Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

“Good morning,” he said, unfolding his hands and putting them behind his head, the action so casual it was maddening. That he wasn’t tense at all when she felt like a slight breeze could shatter her was beyond unfair.

“Morning,” she said, refusing to lie and call it good. “I’m here for our mysterious meeting.”

“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

“No.” She wasn’t going to put herself in that position. Him behind his big desk, her sitting there on the opposite side like a child about to be scolded.

Being meek and subservient didn’t work. It didn’t keep people with you. It only made you easier to deal with. And this past year she’d come to see that she’d been being thoroughly dealt with all of her life. That was one good result of having a bomb detonated in the middle of her existence. She wasn’t going to play the pawn anymore.

A harsh lesson learned the hard way. But she had learned it. In some ways, without her gilded cage, she was stronger now than she’d ever been. Even if it didn’t always feel like it.

A half smile curved his lips. She didn’t like that. Because it wasn’t an amused smile, it was something else. Something sort of dark beneath the surface of the expression. “No?”

“I’d prefer to stand,” she said stiffly.

He inclined his head. “If you like.”

He stood then, and she felt dwarfed. He was a foot taller than she was, and broad. More than that, he just seemed to fill the room with his presence. The something else that gave people whiplash as they passed him in the street, trying to get a look at him. Mad sex appeal or something. She stretched her neck and straightened her shoulders. It didn’t help.

“I would say that this was business,” he said. “That it’s not personal. But that would be a lie.”

She swallowed hard. “Would it?”

“Yes. I don’t need the money your home would bring in as a boutique hotel. I don’t need the money that would come in from buying the family business, Grey’s. But I don’t want him to have it. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“It was a nice accident, seeing that your home was about to be foreclosed on. I thought I might be able to help you out. For a fee.”

“A fee?”

“There is no such thing as a free lunch. Or, in your case, a free manor house situated a reasonable commuter distance from the city.”

“You must realize that I don’t have anything to give you,” she said, her heart sinking into her stomach at the same moment that the back of her neck started to prickle. He must know she didn’t have money. Which meant he must want something else. And that couldn’t be anything good.

“You’ve never heard my name?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Should I have heard it?”

“I know yours. And not just because you’re famous. Or, more accurately, I know your mother’s name.”

“How?”

“Do you know the name Damien Grey?”

“I …” She almost said no. But it was a name she knew, not the last name, but the first. A very familiar name. “Yes. Well, Damien, but … it could be a different Damien.”

“I’m betting not. Damien Grey is my father, and for several years, he was your mother’s lover.”

As revelations went, it shouldn’t have been shocking. It wasn’t as though she’d believed her mother had been out having tea parties while Noelle spent nights alone in grand hotel suites before performances, but her mind had never gone there.

She did remember her mother talking about Damien, though. Meeting him. Staying with him. She’d been eight, maybe, when that had started and she simply hadn’t put the relationship in the right context.

“I always thought he was in the music industry,” she said, realizing how stupid that sounded. She shook her head. “But what does this have to do with me? Or is it all part of drawing out the torture that has been the past year of my life? I’m not quite dead yet, want to land the fatal blow?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

She gave him a pointed glare and drew on every shred of strength she’d been building in herself for the past year. “If this has anything to do with filling the position in your life that my mother filled in your father’s, you can take your proposition and shove it up your—”

“I’d like you to be my wife.”

She took a step back and sucked in air, choking on it, coughing and coughing while trying to catch her breath.

“Are you all right?” Ethan took a step toward her and she held up her hand, gesturing for him to stop. A gesture he ignored.

He put his hand on her back, his touch warm and … comforting, in some strange way. A connection. She hadn’t had a connection with anyone in so long. She wondered if she ever truly had.

She cleared her throat and breathed deeply. “I’m fine now.” She stepped away from him.

“Do you need something?”

She’d have to make a list.

Yesterday’s craving came back to her in full force. “A latte?”

He nodded and walked back to his desk, pressing the intercom button on his phone. “Christophe, I need a latte.” He looked back at Noelle. “How do you like it?”

“Vanilla. With whipped cream.”

He repeated the instructions to Christophe then cut off the connection.

“It will be here soon,” he said.

She wanted to cry, and it was the stupidest thing. Yet she couldn’t stop the ache of emotion that tightened her throat. No, it wasn’t emotion, she told herself. It was her recent choking experience. That was all. “Thank you.”

“Now, shall I repeat my offer or will it send you into a fit again?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I choked. Although if it had been a fit, it wouldn’t be overly surprising, would it?”

“Marriage in exchange for your home. Free and clear, not owned by the bank, but by you.”

Well, wasn’t that a bright shiny poison apple? Take a bite, dearie. “What’s the catch? Why me?”

