her with his every touch, every hot glance.
It wouldn’t last. Like Cinderella’s, her dress would disappear at the end of the night. She couldn’t keep these things. She wouldn’t let him buy her. She wouldn’t let him seduce her.
But…for this one night, she could be the woman these clothes had created. She would have one night of magic. One night to be seen.
She would be the princess in the fairy tale.
The limo pulled smoothly to a stop at the curb. Maksim got out of the car and opened her door himself. Holding her arm in his own, steadying her on the icy sidewalk beneath the softly falling snow, he led her down a popular Covent Garden street filled with pubs and restaurants. Her black shearling coat swished against her ankles as she walked. Between the coat and Maksim’s hand on hers, she felt warm in the frozen winter air.
“This way.” He led her into a stately Victorian building, through a hidden door beside a chic tavern. She saw an elegant foyer, complete with a crystal chandelier, a front desk concierge and a security guard.
“Where are we going?”
“The top two floors of this building were converted into a penthouse.” He gave her a brief smile. “A loft.”
She stopped dead on the marble floor. “I’m not going to spend the evening alone with you at your house!”
“I don’t live here. My sister does.” He gave a careless shrug as he led her into a gilded elevator. “It’s a bit colorful for my taste.”
“So why did you buy it?”
Pressing on the elevator button, he looked down at her. “The Sheikh of Ramdah thought he could steal a pipeline deal from me. Instead I took his company and his favorite home in the bargain. To teach him a lesson.”
The coldness in his voice made her shiver even more. “That’s a bit ruthless, isn’t it?” she ventured.
He gave a grim smile. “I protect what is mine.”
When they arrived at the top floor, he knocked on the door. A ponderous, stiffly formal butler opened it to welcome them. His eyes widened. “Your Highness!”
“Oh!” A beautiful black-haired girl suddenly pushed past the butler to fling herself into Maksim’s arms. “You’re here! I can’t believe you’re here!”
He hugged her awkwardly, then drew back. “I wouldn’t miss my own sister’s birthday party.”
“Liar,” the girl said with a laugh. “You’ve missed the last two! And don’t think expensive gifts make up for your absence. I don’t need another Aston-Martin convertible, I need a brother—” She saw Grace and drew back in surprise. “But who’s this?”
“A friend,” he said.
“Funny, you’ve never bothered bringing ‘friends’ around before.” She looked at Grace inquisitively, then pulled them both inside. “But I’m being rude. Come in! Come in!”
As the butler took their coats, the girl turned her piercing gray eyes, so much like her brother’s, on Grace. “I’m Dariya Rostova.”
Of course Grace knew the famous Princess Dariya, the fun-loving party girl who was constantly in the papers with her gorgeous friends. Pale and model slender in her silver sequin minidress, she wore a diamond tiara in her straight black hair.
Beneath her examination, Grace felt shy and out of place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were going to a birthday party,” she stammered. “I’m afraid I don’t have a gift.”
Dariya suddenly smiled, and her lovely face lit up with warmth. “It wouldn’t have even occurred to Francesca to bring a gift, so I already like you loads better. If you ask me, that woman was a snooty dry stick draped in furs.”
“Dariya,” her brother warned.
“What’s your name?” his sister said, ignoring him. She cleared her throat. “Grace.”
“Well, Grace, you’ve actually brought the best present of the night.” She beamed up at her brother fondly. “Come say hello to everyone!”
Dariya led them into the enormous loft, with soaringly high ceilings and big windows overlooking St. Martin’s Lane. In the center of the room, a sharp, metallic chandelier held multicolored orbs for lights. Amid the vast space of the open-walled apartment, the furniture was a cross between 1960s retro and cartoon-ish avant-garde. Grace looked with dismay at backless chairs that were shaped like ripe strawberries.
“Look everyone,” Dariya announced happily. “Look who came! And he even brought a friend. Everyone, say hello to Grace!”
As a cheer of welcome went around the room, Grace felt happy in a way she hadn’t felt for months. She suddenly realized how much she’d missed having friends. She hadn’t kept up with her old friends since she’d started working for Alan, much less tried to make new ones. She’d given up the idea of friends or hobbies or anything but being Alan’s perfect on-call secretary.
But now…
The laughing, friendly group around her reminded Grace of bonfires on the beach when she’d been in school, before her father had died. Before she’d started working for Alan. Back when her life had been simple and easy. She ached remembering the fun she’d had, getting together with friends to eat, drink, talk and laugh.
The only difference being that these people were all impossibly rich and good-looking. And that the party was in an artistic, soaring two-floor loft that had once been the treasured possession of the Sheikh of Ramdah.
“I told you Maksim would come!” Dariya said triumphantly to a young man hovering nearby. “You owe me ten pounds!”
“Best bet I’ve ever lost. Hello, Maksim. Lovely to meet you, Grace,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for putting a smile on my girl’s face.”
“Your girl?” Dariya tossed her dark hair. “In your dreams, Simon!”
Maksim growled something incomprehensible to the aristocratic young man. He was obviously being protective, but it still seemed rude. Grace cleared her throat and turned to Dariya. “So it’s your twenty-fifth birthday?”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. She suddenly looked alarmed, putting her hands on her perfect face. “Do I look it?”
Grace laughed, then pointed at the hand-painted banner slung from the high, frescoed ceiling that read, Happy Twenty-fifth Birthday, Dariya! It was a charming homemade touch amid all the exorbitantly expensive, bright, sharp modernity.
“Oh. Right.” The girl followed her glance with a sigh. “A quarter of a century, and what have I done with my life?”
“I just turned twenty-five on Sunday,” Grace said sympathetically, “and I spent the day huddled in my flat in total denial.”
“No, really!” Dariya exclaimed. “Not even a party?”
“My boss gave me a gift card for a week’s worth of lunches at my favorite Japanese restaurant.”
