were almost beyond comprehension.
The pinks were easily forty karats each, just as she had requested. She had determined the size she’d need by estimating that the Stefani diamond, in its original form, was said to have weighed approximately one hundred and ninety carats, meaning it had been even bigger than the fabled Darya-ye Noor, a pale pink diamond that had been mined in India hundreds of years ago and then became part of the Persian crown jewels.
Thus, the half of the Stefani pink diamond now in the Aristan crown would weigh somewhere around eighty carats, since some material would have been lost when the stone was split. The pink diamond that would be the focal point in the queen’s necklace would have to be of a size to complement the one in the crown.
These incredible pink ovals would look the same to the untrained eye, but Maria could see a slight variation in color. The only way to choose the proper stone for the queen’s necklace would be to check both against the pink diamond in the crown. The palace had provided her with photos of it but no photo could capture the soul of a diamond, or the subtleties of its color, especially when it was half of the legendary Stefani stone.
Carefully, she returned the pink diamonds to their tray. Her design couldn’t be changed now, nor did she want to change it, but diamonds, born in the extreme pressure and heat of the earth’s forming crust millions of years ago, all had their own characteristics. Her plans needed simple refining. Nothing anyone but she would notice. A filigree of gold here, a millimeter less in depth there.
First, though, she had to call Joaquin and Sela and let them know she was all right. She hadn’t had the chance to do it last night…
Better not to think about that.
She used her cell phone, left a brief message about the commission on their voice mail, with no mention of the very personal contract terms that involved the prince.
“I’m very happy,” she said. And, at the moment, that was the truth. She had the perfect workshop. The best tools. And the most magnificent diamonds imaginable.
Maria hitched her hip onto a stool, pulled a pad and pencil toward her and began to sketch. Yes, she thought as she lost herself in the work she loved, she could make her design even more pleasing to the eye. And thinking about diamonds was far safer than thinking about the man to whom she’d all but sold herself. The man who would claim her later tonight, who would take her to his bed, make love to her as he had all those weeks ago. She would hold back, hold back… but, in the end, she knew she would sob his name, open her mouth, her body to his. She would be lost in his arms, in his strength and beauty and passion.
She forced the treacherous thoughts from her mind, put all her energy into her ideas for the necklace and the diamonds. They, at least, would never hurt her.
The sun shifted in the sky. She never noticed. She sketched, erased, sketched… And yawned. Yawned again. She was tired all the time lately. This time, at least there was a reason. It had to be jet lag, catching up to her.
As she had done many times over the last couple of weeks, Maria set her work aside, folded her arms on the table, lowered her head and rested her cheek on them.
Just a few seconds, to clear the cobwebs from her brain, she thought. Just a few seconds…
Jet lag, Alex kept telling himself. That was why he felt so damned irritable.
Besides, it was unreasonable for his father to have demanded a meeting now, but that was Aegeus’s way. What the king wished, others must do. And today, this very afternoon, what Aegeus wished was to meet with his three sons and discuss plans for the construction of another high-rise complex in Ellos.
There was no point to such a discussion.
For one thing, the construction was already underway. For another, Alex was in charge of the project. He had taken over development on Aristo more than eight years ago, with Aegeus’s grudging blessing.
“You might as well get some use out of that MBA of yours,” he’d said, which was as close as he’d ever come to acknowledging that his second son was now more qualified than he to oversee the kingdom’s booming economy.
This meeting was just a not so subtle reminder that Aegeus was still Aegeus, Alex thought as he sat at the conference table in the king’s palace office. As if any of them could ever forget that.
“… twenty stories, Alexandros, but why not thirty?”
Alex looked up from the doodles he’d been making on the yellow notepad before him. Aegeus’s eyes were focused on him. His younger brother, Andreas, seated beside him, nudged Alex’s foot with his under the table. His older brother, Sebastian, seated opposite, raised his eyebrows.
“Didn’t you say the architect agrees that twenty stories for the center building would be right, Alex?” he said smoothly.
“Yes,” Andreas chimed in, “twenty stories so that the view of the harbor would not be blocked from the condominium complex on the heights, right, Alex?”
“That’s correct,” Alex replied. Sebastian grinned. You owe us, big time, that grin said. Well, hell. That was how it had always been, the three brothers bailing each other out of hot water when their father turned a stern eye on any one of them.
Aegeus looked grim, but then he looked that way most of the time. He looked tired, too, Alex noticed, and thinner than usual.
“Are you feeling all right, Father?” he said.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “I’m feeling fine, thank you,” he said brusquely. “Fine enough to ask a few more questions—that is, if you can manage to keep your attention on our discussion a bit longer.”
Alex felt a muscle knot in his jaw. “What else do you want to know, Father?”
“Have you settled the woman in?”
“Excuse me?”
“The woman. Mary Santos. Is she settled in?”
“Her name is Maria,” Alex said carefully. “And I thought we were talking about the Ellos convention center.”
“We were. Now we’re talking about the person who’ll make your mother’s gift. What is she like?”
“She is, ah, she is talented.”
Talented, indeed.
“I assumed that,” his father said impatiently. “But what is she like? I am to meet her tonight, at dinner. Will she be able to carry on a conversation with some intelligence, or is she one of those leftover flower children who walks around barefoot?”
Sebastian coughed. Andreas cleared his throat. Alex shot them both looks that promised trouble when they were alone.
“She’s a designer, Father,” he said carefully. “A New Yorker. I’m sure you’ll find her interesting and able to hold her own at the dinner table.”
And more than able to hold her own everywhere else. In bed, for instance, where he should have been with her, right now.
“I assume you’ve put her in a suite at The Grand Hotel.”
“No.” Alex hesitated.