“I thought you might have a bigger stake in this than a stranger would. Think about your mother seeing you in the news, rising back to the top on my arm. The simple truth is, I need a wife to get the company. And if that wife was you, if you were a part of taking it from my father’s grasping hands, well, it would be that much sweeter.”

“That’s … I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be involved in this. It’s …”

“Let me simplify it. If you marry me, in name only, and divorce me once Grey’s is transferred into my name, you get your house. And the rest of it doesn’t need to matter to you.”

“How can it not matter to me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “That’s up to you. But how do you think it would be for your mother to see you in the paper, to see you back at the top? In circles she can’t move in any more, not once you’re in them. Because then they might find out what she did to you. Maybe you don’t have legal recourse, but you can close her out of society. If I remember her correctly, that mattered a great deal to her.”

Noelle tried to think through the pulse pounding in her temple. “Yes. It did. Does.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to take a piece of that back from her?”

Yes. Yes it would. And no, she didn’t think she was bigger than that. Because all her life, she’d been nothing more than her mother’s ticket in. A chance for her to move in the circles she’d always dreamed of while Noelle did all the work to keep her there.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked.

“How do you know you can trust anyone?”

Noelle thought of her mother. Of finding out one day that the penthouse in Manhattan was empty … and so was her bank account. “I suppose you can’t.”

“Time. A blood relationship. Marriage vows. None of it can ensure you know someone. But you have nothing to lose. You can only gain. You don’t have anything else for me to take.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but she wasn’t planning on announcing it anytime soon. “But this would be …” She fought the blush creeping into her face. “Not a real marriage, right?”

“A real wedding. A legal marriage. But nothing more. Nothing permanent or physical.”

“Oh.” It sounded simple. Uncomplicated and … tempting. A chance not only to get her home back, but to have the bank stop calling and sending notices. A chance to show her mother she hadn’t won.

“In the interest of us knowing each other better, I’m going to ask you some questions and you will answer me. Honestly.”

Noelle blinked, the change of topic making her head spin. “Are you interviewing me for the position?”

“As any good businessman would.”

Noelle shifted, uncomfortable beneath his assessing gaze.

“I know you’ve never been married,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Do you have a man in your life? A lover?”

She nearly laughed. Where would she have kept a lover? In her suitcase while they were on the road? Her mother would never have allowed such a thing. Sure, she got to make time for men, but she would never have permitted Noelle the same luxury. Would never have let her compromise her image like that. And now … Well, she wasn’t about to bring a date back to her big empty house and tell him all about how washed-up she was over a cup of bargain-brand soda.

“Not at the moment,” she replied dryly.

“Good. It would have to remain that way for the duration of the arrangement. For appearances.”

“I think I can manage that.”

An answering smile curved his lips. “Excellent.”

“And I’ll get my house?”

“And then some.”

“What else?” she asked, hating that she cared. Hating that she was tempted.

“I would give you a settlement when we divorced. That’s in addition to all the media attention you’ll get as a result of our association. I attend a lot of events and as my fiancée, you would attend with me.”

The longing that assaulted her was like a great, dark pit opening up inside. Empty and huge, waiting to be filled. Needing it.

Parties and people and cameras. Luxury. Things that had been so absent from her life. A link to the girl she’d been, the things she’d had. This was a chance to have it again. She despised the weakness in her that wanted it. That needed it.

And yet she felt crushed by the desire for it.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Christophe came in, latte in hand. The wide-mouthed caramel-colored mug was like a vessel of life in her eyes. She hadn’t bought coffee in weeks, months maybe. Not even for the machine at home.

She took it in her hands and let the heat from the ceramic seep into her palms. “Thank you,” she murmured, her throat tight again.

Christophe smiled and made a hasty exit, as she imagined he was paid to do. Quiet efficiency.

She took a sip and was horrified when her eyes blurred with tears. She blinked hard as she swallowed the warm, comforting liquid, allowing it to soothe the pain in her chest.

She lowered the cup and looked fixedly at the swirl of thick cream on the top of her latte.

A flash of recognition mingled with the image of a headline in her mind. He’s offering you this. A way to escape. A way out.

And a way to prove to your mother that she didn’t win.

“So this would be a marriage as far as legalities go, but not … not permanent and not physical,” she repeated.

“Exactly. No one, including my father, needs to know the personal aspects of the relationship. But it is imperative we make it down the aisle. I came close once, and it’s going to take more than close to get what I want.”

She nodded. Tried to picture it. Tried to picture getting married. Funny how she’d never really thought about it before. She’d played at weddings, celebrity weddings, weddings for royalty, but she’d never once thought of her own.

Her scope had always been so narrow. She’d lived and breathed piano. Performance, composition, practice, drills … she had dreamed music. It had been her all-consuming passion and drive. And when it had faltered, her mother had always been there to push her past it. To make sure that she didn’t lose focus for even a moment.

