorm, his tongue like ice as it moved against hers. Deep. Devouring. Delicious. God, was this what kissing was supposed to be like? Because it wasn’t close to anything Aurélie had experienced before. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. And were those whimpering noises echoing in the interior of the car actually coming from her?
She should have been embarrassed, but she didn’t seem to be capable of feeling anything but longing. Longing as hard and bright as a diamond. She’d needed to be kissed like this. She’d needed it so badly.
No, she real
ized. She hadn’t needed this. She’d needed him. Dalton Drake.
“Oh Aurélie,” he whispered, his breath now warm and wonderful against her lips.
Then he slid his hands into her hair, cradling the back of her head, pulling her closer. Closer, until their hearts pounded against each other and she could no longer tell where hers ended and his began.
If her actions had caught Dalton off guard, he certainly didn’t let it show. On the contrary, the way he went about ravishing her mouth gave her the very real sense that he’d been ready for this. Ready and waiting, for perhaps as long as Aurélie had been waiting for something like this herself. Maybe even longer.
But that couldn’t be true. Dalton had made it clear he was merely tolerating her until the imperial eggs went on display. And that was okay, because she’d never be a real part of his life, and he would never be part of hers. Nothing about her time in New York was real.
The kiss sure felt real, though. More than the crown on her head or the white dress she’d slip over her head in less than a month. This is what life is supposed to be like, she thought. This was passion. Raw. Bold. Blazing hot.
And wrong. So very, very wrong.
Would her husband ever kiss her like this? Would he twirl her gold pearls around his fingertips and use them to pull her into his lap like Dalton was doing? Would she thrill at the press of his erection through their clothes as she sat astride him? Would she have to stop herself from reaching for his zipper and begging him to enter her in the backseat of a town car in full view of the driver and all of greater Manhattan?
No.
Despite her staggering level of inexperience in the bedroom, Aurélie knew how rare this connection was. She sensed it. And as surely as she sensed it, she knew that no man’s lips would ever touch her like this again. No other man would kiss her like she was a gemstone, cool and shimmering. A precious object that had been buried somewhere dark and deep, waiting for a kiss of perfect heat to bring her volcanic heart to the surface. Only this man. Only this place and time.