features settled into a regal expression of practiced calmness.
Too calm for Dalton’s taste. Something was wrong here. Actually, a lot of things were wrong. The clothes, the sudden appearance of actual royalty when he’d been dealing with palace bureaucracy for months, the notable absence of security personnel...
Was he really supposed to believe that a member of the Marchand royal family had flown halfway across the world with a trunkful of priceless family jewels without a single bodyguard in tow?
And then there was the matter of the princess’s demeanor. She might be sitting across from him with a polite smile on her face, but Dalton could sense something bubbling beneath the surface. Some barely contained sense of anticipation. She had the wild-eyed look of a person ready to throw herself off the nearest cliff.
Why did he get the awful feeling that he’d be expected to catch her if something went wrong?
Whatever she was up to, he didn’t want any part of it. For starters, he had more important things to worry about than babysitting a spoiled princess. Not to mention the fact that whatever was happening here was in strict violation of the agreement he’d made with the palace. And he wasn’t about to risk losing the eggs. Press releases had been sent out. Invitations to the gala were in the mail. This was the biggest event the Drake Diamonds flagship store had hosted since it opened its doors on Fifth Avenue back in 1940.
“I see.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll just give the palace a call to confirm the new arrangements.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Aurélie reached to stop him, placing a graceful hand on his wrist.
He narrowed his gaze at her. She was playing him. That much was obvious. What he didn’t know was why.
He leaned back in his chair. “Aurélie, why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re here and then I’ll decide whether or not to make that call?”
“It’s simple. I want a holiday. Not as a princess, but as a normal person. I want to eat hot dogs on the street. I want to go for a walk in Central Park. I want to sit on a blanket in the grass and read a library book.” Her voice grew soft, wistful, with just a hint of urgency. “I want to be a regular New Yorker for these few weeks, and I need your help doing so.”
“You want to eat hot dogs,” he said dryly. “With my help?” She couldn’t be serious.
Apparently she was. Dead serious. “Exactly. That’s not so strange, is it?”
Yes, actually. It was. “Aurélie...”
But he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was going on about open-air buses and the subway and, to Dalton’s utter confusion, giant soft pretzels. What was with her obsession with street food?
“Aurélie,” he said again, cutting off a new monologue about pizza.
“Oh.” She gave a little jump in her chair. “Yes?”
“This arrangement you’re suggesting sounds a bit, ah, unorthodox.” That was putting it mildly. He couldn’t recall ever negotiating a business deal that involved soft pretzels.
She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “I’ve brought you the eggs. Every single one of them. All I ask is that you show me around a little. And let me stay without notifying the palace, or the press, obviously. That’s all.”
So she wanted a place to hide. And a tour guide. And his silence. That’s all.
And face the wrath of the palace when they realized what he’d done? Have the eggs snatched away before the exhibit even opened? Absolutely not. “All the arrangements are in place. I’d have to be insane to agree to this. You realize that, don’t you?”
“Not insane. Just a little adventurous.” She was beginning to have that wild-eyed look again. He could see a whole secret, aching world in her emerald gaze. She leaned closer, wrapping Dalton in a heady floral aroma. Orchids, peonies, something else he couldn’t quite place. Lilacs, maybe. “Live a little, Mr. Drake.”
Live a little. God, she sounded like his brother. And his sister. And pretty much everyone else in his life. “That’s not going to work on me, Your Highness.”
She said nothing, just smiled and twirled a lock of platinum hair around one of her fingers.
Flirting wasn’t going to work either.
He ignored the hair twirling as best he could and shot her a cool look. “The eggs are here, as agreed upon. Give me one legitimate reason why I shouldn’t call the palace.”
She was delusional or, at the very least, spoiled rotten. Did she really think he had time to drop everything he was doing to babysit an entitled princess? He had a company to run. A company in need of a fresh start.
He sat back in his chair, glanced at the Cartier strapped around his wrist, and waited.
He’d give her two more minutes.
That’s all.
* * *
Aurélie was beginning to think she’d made a mistake. A big one.
Granted, she hadn’t exactly thought this whole adventure through. Planning had never been her strong suit. Firing Oliver Martel and demanding that he hand over his suit so she could take his place on the flight to the States had been easy enough. That guy was an arrogant jerk. He needed to go, and he’d made enough passes at her over the course of his employment at the palace for her to have plenty of leverage over him. No problems there.
Impersonating a royal courier had also gone swimmingly. It was startling how little attention the pilot had paid her. He seemed to look right through Aurélie, as if she were a ghost rather than a living, breathing person. Then again, Aurélie had lived in a fishbowl her entire life. She was accustomed to being watched every waking moment of her existence. That’s what this whole charade was about—getting away from prying eyes while she still could. In a few short weeks, her entire life would change. And, if her father got his way, she’d never get this kind of chance again.
Aurélie didn’t regret walking away from her royal duties for a moment. Placing her trust in Dalton Drake, on the other hand, might not have been the wisest idea. For starters, she hadn’t expected the CEO of Drake Diamonds to be so very handsome. Or young. Or handsome. Or stern. Or handsome.
It was unsettling, really. How was she supposed to make a solid case for herself when she was busy thinking about Dalton’s chiseled jaw or his mysterious gray gaze? And his voice—deep, intense and unapologetically masculine. The man could probably read a software manual aloud and have every woman in Manhattan melting at his feet.
But it was his attitude that had really thrown Aurélie off-balance. She wasn’t accustomed to people challenging her, with one notable exception. Her father.
That was to be expected, though. Her father ran a small country. Dalton Drake ran a jewelry store. She’d assumed he would be easy to persuade.
She’d thought wrong, apparently. But he would come around. He had to. Because she was not going to spend her last twenty-one days of freedom staring at the castle walls.
She swallowed. These wouldn’t be her last twenty-one days of freedom.