It was good in a way. She didn’t have a romantic fantasy tied to the thought of wedding. A wedding was … well, it was paper. Paper with performance added into the mix. And she did performance. At least she had done it. She’d done it well, too.

A kind of restless energy overtook her, starting in her fingertips, tingling up her arms and to her stomach. Why not do it? How was it really different than any other performance she’d given? She’d always projected a character on stage. Serene and sweet no matter what was going on inside of her. No matter if she’d been fighting with her mother or if she’d suffered a slap across the face at the other woman’s hands ten minutes before show time. She just added another layer of powder and went out on stage, smile pasted on.

“It’s a temporary arrangement. A business proposition. And I would pay you well.”

“And we would be expected to … go out. Go to parties, that sort of thing.” It shamed her that it mattered, almost more than the money. To be bathed in the glow of admiration again. Nothing felt like that. Nothing. It made her feel that she was a part of something, that she was important. That she was loved.

And she’d been so alone for so long. Hiding, hoping no one would find out what had happened.

“Yes. We would have to at least give the appearance of a courtship, even if it is a whirlwind one.”

“Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Much stranger.”

“Like a mother making off with her daughter’s earnings?”

He nodded. “Or a father betraying his family to spend time with his mistress.”

And this was a chance, for both of them, to make some of it right. And maybe she was making it more than it was because right now the latte was so warm and so comforting, and the caffeine was making her feel more awake and alive than she had in weeks but it seemed slightly poetic in nature.

They had both been manipulated. Betrayed in a way. They had both lost things they had earned, things that were theirs by right, at the hands of those who were supposed to love them.

They deserved to take those things back. They both deserved to win.

“You’ll put this all in a … a contract, right?” She had learned the hard way that even her own mother couldn’t be trusted, she wasn’t about to put her trust in a man she’d only just met.

“We’ll have a prenup. Of course it won’t outline the specifics of the arrangement, as we don’t want that made public. The house will be yours upon the signing of our marriage license, money after the divorce.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

A wicked grin curved his lips. “I’m making it up as I go along, but I’ve been told I’m pretty good at improvising.”

“I would say so.”

She wasn’t. She was pretty crap at improvising, as it happened. The whole last year was proof of that.

“I’ve begun the paperwork with the bank to purchase the manor. I’ll sign it over to you once we speak the vows.”

“And the prenup?”

“My lawyer can have it ready by tomorrow.”

She felt dizzy. Her life had been stagnant for so long, nothing to mark the passing of months but a new mortgage bill in the mail. Now suddenly things were changing. She felt like she might be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

And there had been nothing but damp, dank cold for so long.

“Good,” she heard herself say. She felt as if she were hovering above the scene now, watching it all with a surreal kind of detachment.

It didn’t seem real, that was for sure. But it felt hopeful in a really strange way.

That marriage to a man she didn’t know or love seemed hopeful said a lot about the sad state of her affairs, that was for certain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said.

“Your place or mine?” she asked, trying to force a laugh.

A dark light shone in his eyes. “I’d say yours, since it is the thing that brought us together.”

CHAPTER THREE

ETHAN could hear the music as soon as he walked up to the door of the manor. It wasn’t a classical piece. It wasn’t a song at all. Repetition and scales, the same few notes over and over again with regimented perfection. A straight, staccato rhythm more like a military maneuver than anything related to music.

Strange. He hadn’t associated that kind of discipline with her. But then, she looked so much like her mother it was hard for him not to think of their personalities being as identical as their features. Celine Birch was a cloud of perfume and gauzy clothing in his memory. Frothy and elegant, nice even. It had taken some time to realize what she was.

His father’s mistress. No, more than that. The woman Damien Grey had loved above his family. The woman he hadn’t even bothered to hide from his wife.

Ethan gritted his teeth and raised his hand, pounding on the door hard and fast. The strains of the piano continued, unbroken, unyielding. He turned the knob and the door opened. He followed the sounds of the piano, his footsteps echoing as he crossed the marble tiled entryway and walked into the formal sitting room.

There were no interior lights on, the opulent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling was dark. The only illumination came from the sun shining through two large windows.

And then there was Noelle, sitting at the piano, her eyes fixed on a point in front of her rather than down at her fingers, playing the notes over and over again. The sun was like golden fire in her hair, illuminating it, giving the impression of a halo. He wondered how it was possible for someone who looked so angelic to set fire to a man’s blood without so much as a sultry glance.

She looked up and the music stopped abruptly, her toolarge eyes overly wide in her face. “Ethan.” She scrambled around to the other side of the glossy white grand piano.

“Am I early?” He knew he wasn’t.

“I …” She looked around for as if searching for something. “I don’t have a clock in here.”

“What are you working on?”

