Girl on a Diamond Pedestal. Maisey Yates

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