The Princess Problem

She stared at the happy couples, unabashed in their affection, and felt as though she were disappearing. Fading into the tasteful cream-colored wallpaper.

None of this is real, she told herself. She didn’t believe any of it for a minute.

She wanted to, though. Oh how she wanted to. She wanted to believe that happy endings were real, that love could last, that marriage was something more than just another transaction. A business deal.

A bargain.

But she didn’t dare, because believing the fairy tale would hurt too much. Believing would mean admitting she was missing out on something she’d never have. Something worth more than deep crimson rubies, cabochon emeralds and the entire collection of imperial Marchand eggs.

Why was the elevator taking so long? She pushed the button a few more times, yet still jumped in surprise when the chime signaled the elevator’s arrival. The doors swished open, and she half ran, half stumbled inside.

A hand caught her elbow. “Are you all right, miss?”

She blinked up at the elevator attendant dressed in a stylish black suit, pristine white shirt and a bowtie the same hue as the Windsor knot that had sat at the base of Dalton Drake’s muscular neck. Aurélie’s gaze lingered on that soft shade of blue as she remembered how perfectly Dalton’s silk tie had set off his strong jawline.

“I’m fine, thank you.” The elevator closed and began its downward descent, away from all those engagement rings and the quiet solitude of Dalton’s office.

The elevator attendant smiled. “Do you need help finding anything?”

Aurélie shook her head, despite the fact that she didn’t know the first thing about New York. She didn’t know how to hail a cab or ride the subway. She didn’t even have a single American dollar in her fancy handbag. She had a wallet full of euros, yet she wasn’t even familiar with the exchange rate.

But none of that mattered. She just wanted to get out of there.

Now.

Chapter Three (#u1b0aff8d-7cf2-53cb-86be-9ed90a7e552e)

Right around the time he was on the verge of losing his mind, Dalton spotted Aurélie on the outskirts of Central Park. She was standing beneath a portable blue awning at the corner of Central Park South and 59th Street, directly across the street from the Plaza Hotel. She was holding a dog. Not a hot dog, but an actual dog. Which for some reason only exacerbated the pounding in Dalton’s temples. The woman was impossible.

What had she been thinking? She didn’t want to be discovered, yet she’d walked right out the door. Unaccompanied. Unprotected. Undisguised. It was enough to give Dalton a coronary.

At least he’d been able to find her with relative ease. All told, it had only taken about a quarter of an hour. Still, those fifteen minutes had undoubtedly been the longest of Dalton’s life.

To top things off, a street musician had parked himself right outside the entrance of Drake Diamonds with his violin and his tip bucket. This marked the third time in less than a month that Dalton had ordered him to leave. Next time, he’d call the cops.

He squinted against the winter wind and shoved his bare hands into his trouser pockets. He’d been in a panic when he’d spun his way out of the store through the revolving door and onto the snowy sidewalk. Filled with dread and angry beyond all comprehension, he hadn’t even bothered to grab a coat, and now, three blocks later, he was freezing.

Freezing and absolutely furious.

He dashed across the street without bothering to wait for the signal at the pedestrian crossing, enraging a few cab drivers in the process. Dalton didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he’d returned her safely to his office. And then...

What?

He wasn’t actually sure what he’d do at that point. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he simply planned on escorting her back to his store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street while administering a searing lecture on the dangers of disappearing without giving him any sort of notice whatsoever.

“Aurélie!” He jogged the distance from the curb to where she stood, still holding onto the damn dog.

She didn’t hear him. Either that, or she was intentionally ignoring him. It was a toss-up, although Dalton would have greatly preferred the former.

“Aurélie,” he said again, through gritted teeth, when he reached her side.

An older woman wearing a hooded parka and fingerless mittens stood next to her. There was a clipboard in her hands and a small playpen filled with little dogs yipping and pouncing on one another at her feet. The woman eyed Dalton, giving him a thorough once-over, and frowned.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Aurélie said blithely, without tearing her gaze from the trembling, bug-eyed dog in her arms.

It stared at Dalton over her shoulder. He stared back and decided it was possibly the ugliest dog he’d ever set eyes on. Its pointed ears were comically huge, which might have been endearing if not for the googly eyes that appeared to be looking in two completely different directions. And it had a wide, flat muzzle. Not to mention the god-awful snuffling sounds coming from the dog’s smashed little face.

“Hello.” The woman with the clipboard nodded. “Are you the boyfriend?”

Boyfriend?

Hardly.

He opened his mouth to say no—God no—but before he could utter a syllable, Aurélie nodded. “Yes, here he is. Finally.”

Dalton didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, and frankly, he didn’t care. If she wanted to pose as some kind of couple in front of this random stranger who could possibly recognize her from the tabloids, then fine. Although, the idea was laughable at best.

“Yes, here I am.” He turned sharp eyes on her with the vague realization that he wasn’t laughing. Not even close. “Finally. Surely you’re aware I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.”

At last she met his gaze. With snowflakes in her eyelashes and rosy, wind-kissed cheeks, she looked more Snow Queen than princess.

And lovelier than ever.

Nature suited her. Or maybe it was winter itself, the way the bare trees and dove-gray sky seemed to echo the lonely look in her eyes. Seeing her like this, amidst the quiet grace of a snowfall, holding onto that ugly dog like a child hugging a teddy bear, Dalton got a startling glimpse of her truth.

She was running from something. That’s why she’d left Delamotte. That’s why she’d shown up in men’s clothes and begged him not to call the palace. She wasn’t here on holiday. She was here to get lost in the crowd.

Not that her reasons had anything to do with Dalton. He was simply her means to an end, and vice versa.

“What’s our address again? Silly me, I keep forgetting.” She let out a laugh.

Dalton fought to keep his expression neutral. Surely she wasn’t planning on moving into his apartment. That’s what hotels were for. And there were approximately 250 of them in New York.

Then again, who knew what sort of trouble she could get into unsupervised.

His headache throbbed with renewed intensity. “Our address?”

“Of course, darling. You know, the place where we live.” Quicker than a blink, her gaze flitted to the woman with the clipboard. “Together.”

Struggling to absorb the word darling, he muttered the address of his building in the Upper East Side. The woman with the clipboard jotted it down.

Who was this person, anyway? And why did Aurélie think she had any business knowing where they lived? Where I live. Not we. Good God, not we.

He leaned closer to get a look at whatever form she appeared to be filling out. The bold letters at the top of the page spelled out Pet Adoption Agreement.

“Wait,” Dalton said, as something wet and foul-smelling slapped against the side of his face. He recoiled and realized, with no small degree of horror, that it was the googly-eyed puppy’s tongue.

Marvelous. He wiped his cheek with the cuff of his suit jacket, and aimed his fiercest death glare at Aurélie. “What do you think you’re doing?”