She shook her head and tucked a strand of glossy hair behind her ear. “Nothing. Drills. Keeping up my dexterity.”

“Do you practice every day?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you were doing music anymore.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

He walked over to the piano and ran his fingers over the sleek body. “I don’t have a piano in my penthouse.”

She frowned slightly. “Do you play?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Then why …” she trailed off, her mouth falling open. “Oh.”

“You didn’t imagine you would continue to live out here in the country did you? Especially not after we’re married.”

“I hadn’t really … I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I’ll be installing you in a penthouse suite in one of my hotels. All the better to garner the proper attention and establish ourselves as a real couple.”

She winced over his choice of words. “Right.”

“Is that a problem?”

She shook her head. “I’m used to moving around.” Actually, the habit of moving around was so ingrained in her that staying in one place for so long had actually felt wrong in many ways. This past year, stuck out in the weeds all by herself, had been more surreal than a different city every night.

“I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

Although the idea of running into her seemed extremely appealing.

“Great.” She bit her lip and looked back at the piano.

“Do you need it in Manhattan?”

“I don’t … it’s a pain to move pianos. Hardly worth it.”

“I’ll buy you a new one and have it moved into the suite.”

He said it so casually, like the purchase of a piano that would run him six figures meant absolutely nothing. There was a time when it had been the same for her. She’d had an allowance, provided by her mother, with the money from touring, merchandise and album sales, and she’d wanted for nothing.

There had been so much money then. Money she’d earned. Money that had somehow never been hers.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s nothing, Noelle. As you mentioned before, I have no shortage of resources at my disposal. You and I are working together and I see no reason why this partnership can’t be beneficial for the both of us.”

She frowned slightly. “I suppose.”

Noelle wasn’t certain what to do with such an accommodating offer. That he cared about her need to play the piano seemed strange. Her playing didn’t benefit him. Now, her mother had always made certain there was a piano in every hotel suite they used. She couldn’t skip practice, not for one afternoon. Being on tour was no excuse. She always got her hours in on the piano. It was her job, and she worked at it as faithfully as anyone who went to an office every day.

Or well beyond that point. It was her only input into the business that was her career. Her mother did the networking. She went to the parties, talked to booking agents, labels and made sure all the needs per her tour rider were in order. It was all about making sure that Noelle Birch—the business—was in order. It was never about her as a person.

But Ethan just seemed to be concerned with what she wanted, what might make her happy. It was strange. It made her feel warm inside, more even than yesterday’s latte. She liked that even less than his wicked smiles. Because she knew better than to trust those feelings. Than to trust people who acted like they cared.

“Do you have the prenup?” she asked, stomach suddenly filled with a shivering sensation.

“Yes.” He reached into his interior suit-jacket pocket and took out a folded stack of papers.

His fingers brushed against hers as he passed them to her. He was warm, like his office. She unfolded the papers and skimmed them, her heart accelerating when she got to the part about children and custody.

“But we don’t need …”

“This is mostly a standard document. As far as even my lawyer is concerned this is a real marriage. My grandfather wanted me to have stability. The kind I lacked growing up, I think. Of course, I’m of the opinion that marriage doesn’t necessarily bring that sort of stability. You can understand why.”

“Haven’t you tried just explaining to him?”

“You don’t explain things to my grandfather. There’s no point. He knows everything already. He’s coming from a good place. And I don’t mind following his rules—if only because I have such an easy time bending them,” he grinned.

She kept on reading the prenup, her eyes widening when she saw the settlement she was entitled to in the event of a divorce. An event that they already had planned.

“Enough?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “I … yes.”

It was generous. Not enough that she’d never have to work again, but enough to keep her out of abject poverty, and with the full ownership of the manor in addition to the cash settlement it was all more than enough.

She could sell the manor, get a smaller apartment in town. She’d have enough to buy lattes and eat more than a cup of instant noodles for dinner.

It was enough that she couldn’t say no. Even if the whole situation made her want to get in the shower and scrub her skin until she could wash away the film it had left on her. Her mother sleeping with his father, hurting his family that way. The idea of marrying just so she could keep her house …

Okay, so it might seem mercenary marrying for money, but it wasn’t a real marriage. And why shouldn’t she be a little bit mercenary? Everyone in her life had looked out for themselves, they’d used her to make their position in life better. What was wrong with her doing something for herself? And she wasn’t using Ethan, she was helping him. They were helping each other. It was a very good rationalization, anyway.

“Once we leave here, you aren’t backing out.”

She shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.”

“Just remember, you stand to lose a lot more than I do.”

“There’s no way I could forget that.” She bit her lip hard, trying to block out the feeling of hopelessness that was rising up in her, a feeling she had become far too familiar with. “Do you have a pen?” she asked, holding out her hand and hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremble in her fingers.